I slipped, tripped and fell into a nightgame.
And it was a blast.
On my last day in London before heading back to the good ol’ States, I had plans with Hitman for one last daygame session. After checking out the umpteenth museum of my trip, we met up away from the typical daygame streets where he got in a few sets on this cold, rainy afternoon. Agreeing to explore greener pastures, we then took a train to an indoor shopping center further west on Lee Cho’s recommendation where he later joined us. My first set of the day came soon after we arrived:
Hey…excuse me. I just saw this…big, green, furry jacket…and all these bags you’re carrying…and thought to myself…who is…this cute little grinch…trying to steal Christmas 😉
I add the ellipses here to demonstrate how I’m now stretching out my opener on my approach–as per interesting chats with Thomas Crown while daygaming. It was a fun tease, but nothing hit and the set went nowhere. A few more sets between the three of us and back to Central we went for dinner before Swiss Roller and The Gent1. LC must have spiked my meal when I went for a piss because before we left I inexplicably agreed to an evening of nightgame.
I haven’t gone out for a nightgame session in more than two years. I don’t dance, I don’t like staying out, I don’t drink much and I don’t like getting up late. There really is nothing for me there. But I figured this is an opportunity to go out with guys who are well-versed in the dark arts so I should act on these front-row tickets to see them in action, learn something and maybe even have a bit of fun.
Right off the bat, the dudes were discussing venues that would work for five guys, the ensuing logistics and closing times. It may sound simple, but they were astute enough to realize our group of five should split and enter the bar in two smaller groups. By the time I arrived, Hitman and The Gent were already sitting down in a set. The Gent, being a good gent, was winging a whale for Hitman while he seemed to be hitting it off with his girl2. They knew what they were doing. I was buckled up for this new experience as compared to the streets.
By the end of the night, however, I instead found that all the basic elements of daygame completely carry over: frame, fun, teasing, comfort, escalation, fun, isolation, calibration and most importantly, fun!…there are direct lines to be drawn between a street seduction and a bar pull. Except the open!
In nightgame, you do want to make a production of the whole thing. You need to steal the attention of the whole group, not just a single girl. You need to bring something fun and interactive for everyone to jump on. You want to demonstrate your ability to carry the social weight with strangers who are out for a single reason: to have fun!
Even in daygame 2-sets, we know it’s bad form to ignore the friend; the social dynamics of working a group in a bar amplify the necessity to engage everyone. But there’s no need to go direct. I saw that girls generally give you the eye contact and body language if they’re interested since they already know why you’re there. There’s no need to make explicit the purpose of the open.
As I’m contemplating all this in my head, I’m also minding rule 1 of game (and really, just social acuity), which is to be present. I want to take in the environment without making the mistake of getting in my head. Moving around the venue helps with that, and I jumped into a set or two with Hitman. It doesn’t matter what he opened with, I just made my way in after a minute and said “what’s that? are you guys causing trouble for my friend? Oh my god!?” I later coordinated my words with his open, and I think we found a good flow when I join his sets.
A short bit later, I’m with Swiss, half a Heineken in my belly, and many minutes of racking my brain to conjure up an opener. I then spot a two-set, put on my thickest American accent and say “Hey! Excuse me, you girls look like proper British girls. I gotta ask, do you really eat fish and chips for breakfast?”3
One of the girls bites immediately! She leans towards me, comes in close and is teasing back. Swiss gets it, and focuses on the friend. Within a minute, I test the waters and place my hand ever so slightly on my girl’s waist. She doesn’t budge. This is fast!
We chat for about 5, maybe 10, minutes and I’m now thinking, how do I continue progressing this? I’ve got the girl in a good spot, but I feel I either need to escalate quickly or get into comfort. I sensed comfort was more important, but it felt off to get into deep conversation while standing in the middle of the bar.
Like Mufasa showing Simba the way in a cloud breaking the star-filled sky, LC pops up behind my set and mouths the word “isolate”.
Got it! I wait for a proper break in our conversation then bounce all four of us to some bench space crowded by jackets next to a couple of tables covered with spilled drinks. The seating works out really well for me as my girl sits close by. And now we enter comfort.
Over the last year, I’ve learned that comfort is really where my game shines. Even before getting into all this, I was best at one-on-one conversations where I could more easily connect with other people when we get into our past experiences, interests, and dreams. And that’s how things were going with this girl, who also had a bit of a predisposition towards Americans. She watches our tv shows, fakes our accent, listens to our music…and unfortunately follows our politics.
Within 10-15 minutes of meeting, she starts shitting on America. And it never stops. “Worse health care system in the world.” “Bud light is piss water.” “No gun control.” “No maternity leave.” “More incarcerations per capita than any other country”. “The so-called land of the free…pshh”.
Fuck that! I’m not gonna stand by and let this British slag4 talk shit about my home! I’m gonna defend my land, I’m gonna set this girl straight and explain to her how we’re divided by charlatans and hustlers who couldn’t tell you the difference between inflation and supply-chain delays if it hit them in the face!
Or I’m gonna think with my dick and say “yer goddamn right I drink bud light. I mix it in with my cereal in the morning just before I take my shotgun outside for the ceremonial 9am skyline shooting”. Home of the brave!
Obviously, I thought with my dick. It’s just bad game to engage in debate. And if I wanted to run the psych on her, I would bet she’s jealously obsessed with Americans rather than disgusted by them. A predictable outcome of having a super-liberal father that teaches at an elitist private school; so elitist, in fact, that her father discouraged her from attending the school at which he teaches!
Additionally, throughout this conversation we’re seated next to a flimsy table filled with half-empty bottles belonging to nobody. At one point, a stranger comes by to reach for his jacket near me and knocks over a beer that spills onto my pants. He quickly says sorry, picks up the drink and continues shuffling for his jacket. I don’t react, especially since my girl doesn’t realize how much fell over my pants through the darkness and loudness of the bar. Ten minutes later, a guy and his girl stop by the table for a minute and the guy bumps into the table so another bottle falls and spills on my pants. He realized what happened and looked at me. We held the following conversation, silently, through our eye contact:
Him: Sorry bro. I didn’t meant to. But I can’t apologize verbally because my girl is here.
Me: Not cool. But my girl hasn’t noticed and I get it. Let’s drop it and move on.
Him: Thanks, bro. I’m gonna bang this bird and its thank to you.
Me: I think you meant to say slag. But yeah apology accepted, bruh. Bang on.
In between my beer-soaked pants and her anti-American bullshit, we talked for real. We talked music, Shakespeare, story-telling, history. For about 45 minutes, our faces were an inch or two away as we were talking into each others ears; a necessary gesture since the music was so loud! My hand is high on her thigh. At one point, I mistakenly go under her short dress and she says “whoa! hand on thigh is fine by no higher!” “What are you talking about? You moved my hand up! How dare you! You know I’m a southerner right? We’re very sweet and innocent. Don’t corrupt me!” She takes it well. I feel a lay is on the table at this point, though I haven’t gone for the kiss yet. Every time I go in to talk to her, I glide my lips over hers lips then to her ears to gauge where we’re at…and I just feel there’s a bit more to do.
By this point, I’ve completely lost track of her friend, who suddenly pops up with LC. Just before she and her go outside for a smoke, my girl shoves her phone in my hand to give her my number. I give her mine, take hers, and send her a text. We agree to meet a bit later on the dance floor section of this three-storied bar.
I meet up with the other guys, except The Gent who’s got a girl or two–or three?–that are receptive. Swiss here opens a slim little Spanish zebra (so-called for her tight, zebra-striped shirt) who, in my opinion, was the hottest girl of the night. The guys tell me that the friend of my girl is dancing with a lot of guys in the club area, but not really committing to any single one. It’s possible she was particularly into one guy, but I later find out she has a boyfriend and was off the market, so it could have been fool’s gold to begin with.
Fifteen minutes later, LC and I are on the dance floor with the two girls. Mine is dancing close to me, we make out, and she grinds on me. For the next 30-45 minutes, we make out and I grope her to sufficiently heat her up to complete the job. The more I escalate, the more she says “let’s meet up next time you come to London” and “I can’t have sex tonight, my friend and I are driving early tomorrow.” At one point she asks how old I am. She guesses I’m 28 so I shave some years off my life and say 32. “Perfect! That’s the edge of my range. I’m 25.” After all this back-and-forth, her friend comes back and my girl stops grinding with me and says “we can’t flirt anymore! I have to be with my friend.” The three of us are dancing together for a couple of minutes before I believe the set to be dead and return to the gang. Nothing more happens here, though LC tells me the best play at this point is to catch the girls on their way out to try to seal the deal.
As I’m hanging around the bar area, I see Swiss talking to Zebra with a cutie next to her. Perfect, I go in to play wingman for this proper two-set. The friend is glued to her phone completely ignoring me, so I talk to Swiss’s girl (not to steal the set, but to open up the conversation). She’s friendly and as soon as she talks to me, the friend jumps in to to talk me. What a slag5!
As I talk to the friend, Swiss moves his girl a little bit away and starts making out with her. The friend then flings my arm away to physically insert herself between Zebra and Swiss. Turns out, every guy in our group tried to wing for Swiss, but she’s just a determined cockblock born of stone and ice. Damn shame.
While waiting on the bartender to serve us a few waters, I see LC open a girl with “I like your hair” who was dancing with another guy. His body language was very laid back. Physically he was leaning away at the bar, his tonality was very controlled and he carried a little smirk. Before opening, he correctly gauged that she wasn’t with her dance partner. After opening, I’m sure he saw what I did: she had a big smile and expressed her gratitude. LC continued from there on.
As the bar closes, we head over to Hippodrome where Hitman and Swiss open a couple of sets. I join Hitman in one with two very drunk girls. My girl keeps asking us to take her to a dance club. I say we’re going to a better place. She sees a sign for Zoo Bar and wants to go. I tell her the only way I’m entering is if there’s a lion and a giraffe inside because our place is better. These two paradigms of high society are so inebriated that they get turned away at the Hippodrome only to stumble into a bike carriage blasting pop music–Hitman and I walk away and never turn back.
It’s around 3a or 4a now and the night ends morning begins with the five of us chilling in the Hippodrome. I there learn that The Gent took home one of his girls, knocked out a bang, then dropped her back off at the bar. Didn’t I tell you The Gent was a gent?
If daygame is like playing a single-player video game, nightgame feels like the multiplayer version.
Typically, nightgamers go out in groups of two or three to match the two- and three-sets they expect to see out. That night, we went as five, which I believe worked out even better. We had the option to do two- and three-sets, and better yet we could tag-team through sets. Plus, the compounded gains of nightgame compounded even further. For example, I only opened 2 sets of 2 that night, and brought in 2 or 3 other wings throughout. On the other hand, I was involved in 5 sets because my wings opened more than I did. We shared the wealth! This works especially well if both girls are attractive and you and your wing have different tastes. Unfortunately, I have some overlap with Swiss’s finely-tuned eyes (that Zebra girl 🤤).
It was cool to see this play out in real time. And I saw that proper wingmanship isn’t just talking to the fatty, it’s also maintaining each other’s vibe outside of sets, keeping everybody in the moment, having fun, playing up success and downplaying failure. It’s also having random conversation that can then serve as the opener. “Whoa, girls, did you just hear my friend here? Last time he was in Budapest, a gypsy stole his wallet! He said they were dressed just like you two!”
It was also cool to connect with the London guys at the daygame Mecca that is London. I pay homage to Oxford St and look forward to my return to Europe, where feminine women are more the norm.
In fact, I write part of this blog post in a coffee shop back in the US where a girl is talking to her boyfriend about being very sexually active in her past. She’s now telling him she used to be sexually harassed as a kid. “When we ran around the playground as kids, boys would say ‘do you want to go out with me?’ That’s inappropriate.” Our appraisal of victimhood is way out of hand!
How we got here doesn’t matter; how I’m getting out very much does!