What happens when an AI wingman takes ‘be edgy’ to extremes? Meet RobGPT, the chatbot that turned my matches into texting disasters...
When it comes to messaging women, whether on text, Tinder, or beyond, there are only three kinds of messages: the good, the bad, and the ugly...
Our texts are but digital paper planes, tossed into the wind; how they're crafted and where they land is up to us. Let's make sure they're worth reading....
Today we're diving into a game-changer when it comes to attracting women: TENSION. Tension is the "secret sauce" that leaves her wanting more...
They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression; well, to any guy who believes that, I say you don’t stand a chance with women—or at least not the sorts of women you want...
“Once a woman knows she has you, it’s over, and you can never have her.” That’s a line that Bobby Rio and I bandy often and for good reason. That pithy sentence holds a profound truth… Predictability is a silent assassin of attraction Predictability hems you in, becoming an invisible…
A question I’m constantly asked is whether I feel it was necessary that I went through all the “bullshit” dating advice before I arrived at my simplified philosophy. And my answer is always, “I really don’t know.” Who can really say whether or not the bad advice helped me in…
Sometimes I feel like a fortuneteller. I can often tell a guy’s future. I can tell how a guy’s is going to progress, what sort of girl he’s going to end up with, and how happy he’ll most likely be. But I don’t know this by some mystical magic ball…
Neil Strauss is the worst. I’m not name-calling, bickering, or launching some underhanded smear campaign. Strauss is the worst because he’s the lowest form of human—he’s a betrayer of trust. In Dante’s Inferno, traitors occupy the lowest ring of hell. And such would seem an appropriate place for someone who…
Before I delve into dating, let me digress for a moment. I want to confess something… I suck at sports. I’m uncoordinated. I don’t have much leg speed. And my body seems unable to accept the “proper form” of any sort of sports movement—from the wrist flick of a jump…