Book Review: Daygame Mastery

the dark, forbidden, secret truth that women like men with boundaries

The worst part about the pickup artistry book Daygame Mastery is that a lot of the advice is good.

The good advice is why I’m bothering to review it. I read Andrew Tate’s shitty book—ten hours of my life I will never get back—and didn’t write about it because there’s nothing there. Tate is a sad, pathetic man who wants you to be as sad and pathetic as he is so he can maintain his delusions of success and masculinity. A crab bucket with redpill characteristics.

But Nick Krauser has actually caught on to something. Many men could read this book and be happier people. It’s like he’s selling ice cream with shit sprinkles and I’m like “this ice cream is going to give you interesting intestinal diseases” and his audience is like “it’s cold! It’s sweet! It tastes good!” and I’m like “why don’t you go to Mark Manson’s store Models: Attract Ice Cream Through Honesty, which has zero shit on it?” and they’re like “well, see, the other thing I like about this ice cream is that it hates women.”

The metaphor got a bit away from me there.

Narrowly, Daygame Mastery is about walking up to female tourists on the street in London and convincing them that they should have a wild vacation fling with someone and that someone should be you. I’m in favor of some men offering this service, which seems likely to make many women happy. Krauser particularly seeks out women from relatively patriarchal countries (the Middle East, Eastern Europe, Russia), many of whom no doubt need a fling with someone who couldn’t possibly tell their communities. It’s sex-positive feminism, if you squint.

Some of the advice is awful. Halfway through the book turns into a rape manual, a subject about which I’ll write in more detail in another post. And a dishonorable mention goes to the lengthy discussion of how to “frame crush” a “masculine woman,” which comes off as a masturbatory fantasy about how hard Krauser would show up those feminazis if he ever had the chance. “And then I’ll tell her I read Tolstoy, and she’ll be paralyzed and speechless, and everyone on the street will clap, and her panties will spontaneously catch fire from arousal, and King Arthur will reawaken and expel femcentrism from Britain—” Come on. In real life, a quarter of the time she’ll start singing “it’s a complicated Russian novel, everyone’s got nine different names.”

But in general Krauser has a remarkably accurate model of at least one way to be appealing to women.