Three seconds. That's how long it took. Your shoes. Your posture. The way you held your drink. Whether you looked at the floor or looked at her.
She already filed you away. Interesting. Boring. Safe. Bold. Before you even opened your mouth.
Everything you say after that is just her confirming what she already decided.
So stop rehearsing lines. Fix the first three seconds. Stand tall. Look up. Smile like you mean it. Walk like you belong wherever you're standing.
The words come later. The impression comes first.
Neil, stop living in the past whilst using your right hand of rememberance. Get back in the game of reality. Young or old, women are made to fvck, not dwell over in some nostalgic series of posts reflecting what had been, could have been or might have been.
Next Monday you'll feel more confident. After the gym you'll feel more confident. After one more drink you'll feel more confident. After you get a better haircut, a better jacket, a better job.
You've been "getting ready" for two years.
She's standing ten feet away right now. She'll be gone in four minutes. No amount of preparation will manufacture the courage that only comes from moving your feet.
Walk over. Stumble through the first sentence. Let it be clumsy. Let it be imperfect. You will feel more alive in those ten seconds than you have all month.
Not an argument.
No, it's not an argument, it's a fact! If you feel the need to kick my ass, then I suggest you get in some sort of acceptable shape.
Half of those aren't even disrespectful though.
You paid for dinner. You drove. You said "whatever you want is fine" every single time. All the effort, no expectations.
And she left anyway — probably for a guy who makes her pick up the pizza.
Painful. Also predictable. Her mind quietly concludes that anything requiring zero effort from her is worth exactly zero. You became a free sample, and free samples get taken for granted.
The 22 Rules flip the dynamic. Small shifts that get her investing effort, money, and time in you — until SHE'S the one afraid of losing YOU.
At 6'5" 220 I don't have to be in shape to kick your ass. But I am. Show us a photo of yourself with no shirt on. You bunch of armchair gymnasts.
The problem is you're referring to girls and not women--big difference. Girls are going to do all the s*it you listed above. You want to date them? Deal with it. Women on the other hand have their s*it together and know how to act. The last girl I dated, 34, worked PT at Macy's, lived with 25 year olds, partied a lot, had a number or men in orbit at all times, no $, no car, used illicit drugs, and would fly off the handle on a moments notice because I was hiking too fast for her or I looked at another woman = GIRL. We dated for one month.
Yes, I don't want old ladies.
I could talk to any woman I wasn't attracted to. Charming, funny, relaxed. Then a gorgeous woman looked my way and I'd become a sweating, babbling mess.
The fix took me years to find and ten minutes to learn. Nervousness and excitement are the same physical state — pounding heart, adrenaline, flushed face. Your brain just picks the label. And you can pick a better one.
Rule 16 shows you how. You feel the nerves, relabel them as excitement, and let that energy pour out as enthusiasm. Women notice the guy radiating it. They always do.
