The Accidental Approach

A quick story about the power of the uninhibited approach. This one time (in cad camp), a girl crossing my path on the sidewalk strongly resembled a girl I was dating, at least in profile and from the back. So much so that I thought she was my girl, and I hurried forward to catch up with her and deliver a warm greeting. She hadn’t seen me when I trotted into her view and said “Hey!” inflected with an intimate, and confident, familiarity.

From her vantage, this was a cold pickup attempt. From my vantage, I thought I was saying a surprise hello to a girl I was banging. For a flickering second, we eyed each other with disbelief — her trying to figure out why I introduced myself, and me suddenly realizing she wasn’t the girl I was dating at the time.

Then an odd turn occurred in the plot line. Instead of furrowing her brow with annoyance at the bother, or promptly dismissing my accidental approach, she parried my ‘hey!’ with an equally friendly and intimate ‘oh, hi!’, and stood still, planted to the sidewalk in front of me, looking like she was expecting more consent-defying magic to spring from my prolix tongue.

This girl was in it to see if I would win it. My instinct switched from ‘I should tell this girl I thought she was someone else’ to ‘Wait a sec….she thinks I’m hitting on her…and she’s open to it!’. Now aroused by the opportunity before me of fresh cleft, I hesitated to exit our fortuitous rendezvous with a curt explanation for my impudence. During what must have been just a couple seconds but felt like an eternity, I considered my next course of action….I could easily springboard from my accidental hello to deliberate pickup banter….but at the last decided to take the noble — or less adventuresome — route and excused myself on the wispy adieu of mistaken identity.

The scene reminded me of a truth about women and pickup that guests of the Chateau should know by heart. For all the talk of tactics and logistics and hurdling last minute resistance, indubitably all of it a valuable store of knowledge to the aspiring womanizer, one rule governs them all: the man who says something will always get further with women than the man who says nothing.

The world of women will only open to men brave enough to trek it. If you never invade a woman’s safe space, she’ll never post hoc rationalize your invasion as her invitation. Women’s safe spaces are essentially self-fulfilling until a man with a set of steel ones decides they aren’t.

This girl I thought was someone else had no idea I greeted her under false assumptions, yet the confident familiarity with which I made my existence known to her lithesome universe sparked something primal in her: a welling up of ancient desire that the expectations of modern society successfully suppresses most of the time. I’m sure vanishingly few men have ever cold cocka-ed her like that on the sidewalk. When one man did, it stirred a longing every woman shares to be the lust object of a man who takes what he wants. My accidental entitlement reminded me that deliberate entitlement remains the essential provocation of women’s romantic curiosity.

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