Most guys use "game" to attract girls. They play it suave, cool and don't call until Tuesday, Swingers-style. This, of course, is to create the illusion that they are more unattainable and less puppy-dog-esque than they indeed are.
But a whole breed of guys exists who could never use game. Game would hurt them, because girls already see little relationship potential in them because of a stand-offish/prick vibe/reputation.
These guys who girls presume to be jerks (think former Phi Psis) must employ quite a different strategy to attract a girl, as not calling for several days simply reinforces the warnings she has heard.
So this breed of (generally) athletes must use Anti-Game. Like anti-matter to matter (which I know about from Dan Brown's books, not from physics class), Anti-Game is the precise opposite of game. When it comes in contact with game, Anti-Game kills it on the spot because of its structural superiority.
It works like so: To prove you are not the player you are reputed to be, you play the role of the perfect boyfriend. You call early and often. You buy breakfast and drinks. You make her bed. You tell her how wonderful she is constantly. You get visibly upset if you don't get to see her in the present, and you talk about seeing her in the future. In short, you are cuter than Seth Cohen.
Back in the day, you'd call Grant a lot of things, but "boyfriend" was not among them. Being smart enough to get into Duke without having Biddle or Perkins attached to his name, Grant realized this. So when he wanted Ashley, he knew he could not follow typical Swinger norms. Sure Grant called on Tuesdays, but he also called on Mondays (three times), Wednesdays (four times), Thursdays (six times, including drunk dials)....
Finally, Grant succeeded in persuading Ashley to be his girlfriend. "If I'm going to have a stalker, I might as well enjoy it," she laughed, shooting one eyebrow up. Things were amazing for a while, until he could maintain the façade no longer and reverted to his true self, like Cinderella at midnight going from Belle of the Ball to Belle Cleaning the Halls. The Grant-Ashley relationship died with the end of his Anti-Game.
Ashley was reminding Sidney of this "transformation" over Mad Hatter's entirely too early on a recent Friday morning. It seemed Sidney had encountered a Grant of her own (sometimes she's not too bright). The boy had hunting, Lacrosse and George W. stickers on his car, sending blaring warning signs to women everywhere. Nevertheless, Sidney had been too drawn in by his Anti-Game to read the writing on the car.
"He knew I would be suspicious, so he acted extra attentive, sweet and adoring to disarm me," Sidney mused, sipping her skim-milk hot chocolate that she had coated in full-fat whipped cream for effect.
"The way dorks who really want to date you make an effort not to seem too interested must be the way that jerks who really want to hook up with you make an effort to seem really interested."
Anti-Game serves a second, equally important purpose: the exit strategy. After a while, whatever girl has fallen prey to Anti-Game comes to expect that elevated level of treatment. In normal relationships, she would not require being called or text-messaged between classes or having drinks delivered to her like clockwork at Parizade's, but once she knows the male in question is capable of such behavior, she certainly could not settle for anything less.
So all the "Anti-Gamer" has to do is pull the "You want too much" card when he is tired of his nice-guy veneer. The girl listening is rational enough to realize that she does not need to be called every hour or fawned over like a Duke basketball player walking through K-Ville, but she has too much self-respect to say, "Whatever you feel you can give me is fine." So he's out free, resting from a very tiring acting job.
Whitney Beckett is a Trinity Senior. Her column appears every other Friday.
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