Let's talk about Cold Approaching Hot Girls and Persuasion. Pt.1.

The most info dense Series I've ever written. A combination of dating advice and sales persuasion.

This is a must Read..

It's 1:20 AM.

My left hand is wrapped in a bandage, the knuckles still throbbing from this morning's session. I fucked up my fists during training.

Every operator must indulge themselves in combat sports.

Not as hobby, but as a requirement.

Boxing, Muay Thai, Judo and Kickboxing.

Not jujitsu, That shit is fucking ghey.

No coffee today. No Ritalin, No Focalin, No A+, No cigarettes.

I'm heavily detoxing.

Once in a while, you have to remember that Health is wealth.

You need to live long enough to travel the world with your girl, your mom, and your brothers.

You need to live long enough to build generational wealth with your sons.

You need to live long enough to Co-host hedonistic yatch parties in Monaco with corrupt African politicians.

I reek of Le Labo Santal 33.

If you perceive that smell anywhere in your city, or in any building... just know I'm there.

La Mentira by Luis Miguel playing in the background, low enough that it doesn't distract, loud enough that I know it's there.

Maybe learning Spanish should be on my Green carpet schedule this month.

Giovanni has become a blueprint for the sleep deprived and intelligent operators scattered across the Globe.

They Read THE TRUTH like an instruction manual to life.

Jotting down every post.

Screenshoting every sentence.

THE TRUTH is magnetic because it is Raw, unfiltered, and Authentic.

Honestly, if you're not reading THE TRUTH, then the Universe must really hate you.

These few days I've been analysing and digging deep into some of my FOMO-coded copies, old ads, and recorded sales calls.

Sometimes the best teacher is yourself. Or maybe I'm just too full of myself.

Classical Giovanni.

Healthy narcissism is required sometimes.

A God complex is required at all times.

"Even 18 year olds are using this focus app." An Fomo ad copy sitting on my 85-inch LG TV. That was what triggered all those researches.

The ad was a mimic of something esoteric.

A tuned-down version of the original.

It was like an artist seeing his artwork being repainted into something mediocre.

The ad was from a childhood friend of mine who left sales due to his probabilistic mentality and headed into SaaS.

Both business models are insanely profitable.

But at the end of the day, all roads lead to sales and persuasion.

You see, FOMO is the most misused persuasion tactic in the COI bracket.

Everyone's hitting randoms, hoping one day it will hit a tired brain cell.

As an operator, you mustn't operate on randoms. There's no randomness in this Game..

There's only a cause and effect.

FOMO is an important skill you must master in business, sales, and even in dating.

A copy/sales pitch without FOMO is incomplete.

A copy with a bad FOMO should be deleted. It's a disrespect.

In the dating world, If women don’t feel a sense of loss for not dating or fucking you, you’ll rot through your 30s refreshing your X feed, scavenging for leaks like a starving dog.

On surface level, FOMO is just "make people feel like they'll miss out if they don't buy your products, that's it," "make your customers feel behind," blah blah blah.

But it goes way darker and brutal than that.

As a salesman/copywriter, you need to master how to trigger a very intoxicating and evil version of FOMO in your customers.

Something so Gut wrenchingly devious that they would even be down to sell their kidneys and liver in order to buy your products.

While... While, at the same time thinking it was their decision to begin with.

Once again, take out your notebooks and jot. Pen and paper pls.

In this Series, I'm not only going to teach you how to properly trigger FOMO, but also how to cold approach chicks with my lived data. First encounters and curiosity.

The Lady in the Red Dress.

I've dated lots of girls. Asians, Blacks, whites, and Latinos. Most out of pure chemical intoxication that some of you call love.

Some out of curiosity, and some out of experimental purposes.

But the most memorable girl I've ever dated was Ana.

A Puerto Rican model with a strange addiction to guns and sex.

She bit me when I decided to break up with her, leaving a jagged, red mark on my right arm.

(We'll get to that)

But she unintentionally dragged me into a dark rabbit hole of FOMO.

I met her in a not-so-legal racetrack in Texas.

The smell of burning tires and gasoline hung in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of adrenaline from the crowd.

She was there to watch.

When it comes to approaching girls, I don't use dating apps or Instagram.

My testosterone is too high for that Hellroom.

I cold approach, face to face. Eye to eye.

Anyways, she was wearing a red dress longer than an average Canadian's lifespan.

It clung to her in all the right places, flowing around her like liquid fire with every step.

Pink lipstick sharp as a dagger against her skin. Red heels that clicked on the concrete. A red purse swung from her shoulder, a tiny rose attached to its side, delicate but calculated. On her wrist, a Rolex that glinted coldly in the harsh racetrack lights.

Her hair was black as midnight...

Her body was compact, lethal, perfectly engineered to seduce and destroy.

An egg Shaped butt, spear-like tits, curves that shifted when she moved.

Probably 5'4", but in those heels, she looked 5'6".

Her eyes were the deadliest part...

Hooded and predatory.

Eyes that made you feel like you were being poisoned before you even said a word. Mean-looking in general, but with a kind of raw, dangerous sexiness. She had a Telemundo type of allure, the kind of mean looking beauty that makes men say "she's not my type" out of insecurity.

She looked like what would happen if the devil fucked an angel.

"Give me a second G, I'll be right back" I said to a friend of mine whom I came with as I walked towards her.

I'm pretty straightforward, I don't play that hide and seek Game.

You see, when cold-approaching women, never start with the Joe Schmo “Hi, hello, how are you?” or any of that Disney shit.

Or start calling her beautiful or pretty right away.

That’s one of the fastest ways to kill her libido and make her bisexual.

You have no idea how many men call her an angel on a daily basis.

The goal is to stand out, not look like an average Joe.

Instead of all that boomer shit, use this method instead:

Some people do this subconsciously.

Let’s say you finished reading my post on "How the Horny Man Wins" and you decide to take your testosterone seriously without steroids.

You step into the gym for the first time in your “sensitive young man” life.

Everywhere reeks of cheap deodorant and sweat.

You make sure to avoid the cameras so you don’t get put on TikTok by a Self-Righteous feminist mother of 18 hamsters.

After three Awkward sets of “let me try this shit,” you sit down on a bench, looking at your muscles.

Obviously no changes. It can’t happen... not even in a week.

But due to the placebo effect, you think you’re getting there. Patience my G.

Then suddenly, a random dude approaches you and starts a flow-steady conversation with you effortlessly.

As the conversation commences, you start to feel like you’ve known that guy before... like you’ve seen him somewhere.

After 30 minutes, he leaves, wishing you good luck, while you’re still wondering, “Where have I met this fellow?”

No, you don’t know him, and you haven’t met him before either.

He’s subconsciously using what I call "The Familiar Prince approach method"

And it is automatic for some people like me. But due to my metacognition, I can spot what I’m doing and thinking while.. en train de le faire.

You see, the Familiar Prince is an external-reality-altering cold-approach method where you have to assume that you have known the person before, or have dated or have fucked the person before.

You don’t have to act like it, that’s the job of your subconscious.

You just have to assume.

Then your subconscious will align your body language and speech patterns to match those assumptions, and you will seem familiar even when you're not.

When an individual experiences a sense of familiarity, the nervous system instinctively categorizes the environment, or the person as safe.

And like we discussed, the human nervous system doesn’t know the difference between familiar and safe.

So familiar = safe.

And once the person feels safe, their amygdala downshifts and the prefrontal cortex loses its grip.

And then, then... the lizard brain comes online.

Which is why you’re more likely to make stupid jokes around your friends and not with your dad or mentors.

It’s not because they’re familiar; it’s because you feel safe around them.

The more you do it, the more automatic it becomes.

I also use this on sales calls to skip out on the awkward hellos and hi’s.

(I’ll expand more on this in the G7 course. This Series is already packed with shit-tons of info.)

And do me a favor: On first encounters, never talk too much. You don’t need to, unless you haven’t implemented the FP.

Now, back to Ana.

“Maybe those heels aren’t necessary. You can’t possibly drive in that,”

I said as I approached her, tapping her on the shoulder while staring at her nose.

“None of your fucking business, mister,” she replied, smirking awkwardly like I had poop on my face.

Now this is what your AI Throat fucking, lying ass dating coaches don’t highlight: "Rejection"

They always make it sound perfect and smooth. Obviously that's what sells.

You see, encounters are never perfect.

All girls are not the same.

Not every girl is that sexually deprived college freshman you can bang with $100 and some 2020 Pakistani-coded corny line.

And not every chick is that schizophrenic fem-cel who lives across your apartment.

All girls are not the same. There will always be rejections, even if you look like Chico or Jordan Barrett.

Some chicks have super egos, which makes it fun for me..

Dazzling girls with super egos gives me a dopamine hit.

Bending that ego and fucking/Dating them feels like snorting cocaine laced with everything bad from Columbia the United States government banned.

Anyways, when she said that shit, I got pulled in even more. Ego. I like that.

Now I had to come up with something... a conversation that’s curiosity-driven, that involves the environment, her, myself, and a reward.

“If you race in those stupid heels, and somehow come second place… I’m going to Cash App you...”

I followed, smiling, pulling the Marlboro from my pocket to smoke, while intentionally holding back the last sentence to nuke a crater of curiosity in her brain. something she can fill in the blanks for.

“$5,000” she yelled, moving away from what looked like her boyfriend. I don’t know.

“That’s if I come second place, and also you’d have to wear these pretty heels you call stupid,” she followed, smiling maliciously.

“You greedy Chinese spy, I haven’t even told you the type of race I’m talking about and you're already negotiating like a Saul Goodman"

“Okay, that’s fucking racist, I’m not even Asian... I’m Puerto Rican. And Please, take that cigarette away from me.”

She Replied in that annoying Popular girl accent.

“Thats crazy Miss Ling, well, what am I supposed to call you then? You didn’t even tell me your name.”

“Miss ling?? I just told you I'm not Chinese... And you didn't even ask me for my name in the first place, are you trying to play the mysterious card or some Corny Game? Mr Ling"

“Well something like that, and I'm also cursed. Darling, I don’t ask people their names. It takes 60 years off my lifespan, nukes the shit out of France and causes cancer to a random autistic kid in Canada.”

I responded retardedly on purpose, tilting my head back and blowing the smoke into the sky as she burst into laughter.

You see, if she’s egoistical like you, (I said "like you" because you attract what you are) you don’t confront it.

You Reverse-engineer it.

Now she has to play the Joe Schmoe game of introductions.

Now, She has to ask the questions…

Slowly dismantling that ego like a 2009 Toyota being stripped for parts.

But never use any CIA-coded manipulation straight out of hell like "Identity Dissonance" or any devious shit I taught you on first encounters.

Trust me, you don’t want to set a bar-side on TQs. You won't catch up.

First Encounters need Authenticity and soft persuasive game.

You must be genuine.

Love. Kindness. Craziness. A little persuasion like I we discussed, and Randomness that feels human.

Those hellish manipulation games are for breaking the Titanic... one week deep into the relationship.

That’s when you can safely fuck her mind up until she’s getting a tattoo of your face on her tits.

Back to Ana.

“By the way, I’m Ana. What about you?”

“Ling,” I said. “I mean it this time.”

“Ah, shut the hell up. You look more like a Brad… or a Kellerman,” she replied, moving closer to my face like that one scene in Batman.

“Now that’s fucking racist, Ana,” I followed, just as she burst into another wave of laughter.

“I’m not telling you my real name. It’s against my religion. Call me Ling for now. You’ll understand why soon enough.”

Then I turned to the guy she came with.

“Let me borrow your girl for a second.”

“Um, you know.... ”

“No, no,” she fucking interrupted him before he even got the chance to Speak.

“He’s just my friend.”

He slowly bent his head down.

All I saw in his eyes was pain.

The pain of chasing something you’ll never have... not because you Can’t… but because your testosterone is too low to even arouse her in the first place.

None of my business.

I can’t lend a man my balls.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the noise and smoke of the cars, signaling a primitive trait: Protection.

I took her somewhere quieter, where we could watch the race properly without interruptions.

“$400 the Ferrari SF90 loses.”

Obviously, I knew it wouldn’t. The SF90 is the fastest car on that track.

I just wanted to give her a dopamine hit... so I could withdraw it later.

“$100 it wins,” she said. “And God… that cigarette is going to kill you.”

She glanced back at me after saying it, seeking approval.

That’s when I flexed my intellect.

“What’s the point of existence,” I asked, “if you’re forbidden from pursuing what animates you, Ana? Humans are the only creatures perverse enough to amputate their own desires… moralize them, suppress them, and then call that suppression virtue.”

I pulled out another stick and lit it.

“Release a domesticated cat into the jungle and it will still hunt... not from hunger, but from impulse. Not because it was instructed, but because instinct is embedded. The animal doesn’t negotiate with its nature like you and I do. It doesn’t dilute itself for safety, approval, or survival optics.”

I exhaled.

“It acts because it wants to, even when that wanting places itself and others in danger.”

Obviously, I’m fucking wrong. Cigarettes will flipping kill you. No negotiations.

But I’m a salesman. A copywriter.

I can bend reality to my will with words.

I can make fire desirable.

“Hm,” she said. “Well… I guess you’re right. You’re quite smart. I like that.”

She smiled, her eyes dropping to my chest in a way that wasn’t accidental.

We held a short philosophical exchange... intellectual and unforced.

Then the race ended.

The Ferrari won.

“Pay up, Mr. Ling.”

“That would make you a prostitute, chica... an overcharging one.”

She laughed and stepped closer.

“I’m just joking, but fuck… I hate to say this. I actually do enjoy spending time with you. I don’t even know you, but it feels like I’ve known you forever. Are you leaving soon?”

She paused.

“And what’s that scent?”

She moved into my arms, the arms already wrapped around her waist... and caught a trace of my symbolic aura:

Le Labo Santal 33.

She started smelling me aggressively, almost creepily, her hands roaming my chest.

Those abs were clearly intoxicating.

“Guess the perfume,” I said. “If you guess wrong, I’m holding both your hands and doing something really fucking embarrassing.”

That was my escape hatch.

I had places to be.

You can’t let her fall for you while you’re present.

She has to fall in your absence.

“Tom Ford?” she guessed. “I know I’m wrong. But let’s get beers first so I’m ready for whatever your Ling ass is planning.”

She got beers. I got ice cream.

I don’t drink. I avoid Alcohol like Dropshipping.

We sat in the park, sex-talked lightly, flirted, played with tension.

That’s when I finally called her pretty.

It felt earned, Not like a cheap attention grab.

I was about to leave.

I don’t take numbers on first encounters. The last thing you want is to fill the curiosity hole you just dug in her head.

Let her sit alone.

Let her daydream.

Let her fill the gaps in solitude.

I simply tell them when and where to meet me next... for a proper date.

I also don’t fuck girls on first encounters if I see a future with them.

Let her touch herself.

Let anticipation ferment.

Still, she insisted on taking my number.

“What? Are you scared your pretty girlfriend is gonna be mad at you, Mr. Ling?” she asked, seductively.

This is where most operators fuck up.

“No, Um Acktuelly... I’m single.” Mediocre Daddy boy’s response.

You see, the moment a chick asks you that flappy question... She's not seeking clarity.

She's trying to find out if you're desirable. 

Women get turned on by men with options.

Try going to an event with a wedding ring on your finger... And you'll leave the function with a dry ballsack.

“She might be,” I said instead. “But I like keeping my romantic life off the digital world.”

I pulled her jaw closer and kissed her on the cheek.

“Okay,” she Frowned “See you Saturday. Kronos Kitchen, right? And don’t forget your stupid looking water bottle.”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, “Order salmon immediately when you arrive”

Future placement.

A little Persuasion tactic that gets me stuck in her Hippocampi in the meantime.

Memory sticks to images, not people.

We said our goodbyes.

I walked off, not even sure where I’d parked my car... or where the operator I ame with had disappeared to.

The Horse Date.

Alright, I’ll stop here.

No need to overload your cognitive bandwidth.

In Part 2, we’ll get into the date itself.

The quiet psychological turns. The Hellish manipulation.

The rabbit hole of FOMO Ana dragged me into.

And yeah, maybe I might dissect the IG model biz.

Nothing more, nothing less.

That's it for Today. I'm off.

REJECT MEDIOCRITY

- Giovanni