When will dating stop being so hard for Gen Z?

Wait too long, and she’d forget you even existed.

I listen. I guide. Sometimes I protect.

These girls, they open up in ways you don’t see in “normal” dating.

What baseball stories from the early days of the sport seem too bizarre to be true?

Too soon, and you’d look desperate.

If there are less guys approaching women - to the point where 50% of guys your age

If you’re serious about learning how to approach women, then, I’m here to help. Again, I am not selling anything, I don’t want your money - I’m good.

Can you tell me something about yourself?

Virgins

And now? Now, you just swipe left or right. No awkward calls. No interrogation from dad. No sweaty palms gripping the receiver like a lifeline. It’s all neat, sanitized, and gutless.

The only mercy was time—time to stew, time to replay every stumble, time to promise yourself you’d never be that stupid again. And then, inevitably, you’d do it all over.

Is there a musician who has publicly stated that they do not want their music played by the Trump campaign or at a Trump rally? If so, who and why?

Buckle up, because this is a cocktail of hard-earned wisdom, poor decisions, and a willingness to wade waist-deep into the absurdities of modern dating.

So, I dug in, peeled back the layers of this sociocultural onion, and yeah, I’ve figured it out. I know why men aren’t stepping up. And more importantly, I know how to fix it.

It sucked. It was a bloodsport—a gladiatorial brawl for your dignity where the odds were stacked against you, the crowd was jeering, and the lions were already licking their chops.

What is the irony of life according to you?

Don’t put your loser negativity in the comment section.

are either

All of this is GOOD NEWS! It should seem obvious, but from your perspective, its not.

What happens psychologically to a man the first time he gets penetrated anally?

It’s an epidemic.

Save it for your incel group.

They spill their secrets, their heartbreaks, their schemes, and their dreams.

How has your life changed since starting college?

But when you finally did muster the nerve to dial, you’d hit another goddamn wall:

That means - you’ve got almost ZERO competition. You need to start trying. I’ve got dozens of videos with GenZ women complaining about you not trying. Extremely hot - Gen Z chicks.

In short - you’ve just got no game - but its not your fault.

Why did lobsters evolve bright colors if they are neither poisonous nor venomous?

And let me tell you, fathers in those days weren’t just protective; they were full-blown sentinels guarding the gates of hell.

I wasn’t suprised…The girls I date are stunners, the kind of women who turn sidewalks into catwalks. Of course guys don’t approach them. Guy’s DON’T approach dimes—they’re terrified.

he’d be the one to pick up.

Hello, I have a question about astral projection. I started to get interested in this a little while after my mum passed in april. I thought I may be able to see her and speak with her if I managed to achieve astral projection. Since this interest, every time i sleep on my back I go into sleep paralysis. However, I cant progress into astral projection because it is very scary for me as I feel like I'm suffocating when this happens. I panic and force myself to wake up. This only ever happened about once a year before this. It sometimes lasts a long time. This has happened about 3 times per week since my mum died, as mentioned on a previous post. I no longer try to go into it anymore(due to the suffocating feeling), but it still happens. I read that sleep paralysis is the pathway to astral projection. Why has this started to happen so frequently since simply taking an interest in it? Is this connected to the afterlife? I am concerned about it as I now cannot seem to stop this happening. Could it be my mum trying to communicate? Im asking due to more knowledge around this in this group.

If I’d had the choice back then, you can bet your ass I’d have taken the easy way out. But here’s the ugly truth, my friend: all this convenience comes with a price. The grit, the effort, the goddamn humanity of it all has been gutted, leaving behind a sterile, hollow shell.

Dropped out of the dating scene

That first "uh, hey" would leave your lips, shaky and desperate, and she’d glance at you like you were a stray dog begging for scraps.

Watch: Moment crowd boos and cheers Trump at Kennedy Center - BBC

What I am is a dude who’s actually concerned with this problem, and, I can help. For free.

**guys don’t approach me!**

That’s the gauntlet we came from—the crucible of humiliation and raw, unfiltered chaos. The one we survived.

Why do guys on dating apps often just first message "hey" or "hey how are you" instead of being more creative and unique? How do they think being a copycat will stand out?

Forget the Hollywood fantasy of smirking Casanovas armed with killer one-liners and perfectly tousled hair under neon lights.

They ask for advice, and there’s no jealousy poisoning the well.

her dad. If she lived at home—and most of them did back then

What is one small habit that has transformed your life in unexpected ways?

No, it was more like strapping on a blindfold, stepping into a minefield, and praying you didn’t explode into a million pathetic pieces.

Enter Gen Z, a new crop of frustrated souls, but the frustration is eerily familiar.

Then it’d come—the rejection, sharp and merciless, cutting through the smoky haze of the room like a knife through your soul. But that wasn’t the worst part, oh no. The worst part was the *spectacle*. Her friends would swoop in like vultures, eyes gleaming, ready to eviscerate what little was left of you. You weren’t just rejected; you were a public execution.

I can not sleep. what is the problem?

Now, sugar dating? That’s a different beast. It’s refreshingly laid back—a strange, unspoken contract of mutual honesty and boundary-free conversation.

First of all - I am not selling anything. I am not a “coach.” I don’t want your money. I’m good. I’ve got videos of me in my Lamborghini Huracan, and Ferrari California to prove it.

But as I listened more and started connecting dots, I realized this wasn’t just a hot-girl problem.

What is it like to be the slave in a mistress-slave relationship?

If you’ve got a reason for NOT approaching women - don’t watch my videos…

They’d answer with a voice like gravel and demand to know your name, your intentions, your SAT score—hell, maybe even your blood type.

I’ve ridden this wave long enough to see a generational shift.

I haven’t eaten junk food for weeks, I ate dirty all-day yesterday, but I can’t even workout, why am I so tired?

Both groups—Millennials and Gen Z—are grumbling the same refrain:

And let’s say, by some unholy miracle, you got her number. Don’t start celebrating yet, cowboy—you were still deep in the trenches.

For a solid decade, I was neck-deep in the pick-up artist scene. Yes, it works—and by "works," I mean becoming a swaggering, dopamine-addled caricature of a man. You learn the tricks, the lines, the rhythms of a social dance that’s as contrived as a daytime infomercial. But here’s the rub: it turns you into an unholy blend of desperation and bravado—a full-tilt douchebag with a veneer of charisma. Eventually, you start to hate your own reflection. That’s when I bailed.

Right now, your natural instinct is to give me a “reason” why you can’t.

First came the mental gymnastics of when to call.

In the 90’s - you didn’t have a choice - cold approaching was just what you had to do.

And you would. Oh, you absolutely *would*.

Either way, the clock was ticking, and every passing second chipped away at your already tenuous grip on sanity.

It’s a strange, paternalistic partnership, and God help me, I actually enjoy it.

Every word out of your mouth felt like a confession at gunpoint. You’d be sweating bullets, trying to sound like some paragon of virtue, knowing full well he was picturing you as the scumbag who’d ruin his daughter’s life.

As a 48-year-old Sugar Daddy, I’ve seen the battlefield from both trenches, and let me tell you—it’s a hell of a vantage point.

And there was no goddamn escape hatch. No apps to swipe your failures away, no digital armor to protect your ego. You were exposed, raw and bleeding, stranded in the harsh fluorescent light of reality. You’d sit there, a monument to your own humiliation, drowning in the bitter cocktail of shame and regret.

I used to date Millennials until they hit the “expiration date.” The youngest Millennials are 29 now—aging out of the sugar scene and into therapy. (The more bitter ones will be in this answer’s comment section)