I think this is the part nobody wants to say because it starts sounding like cope immediately.
No amount of game works on the bad bitch.
Kinda.
Game works.
Being attractive works.
Money works.
Status works.
Fame works.
That is almost the problem.
These things are extremely legible.
You walk into the room handsome with money and a nice watch and social proof and everybody immediately knows what they are supposed to think.
HIGH VALUE MALE.
Right. OK.
You have successfully communicated in the official language.
And if your actual goal is volume this is amazing.
Being attractive gets you mids all day.
People think this is living.
Your phone is full.
Somebody always likes you.
Somebody always responds.
Somebody always wants to come over.
You have successfully become a viable product in a giant liquid market.
BRO YOU'RE LIVING.
Maybe.
You are DEFINITELY getting pussy though.
But the looksmaxxer makes this insane jump where he assumes if the signal works on more people, eventually it must work even harder on the person with the most refined taste.
A bad bitch.
Why?
You will get the Marvel crowd of hoes.
Everybody already knows the characters.
Everybody knows who is powerful.
Everybody knows who is hot.
Everybody knows when to clap.
This is what people mistake for winning.
(These are the people that don't like AI slop btw.)
They think if enough people recognize the signal then eventually the baddest bitch in the room will recognize it the hardest.
It doesnt work like that.
Refined taste starts where consensus stops being useful.
This is true with everything.
The person who barely cares about clothes sees the expensive jacket and goes:
NICE JACKET. I BET THAT COSTS A LOT.
The person who has spent twelve years staring at clothes might be obsessed with some fucked-up old thing with a weird shoulder and a stain because there is something in it that cannot be reproduced by just spending more money.
The normal person sees the cleanest object.
The person with taste starts seeing the stain.
The mistake.
The proportion.
The thing that shouldn't work.
The history.
The specificity.
Why would people be different?
The genuinely beautiful woman has already seen beautiful men.
This cannot be the revelation.
She has eyes.
She has been approached by the handsome guy.
The rich guy.
The athlete.
The popular guy.
The guy who knows exactly how long to hold eye contact.
The guy with perfect teeth.
The guy with the tasteful watch.
The guy who has rehearsed being effortless so hard that his effortless behavior has seventeen steps.
She knows this product.
You are not introducing her to the concept of an attractive man.
This is what I mean when I say no game works.
Obviously you can say the right thing and somebody can like you.
I'm not saying a beautiful woman has some force field around her pussy that detects pickup techniques.
I'm saying you cannot technique your way into becoming interesting to somebody whose entire life has been people trying techniques on them.
Eventually the technique itself becomes visible.
You can see the seams.
And refined taste hates seams pretending not to be seams.
I don't even think she necessarily knows what she wants.
This is another mistake men make.
They imagine somewhere inside the bad bitch there is a written specification.
HEIGHT: 6'2.
BODY FAT: 12%.
JAW: GOOD.
INCOME: $300,000.
STATUS: HIGH.
PERSONALITY: MYSTERIOUS.
And your job is to reverse engineer the procurement requirements.
I don't think she knows.
Most people do not know what is going to rearrange their brain before they see it.
But she definitely knows what she doesn't want.
She knows the product.
She knows the pitch.
She knows the guy who is looking at himself through her eyes while he talks to her.
She knows when somebody wants her as proof that he became the person he was trying to become.
One of the funniest failures of looksmaxxing is that eventually the guy starts playing dress-up as a bad bitch.
Perfect skin.
Perfect outfit.
Perfect hair.
Perfect jewelry.
Perfect pictures.
Perfect angles.
Everything selected.
Everything controlled.
Everything finished.
Brother she already does that.
Probably better than you.
Why does she need another one?
You spent ten years trying to become the thing you are attracted to.
Now you're standing in front of her like:
LOOK.
WE'RE BOTH BAD BITCHES!
I think sometimes she wants somebody she can dress up.
Not literally some retard who needs help to buy pants.
I mean there has to be some remaining surface area.
Some room.
Some grit.
Something that did not arrive shrink-wrapped.
Put a good jacket on the weird guy.
Fix his hair a little.
Tell him those shoes are fucking horrible.
Now something happened.
There was contrast.
There was movement.
There was already a person there and now you changed the frame around him.
That is more interesting than a guy arriving completely optimized like a character creation screen where every slider has already been moved toward conventional attractiveness.
There is nothing to touch.
Nothing to discover.
Nothing to corrupt.
Nothing to improve.
He already hired himself as creative director.
This is why the fuck-up becomes interesting.
Not because fucking your life up is attractive.
Most fuck-ups are miserable.
Most bums are just bums.
Most weird guys are not secretly artists.
There is no hidden reward for being a loser.
But the person who has actually lived through some shit sometimes develops grit that cannot be bought correctly.
He has fucked something up.
He has been embarrassed.
He has had a bad year.
He has obsessed over something nobody cared about.
He has developed taste in private.
He has some object he knows too much about.
He has a story that did not happen because he was trying to make the story look good.
There is texture.
You stop wanting the cleanest thing.
You start wanting the thing with evidence of an internal life.
We understand this everywhere except romance.
Nobody thinks the most interesting painting is automatically the technically prettiest painting.
Nobody thinks the best musician is the guy with the cleanest voice.
Nobody thinks the best movie is the one where every actor is maximally attractive and every frame costs the most money.
Well, actually some people do.
They watch Marvel.
"Dood did you see the box office numbers on this? I gotta see this."
This is my point.
There is a mass-market version of taste where MORE SIGNAL equals BETTER.
More attractive.
More famous.
More expensive.
More status.
More proof.
We used to call this fame fagging.
And sure, broadcast status hard enough and you will attract people who are impressed by status.
What the fuck did you think was going to happen?
You advertised Marvel.
Marvel fans showed up.
Now you're sitting there wondering where the weird three-hour Bulgarian movie girl is.
Probably somewhere watching a weird three-hour Bulgarian movie with a guy who can't schedule an appointment on his own.
Refined taste eventually starts wanting the defect.
Not because the defect is inherently good.
Because the defect proves the thing survived contact with reality.
This is why Beauty and the Beast is a better romance story than two perfect people standing next to each other being perfect.
We all have eyes.
We have all seen beautiful people.
But how often is the couple that fascinates anybody just:
PERFECT MAN.
PERFECT WOMAN.
THE END.
Fine.
They're hot.
What is the story?
Two beautiful people correctly identified another beautiful person?
Amazing.
The algorithm worked.
Beauty and the Beast has polarity.
The entire thing is:
WHY HIM?
That question is desire.
The looksmaxxer wants to remove WHY HIM? from the world.
He wants attraction to become obvious.
OF COURSE HIM.
LOOK AT HIS FACE.
LOOK AT HIS BODY.
LOOK AT HIS MONEY.
LOOK AT HIS STATUS.
LOOK AT THE NUMBERS.
This is not erotic.
This is a quarterly earnings report.
The bad bitch is interesting specifically because there should be a question mark.
Why that guy?
Why does she like him?
Why is she still there?
Why is she laughing?
Why is she sitting in his shitty car?
Why does this somehow work?
This drives men insane because they think attraction should be publicly auditable.
They want to inspect the transaction.
THE NUMBERS DO NOT MAKE SENSE.
Exactly.
Maybe the numbers are not the thing being purchased.
Maybe the actual goal isn't collecting enough women that your friends finally certify you as living.
Maybe the actual goal is one person whose taste you respect looking at the weird specific thing you became and going:
THAT.
And now we get into the pure soul shit and I don't want to get too esoteric with it because going on about pair bonding with that level of soul is getting too deep into woo woo nonsense.
But there is something there.
Eventually they are sitting next to you at 2:17AM and none of the signal is happening.
There is no audience.
No profile picture.
No room watching.
No game.
No status.
No social proof.
Now what?
There has to be a person there.
This is where the looksmaxxer has the same final problem he started with.
He spent years becoming desirable and never asked desirable to whom.
He wanted access.
He got access.
He wanted proof.
He got proof.
She probably hates you.
But if the actual goal was the one person with enough taste to see something specific in you, becoming universally legible may have had almost nothing to do with it.
Maybe she wants the thing with a history.
Maybe she likes the stain.
Maybe she likes the weird proportion.
Maybe she likes that you spent four years making some thing nobody asked you to make.
Maybe she likes the fact that some part of you does not translate.
This is the part you cannot game.
Because the second you manufacture the grit for her, it stops being grit.
Now you're wearing a costume.
You cannot strategically become the Beast.
The Beast did not spend six months optimizing beast-maxxing.
He is unfortunately or fortunately the Beast.
That is why it works.
And this is where the looksmaxxer completely loses me.
He does not actually want freedom from the hierarchy.
He wants the hierarchy to issue him a certificate.
OFFICIALLY ATTRACTIVE.
OFFICIALLY HIGH STATUS.
OFFICIALLY DESIRABLE.
PLEASE PRESENT CERTIFICATE TO WOMAN FOR REWARD.
Meanwhile the bum has already left the building.
Maybe he is making something.
Maybe he is ruining his life.
Maybe both.
But at least there is something there besides the desire to be selected.
And I think this is ultimately what the bad bitch is hunting.
Not the bum.
Not ugliness.
Not poverty.
Not failure.
She is hunting the thing underneath it.
The person who somehow has not turned her beauty into the organizing principle of his existence.
The person who can see her and still see something else.
Because everybody sees her.
That's not rare.
Everybody wants her.
That's definitely not rare.
Everybody has some plan for what to do about her.
Also not rare.
Maybe she doesn't even know what she wants.
But she knows what she doesn't want.
Another guy auditioning.
Another guy presenting his credentials.
Another guy who spent his entire life becoming a more convincing applicant.
Another bad bitch standing across from her playing dress-up as the thing he thinks she wants.
Maybe she wants something unfinished.
Something with dirt on it.
Something specific.
Something she can put a jacket on without changing what it is.
The looksmaxxer keeps asking:
WHAT DO WOMEN WANT?
The bum hunter is answering a completely different question.
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?