The Attractive Man Meetup had a subtitle of ‘being socially magnetic’. The group seemed to be about ‘self-development and dating’; I was intrigued. I had recently been on number of dates and all of them had been thoroughly depressing. After a bad date I tend to ask myself a set of standard questions. The first question, unfortunately, usually went: ‘why did I start talking about my marriage?’
I am, however, usually pragmatic (and thick skinned) enough to realise that my romantic failures might have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me: I just might not be tall enough, or my glasses might not look right, or the way that I drink my lime and soda with a straw might be not be sufficiently sophisticated.
I scrolled down the list of past events. They had titles like, ‘discover how to attract beautiful women’, ‘how to have everything you want in life’ and how to ‘design a lifestyle with abundance and become a leader’. There was a speaker who had published a book entitled, ‘the noble art of seducing women’. This was clearly the group that I had been searching for.
The journey was straightforward. I caught a tube from Camden Town, changed at Kings Cross, and caught a circle line train to Farringdon. I had to find a pub called The Castle. As soon as I emerged from the Tube, I peered at the sides of buildings, awkwardly looking upwards for street signs. After a few moments of becoming overwhelmed by new shops, buildings and bustling commuters, I reached for my phone, opened a map, fiddled around with my GPS setting and figured that I needed to walk around two hundred yards. Technology had made me lazy. I was conscious that I wasn’t taking in too much of my surroundings: I was just ‘going to a place’ rather than taking the time to look around and discover more about the areas that I was accidentally going to.
I stepped into The Castle. It was busy, noisy and crowded. It was one of those pubs where office workers would go after a long day at a desk: it was a place to unwind; it was a place you would really enjoy visiting if you were in the right mood. The contrast between the sounds on the street and the noise of the chatter and banter in the bar was unsettling. I looked around: I found the bar, the toilets, and a small sign at the back of the pub to say that a function room had been reserved. I walked upstairs.
‘Is this the Meetup?’
‘Hey! How are you doing?’ A very tall man with a huge smile offered his hand.
‘Yes, this is it. It starts at seven thirty’.
The event had been advertised to start at seven o’clock and I was on time; I was mildly grumpy, but I tried to hide it. I went back downstairs and order a pint. I killed time by sitting on a stool, deleting as many office emails as I could through my smartphone and did some people watching. I sat opposite a middle aged couple who were clearly out on a date. Towards the back of the room there were some Japanese people. A woman in a glamourous blue dress took pictures of the visitors. I assumed it was some kind of social event that was connected to an extended business meeting.
By the time I returned to the room, almost all the chairs were taken, except for the two front rows. A black backdrop had been erected, and two large powerful lamps were shining onto what was an impromptu stage. I introduced myself to a chap called Nico who was clearly on his own. We asked each other if we’ve been to this group before: this was Nico’s first visit and I told Nico that this was my first time. I told him about my quest; I was becoming bolder.
‘What other things have you been to?’
I told Nico that I was part way through an improv course that I had chosen by accident. I told him that it was crazy, but fun. I told him that the teacher described it as ‘like Christianity, but better’.
‘Who runs that course?’
I told him the name of the facilitator.
‘I’ve taken that course’. Even though we had never met before, it turned out that we had some friends in common. We were both amazed by this serendipitous discovery.
The very tall guy with the huge smile walked to the front of the ‘stage’, introduced himself as Ben, and thanked us all for coming along. He explained that the group was originally only about dating (and that he was a dating coach), but the remit had expanded to other aspects of self-development. He then introduced the speaker for the night: a smartly dressed chap called Martin who was in his early thirties.
Martin started by telling us that he was really an introvert, that he had been trapped in a cycle of going to work and going home, going to work and going home. He told us that he was unsatisfied with his life; that there was something that was missing. It was a great way to get us all engaged; I realised that the majority of the people in this group were there because they were unhappy about something or other. I was one of them.
He spoke about setting goals, connecting with people and shared strategies about how to start conversations with strangers. One of his ideas was really simple: that practice was important. Practice means that you lose your fear of things that you find challenging, that life is all about getting outside of your comfort zone. Martin said that it’s okay to feel anxious about stuff: ‘if you’re not anxious, that means you’re a sociopath’. Martin’s biggest tip was also one of the simplest: smile at people. He had clearly read and devoured the classic, ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’, which also offers the same obvious timeless advice.
It was a masterful speech. He asked us questions; he made self-deprecating jokes, and congratulated us for coming along, for we were all starting a ‘journey’ of change and self-improvement. It was simple and clear talk but it wasn’t patronising. He had read the room well, and gave us an impressive performance in exchange for our time. As he was ending he told us that he would be briefly talking about the ‘conversation courses’ that he runs.
‘Put your hand up if you would be interested in hearing more.’ Almost everyone put up their hands. We were told that his course distils a decade of ‘psychodynamic research’ into an intense period of three days. If anyone was interested, they should go to the corner of the room, where he would give everyone a few more details. Martin’s talk ended: everyone clapped. The event organiser stepped forward and thanked everyone for coming, asked for another round of applause for Martin, and suggested that we all have drinks downstairs.
‘You interested?’ I asked Nico. Nico wore a wry smile. We both decided to go downstairs.
After ten minutes of chatting, we realised that hardly any people had left the room. Martin, it seemed, was still holding court; he had charmed just about everyone. We returned to the meeting room. I overheard Martin saying: ‘Its fourteen hundred pounds if you sign up through this group, but if you leave it a bit later, this price increases to two thousand’.
Nico sat down on a sofa and I got chatting to a fella called Simon who was new to London. Simon was soon sharing his philosophy about happiness with me: ‘happiness is something that you work on. It’s something that I connect with self-development; becoming the best that you can be, both mentally and physically. When you’re working on that, you find happiness’. Simon’s words made me realise that there were aspects of the group that had cultish overtones; there would always be something you needed to work on before you become a paragon of perfect manliness.
I wandered towards the back of the room. Martin was in the middle of an in depth conversation with a small group of guys: I wanted to say hello to him. I joined two people who were having an unexpected conversation about ‘orgasmic meditation’.
‘As a meditation, it’s a paired practice; you do it with your partner. The aim isn’t orgasm, but connection: you both get to the same place, to the same zone of meditation and arousal. Me and my girlfriend went on a course…’
‘There are courses on this?’ I asked, joining the conversation, perhaps a little too abruptly.
They both asked me who I was and what I did for a living. I told them that I worked in the technology bit of a university. The recipient of the orgasmic meditation lecture said that he had just finished a master’s degree in law, and was interested in doing some teaching: he was keen to network.
The conversation quickly returned to orgasmic meditation. I couldn’t help but feel that guy who was talking about it was implicitly bragging that he had a girlfriend, and the majority of the guys attending this group probably didn’t.
I looked around the room; it was starting to become quiet. It was time for me to go. I said my goodbyes. As I left, I heard the words: ‘what’s your name and email address; I can send you some information about my course…’
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