March 1, 2010
My 20th birthday is almost over. 19 wasn’t that exciting either. I’m not any closer to the person I want to be. I’m not good enough for her or for anyone. Nell, Rachel, Ashley, Tina, Alice… even Jenny or Elizabeth. What is it that I’m truly after? A good education? A decent job, a car, a house? Do I want these things for Nell? Well what does she mean to me? Acceptance, connection, understanding? Love? It couldn’t be that simple. Too many questions, not enough insight to answer any.
In my search for the answers to my questions, I stumbled upon a VH1 reality show called The Pickup Artist.
Reality TV fascinated me, as they were the closest thing I thought I would get to seeing how real people fell in love. It started with Flavor of Love, where a rapper called Flavor Flav invited a line-up of girls to try to win his affection by completing certain tasks in the style of a game show. A memorable scene came when one of the girls spit a large loogie into the mouth of a girl she was arguing with. I learned very little pratical knowledge, but I was very entertained nonetheless.
When Daisy of Love came out, I was smitten with the main character Daisy de la Hoya. I eagerly took notes on what her suiters did right and wrong, pretending I was one of them and simulating what I would do were I to be on the show. Yet I couldn’t imagine myself having the courage or know-how to even have a conversation with someone.
That’s when I discovered a peculiar looking man called Mystery on his show The Pickup Artist. Mystery wore a fuzzy black top hat and used his studied knowledge of social interactions to “pick up” girls in bars and nightclubs. I was skeptical, but what he was saying seemed to make sense to me.
When I watched the show, I immediately thought, “This is exactly what I need!” Even if I didn’t pick up any girls, I could still work on my platonic social skills, inspiring others in my situation to do the same. After I had learned all the pick up skills, then I could derive a way to help others like me who struggled with selective mutism.
I bought a book by a related Pick Up Artist named Neil Strauss called Rules of the Game. This was a sister book to his original book The Game, which has since become a cult classic among the pickup community. The Game was more like an undercover report of the community, whereas the book I bought at the bookstore had practical missions and advice you could implement.
The trip to the bookstore was a shame-ridden one. The sex section of the store was a pink menagerie of books about relationships and love, much like the Barbie aisle in the toy store, traditionally forbidden to anyone who lacked a certain preordained level of girliness. I could feel my face burning red with embarrassment as I approached. However, I clumsily found my book and marched on towards the checkout register, reassuring myself that there was zero shame in wanting to improve my own life.
Rules of the Game had a 30 day challenge, and on each day you would complete a task. For example, on one day you would make small talk with five strangers. Another day you would go get a new haircut, or make longer eye contact with the people you spoke to. As soon as I could, I went to the mall to complete my tasks.
It was incredibly difficult to even ask someone for the time. I took off my watch first of all, so that it made sense to ask. Then, nervously, I approached my first “set” – an old woman who looked like she worked at one of the stores. I forced out the words, “Do you know what time it is?” She had no idea, but I thanked her anyway and went on my way. One down!
I rinsed and repeated on four other people, guys or girls – it didn’t matter to me. I asked one couple about which movies were good and had a nice short chat. I felt elated no matter who it was. I was conquering my fears and was incredibly proud of myself after every set. Of course, the missions towards the end of the month involved getting phone numbers. “One step at a time,” I thought.
In Austin, I mostly ended up talking to people by accident or when they spoke to me first. I usually had a reason to talk to them. To initiate conversations and small talk without any other reasons or excuses felt very vulnerable. If I started talking to a person for the sole reason of wanting to talk to them, then I’d be the only one to blame if things went wrong.
Soon after, I hired a professional pickup artist to help me further. James was well known across the pond in London where he coached others like me on a regular basis. Under the pretense of buying textbooks for school, I got some money from my mother to cover the coaching. If all went well, what I’d learn would be worlds better than anything out of a textbook. I arrived at his apartment and met two other students of his.
After some lecturing, we moved on to the online dating portion of the session. I admitted that I didn’t have a Facebook account, so he began to create one for me. I was against having a Facebook at the time because I wanted to stay away from anything that reminded me of high school and of Nell. The first suggested friend who popped up just happened to be Nell, who he clicked on and added straight away on a whim without knowing who she was. I wanted to die. I quickly took the controls and added the rest of my high school friends to make it seem legit.
I had a positive experience with James and the others that weekend, going out to different venues to chat up girls. A full year later, I went out with him again as a student. This time it was free, in exchange for being part of a photojournalist’s article about him. On that particular night, I was looking for something to distract me anyway. It was Nell’s birthday, which traditionally weighed heavily on my mind.
March 28, 2010
Tonight I was trying to get the energy to go out. The mood wasn’t right (Nell’s birthday), but I figured I’d get in the mood once I got there. As soon as I walked in, I saw James and some of the guys hanging out by the couch. Man, was I happy to see them. Having friends supporting you and you supporting them is such a great feeling. My night got better.
But then I saw her. I hadn’t seen her for a year or two, but she just walked straight in. Fuck… fuck. A million feelings swelled up in my mind, and I tried to block out all of them. Funny thing was, there was a girl I was talking to before this, and I thought she looked a lot like Nell. And then I glanced over at the door and saw her actually there with her two brothers. I went up to them and put on a great big smile and concentrated my attention towards a brother — Rick. Then she asked me to buy them drinks… ugh, no.
A little later the boys and I are outside, and she comes out. After a little internal distress, I go and talk to her. Everything was going fine. I didn’t have anything else to say to her so I went back to my friends. I turned around for a second, and there she was making out with some guy. What the fuck?
It’s funny how things can be so dramatic when you first imagine it, but I didn’t really feel anything at that moment. Maybe a little confused, but it was like watching a movie. No… this movie would be worse. Tonight I felt a bad feeling, but it was okay because I had friends with me, and I know exactly who I am. I’m at such a good place in my life right now, and it can only get better. It’s not necessarily a “fuck you” to her. It’s like she doesn’t hold that much leverage as she used to. All the things that have happened to me, all the people that I’ve met… they’ve all made me who I am today and give me the strength to overcome my darkest obsessions.
Still, there’s no telling if I’ll feel the same way tomorrow.