Women don’t look at height like we look at breast size.

Women don’t rip us apart like we rip them apart.

You’re sitting a pool with a bunch of guys in South Beach, Florida.  A woman walks by in a bikini.

“She’d be pretty hot if she just lost a few pounds.”

“Her jugs—yes!”

“Naw man, check out her cellulite.”

Meanwhile…

You’re sitting there with your man belly hanging over your Speedo—oops, not your Speedo, but your “board shorts”.

You’re sitting there eating popcorn shrimp and French fries.  Your chest is about as flat as a 14-year-old girl that hasn’t hit puberty yet.

Not to mention you’re 5’6″ in heels, and maybe 140 pounds dripping wet.

Women don’t see size like you see cellulite and her 10 extra pounds, or the roots in her hair.

Women seek confidence.

I’ve got a client––5’5″.  He calls himself Napoleon because he’s the little dictator.

He gets laid more than anybody I’ve ever met in my entire life.  Tall women, short women, old women, young women, blonde women, Asian women, it doesn’t make a difference.

He’s got, what I call, the Napoleon Syndrome—it’s the more positive side to the short-man complex.

It’s not about how tall you are, it’s about how you use every inch of your body as a strength.  Here’s the deal: Women don’t know what they want until it’s standing right in front of them.

We look at things from man’s point of view; I call it man’s world.

Man’s world is this: each man can describe exactly what they’re looking for in a woman to the T—5’3″, blonde, 114 pounds, with a C-Cup, and firm calves.

She must be this, she must be that—we’re very physical.

So in turn, because of our obsession with the physical, we think that women must be obsessed the same exact way.

How many times have you seen a guy bald with a pot belly walking around with a beautiful woman?  How many times have you seen a short guy walking around with a beautiful woman?

That could be you.

The reason why it’s not you is because you don’t understand how to use your height to your advantage.  Because there’s one thing women are attracted to every single time: confidence.

A guy could be 6’2″ and chiseled, but have no confidence—he isn’t going to get laid.

A guy could be 5’6″ competing with the 6’2″ Adonis, and he could be full of confidence, wit, and personality, with no fear when he talks to her, and guess who’s going home with that girl that night?

The 5’6″ guy.

My roommate in college was named Mark Behar.  He was short, fat, bald, and Jewish, even when he was 18.  A couple of years ago I went out with him in the city. We went to this restaurant on Park Avenue.

The waitress came over and gushed over me.  He’s seen it 1,000 times before.

So he said, “Excuse me, are you just the typical woman who goes for the tall, good looking guy.  You don’t even know what he’s all about.”

She started giggling.

He then looked at her and said, “Have you ever been with a short, fat, bald Jewish guy?  I bet you haven’t.  You’re so typical; you never broaden your horizons.  You’ve had the same relationships over and over with the tall, good-looking guy.  Good for you. What a limiting mindset and belief you have.

Go.  I want a hamburger.  Go get me a hamburger with some fries.”

She came back about 10 minutes later with the drinks.

He looked at her and again said, “Have you thought about it or are you going to continue to gush over my friend?  Because let me tell you, you’ve never slept with a short, fat, bald Jewish guy and until you do you’ll never understand the power of what we possess over you.

How are my fries and burger doing? Go get it.”

She came back with the fries and burger with a little giggle on her face.

I no longer was getting the attention; I got the first two rounds.

“You’ve switched positions now haven’t you?  You’ve got to admit, you’re intrigued, aren’t you.  You wonder what it’s like to be with a short, fat, bald, Jewish guy aren’t you?”

She giggled and laughed some more.

“By the way, can you get me some broccoli too?  I want some veggies to go with my fries.  Go. Leave.”

At the end of the meal, she’s gushing over him now, wondering who he is, what he’s all about.

He’s literally eight inches shorter than me, bald as can be, with a belly; if we stood there and were judged as purely physical specimens, I would win every single time.

But at the end of the meal, guess whom she was ogling?  Him.

He planted the seed and that’s all you can do.

It’s about believing in yourself and calling her out on her bullshit.

Watch what happens.

 

I bet it would surprise you.