Kate Nash has the type of success story that would be impossible to explain to your mother:a bedroom blogger who became an internet star almost overnight when Lily Allen (that myspace connoisseur and other darling of the myspace groupies) bumped her up to 8th in her friend list. I don’t understand, says your mother. Sssshhh, you say, all that matters is that thousands of people were listening to her songs before she even had a record deal. By the following April she had signed a record deal, and by August she was celebrating a number one album. And then, last year, everything went quiet in Nashville. She took a gap year from music, citing reasons close to a ‘breakdown’.

‘I was just really exhausted. I just thought, fuck, I need to go and get the excitement back. ‘And’ she adds, betraying a little more ironic self-awareness than you expect of a singer telling someone how hard life is on the road, ‘I also needed to write a second record that didn’t consist of me just moaning about being on tour. Or about no one understanding me.’

Kate Nash doesn’t immediately warm to me. Probably because one of the first questions I ask her accidentally comes across as me trying to bait her into bad mouthing the Brit school, the infamous arts school that was, essentially, her sixth form college.

‘People turn their nose up at it. A lot of time in education people end up feeling like they have to do certain things, they get a grade C and they’re told that’s not good enough but that’s the best they can achieve and the smartest they can be. So, to suddenly go to a school like the Brit – they encourage you to be a different kind of person, a creative person. Show you that there are other skills you can learn in life. It can completely save someone’s life.’ Ah, that’s told me then. But Nash is rightly wary of leading questions, her strong opinions are one of the few ways she can legitimately be compared to Lily Allen (so, therefore, people do it all the time). But, once you get her talking about things she is – cue awful media cliché – passionate about, she warms up. In fact, there’s almost no stopping her. She’s come back, clearly stronger, as a bit of a woman on a mission.

The song on her album that seems to sum this is up is ‘Mansion song’, a track with an aggressive spoken word intro that begins with the line ‘I wanna be fucked and then rolled over, ’cause i’m an independent woman of the twenty-first century’. It’s about the groupie culture of festivals, the girls who live for one night stands with rockstars.
‘It is explicit. I mean, it just came out of me, thinking about the stereotypical bullshit of girls hanging round festivals with everyone laughing at them and thinking they’re stupid slags, while they think they’re living this really crazy exciting lifestyle. They just get picked up in one town and dropped off in another.’

‘I think a lot of girls use sex and sexual favours as a way of getting some self esteem and I think that’s just so damaging and negative.’
So, is Nash the new voice of girl power in the music industry? The combined and updated Spice Girls with real opinions that aren’t just used to sell a couple more records?

‘There need to be bigger voices. I think people are afraid of the word feminism.’

I can see her point. Feminism in the current age, is either a dirty word, or used by Page three girls and strippers to defend why they take their clothes off. Although, obviously, it’s not as clear cut as that. But, what does it mean for Nash? After all, she made a whole single lamenting that her other half was being a ‘dickhead’, and that could be described neither as liberating, nor empowering. It just had a bit of swearing in it .

‘There’s loads of fucked up stuff about this industry and I’ve known that for along time now, but you don’t have to sell yourself to be successful. There was this song I wrote after I went to this award ceremony. I hated everyone there – it was all really seedy. I wrote a song after called Model Behaviour, and it’s got this lyric which goes ‘You don’t have to suck dick to succeed’. You don’t have to sell your soul, you don’t have to be a slag. I’ve done it now and I did it on my own terms and I didn’t become a prick.’

‘First off all, it’s just so offensive to be called a chav and second of all it’s offensive to be called fake. I hate it when people say ‘Oh look at you with your ‘mockney’ accent’ and I’m like well, I don’t understand why people think i’m putting it on. It’d be too exhausting.’
‘My mum is working class and has a working class accent and she’s always taught me to be as smart as I can possibly be. There’s nothing to be proud about being stupid. ‘

And whilst this, in black and white, looks dangerously like someone with a chip on their shoulder having a bit of a rant, actually, it’s the symptom of quite an interesting awareness of the music industry, and all its obstacles. She ends, simply, with a sentence that all wannabes (I’m talking to you, X Factor contestants) should read. The bluntest, truest quote about the weird showbiz world and how to get through it without going mad.

‘You know, it’s really fucked up, but you just have to be proud of who you are.’

‘It always seems to be the case that in the majority of relationships the boy is older than the girl. At school all the eligible, potential girlfriends had older boyfriends who at the time were working or at university. When I arrived at university the same thing happened, this time with the third year boys. Now that I am beginning my third year, should I feel bad about hanging about with the freshers with the ulterior motive of meeting girls?’

I wish you had let me know that finding a suitable partner at school would have been as straightforward as me getting out my driving licence. Not as proof that I either have a car or am able to drive which are so clichéd that they’re almost not cool anymore, but instead to brag about the fact that my date of birth was, albeit only just, in the eighties. This is the same driving licence that opens up the door to a wide range of other things girls might be attracted to: the rebellious teenage boy who buys perfectly legal tobacco and chain smokes, but only on Friday and Saturday nights, or being the one who purchases a large bottle of Tesco’s finest vodka to be drunk in the cold on a park bench. I also wish it was actually like that, but I am afraid it simply isn’t. There are plenty of younger boys whom, whilst not describable as hirsute, can be debonair and more than able to find a girlfriend. The age difference tends to be a result of varying maturity and similarly, girlfriendless boys tend to be a result of eligibility. So of course, you can try leading on a naive fresher girl who is desperate to make friends.

Yes you can hope to enter into an all too temporary and selfish relationship which will end as soon as finals mean you don’t have time for it any more. Perhaps the chat up line, “I am familiar with Oxford’s ridiculous one-way and library systems,” will work for you. But I have a strong feeling that it won’t, rendering your unscrupulous intentions moot.

Gin puts me in perfect spirits. Unlike other more aggressive drinks – vodka, for instance, which caused a friend of mine to punch a prostitute in Prague (disclaimer: it was an accident) – I find that a G & T’s effervescence is infectious. Still, it must be remembered that what is now the bourgeois drink of choice was considered the ‘Special Brew’ of the Eighteenth Century.

At twice the strength of what is today, the average Londoner was reported to drink 14 gallons of the stuff a year in 1743, and the highly unpopular Gin Acts of the 1736 and 1751 lead to mass rioting in the streets. Gin has never quite been able to lose its patina of seediness and always puts me in mind of Seventies’ cocktail parties – shabby tweed, wonky bow ties and yellowing fingers. Regardless, it’s a terrific tipple and gin and tonic is, for my two cents, the perfect post-work reviver, and one with elevenses makes for a very pleasurable lunch.

What’s crucial in a G & T is not the gin but the tonic – it should be a good brand (Schweppes is my benchmark, full fat to avoid artificial sweetness) and come from cans to guarantee fizz. Keep the gin in the freezer and serve with fresh lemon, lime or cucumber (niche but excellent, especially with Hendricks) over plenty of ice. Use large ice cubes to minimize melting.

At the supermarket I’d buy the cheapest ‘London Gin’ available, Gordon’s or Beefeater’s say. Legally, ‘gin’ has a very wide definition, but buying ‘London Gin’ ensures that it’s been redistilled and uses only natural flavourings. For a martini or pink gin, where the gin’s flavour is foremost, I’d recommend Tanqueray Ten, a king amongst gin. Right, that’s me finished, I’ve got tasting to do – another two fingers for the Cherwell’s Resident Ponce?

‘The Game’ is probably the most interesting thing you’ll find in the biography section in Blackwells. Sure, you’ve got your politician’s autobiographies, and your Billy Shakespeare, and sure, they’ve done some pretty inspiring things. But they’re not going to teach you how to get laid.And that’s what Neil Strauss (alias ‘Style’) claims to do. But do these sure-fire seduction techniques themselves translate geographically? The differences between LA and its glamorous nightlife seem a world away from Oxford, sheltering from the rain in this quaint, antiquated bookshop. Surely techniques that work on a woman in LA cannot and will not work in Oxford University – home of a more ‘discerning’ breed of romantic; the sexually frustrated and overly intellectualised.

A Boy’s Take

The more I explored Strauss’ book (not the greatest paragon of literary achievement, I’ll admit) I realised I was already familiar with much of its advice. Pick up terminology such as ‘wingman’ and ‘cockblock’ are now firmly established into the popular consciousness of our generation. I do not consider myself a ‘ladies man’ by any stretch of the imagination, but much of it was also common sense. When has winning over a girl’s friends first to get her approval ever been a secret? Playing hard to get, which is at the core of much of Strauss’ views on seduction, I learnt aged seven in the playground during kiss-chase. Appearing unavailable, but also flirty, whether boy or girl, can clearly only add to your attractiveness.

Everybody knows that anything worth having is a challenge to get. Strauss believes that even if you don’t think that you are worth having, at least try to come across like you are. Confidence is everything; another thing that you don’t need to have read ‘The Game’ to have worked out.

With Strauss’ book, socializing and seduction are reduced to quasi-scientific jargon. Nothing to do with seduction is intangible or spontaneous. Absolutely everything can be broken down to logical steps to achieve a predetermined goal. Actually, the main character trait which Style and his buddies MPUAs betray is just extreme nerdiness. When he receives a phone call from one of his partners, you can’t help thinking this it’s more World of Warcraft than Sunset Boulevard: “I was in a two set and I was trying to neg the target but I got IOIs [Indicators Of Interest] from the obstacle, should I have DLV-ed [Demonstration of Lower Value] or DHV-ed [Demonstration of Higher Value], assuming that she was a SHB 11 [Super Hot Babe, on a scale of 1-10]?”

Though, at times you might pity the obsessive behaviour of Style et al., you can’t lie that they get extraordinary results, batting far and away beyond their average. Strauss, himself a skinny, balding, self-proclaimed geek managed to get Britney Spears’ phone number (back in the days when I assume she was considered attractive)
But should we feel bad consciously manipulating girls through Strauss’ techniques? It’s certainly different from how I’ve considered relationships with the fairer sex and dating in general thus far.

Whether through nature or nurture, I’ve grown up firmly believing that the best way for boys to attract girls is through being chivalrous and nice; genuine and honest. The right kind of girl would appreciate the subtleties of these qualities, I thought.

Wrong, according to Strauss. I had to rewire all my preconceived views on socialising and go out of my comfort-zone and against my instincts.

First off, I had to compete with AMOGs (Alpha Male of the Group) and indulge in ‘negging’ and ‘peacocking’, the two bastions of his routines. Where better than a Thursday night Bridge, the pinaccle of Oxford nightlife?

Strauss defines ‘negging’ as “actively demonstrating a lack of interest in a beautiful woman by making an ambiguous statement, insulting her in a way that appears accidental, or offering constructive criticism.” Set piece lines such as “You’d totally be my type if I wasn’t gay” or “I like your nails, are they fake?” apparently work wonders. Simple enough concept? I tried it out. Approaching a very pretty, curvy blonde girl with the line: “Hey, I like your jumper, is it meant to be that tight?” I would love to tell you that she completely bought it and we immediately started getting off, but all I received was an expletive directed and the sight of her back as she walked away. That’ll be awkward when we run into each other on Cornmarket.

‘Peacocking’ is another technique that Strauss lives by, defined as “to dress in loud clothing or with flashy accoutrements in order to get attention from women.” Staples in any self-respecting MPUA’s [Master Pick Up Artist] wardrobe must include: leather trousers, feather bowers and ostentatious dangling ear rings akin to Andre Agassi circa 1983. So a pink sequined cowboy hat and I’m in business? Excellent.
Sadly, dressing in ridiculous clothing to attract attention to yourself is nothing new to our university city. Everyone seems to be doing it already. I recently wore a cowboy hat out to a bar and rather than attracting girls’ attention, more than one person asked me which bop I’d just come from. ‘Peacocking’ was a resounding failure in Oxford where outlandish (fancy) dress is just an everyday occurrence. University towns are the places where strangers don’t bat an eyelid if you walked around the city 24/7 in black tie.

In the battle of the sexes, says Strauss, knowledge is power. If you can show somebody that you have them sussed out with your greater understanding of human behaviour to be able to read their personality like a book, then you can have them eating out of the palm of your hand. But do these techniques work? I couldn’t say. Perhaps sometimes in some situations with some girls they do. Another line of thinking would be that Strauss is in fact overthinking everything, he should just have gone to Fuzzy Ducks on a Wednesday night…

A Girl’s Take

Every wannabe lad worth his rock salt has read ‘The Game’. I’ve been explained the basic rules many a time, usually accompanied by reams of success stories, “I totally picked up this girl using this line from the Game and then we slept together.” Er, very unlikely. In fact, I’d say nigh on impossible in Oxford. Very few girls are going to go for ‘I’m gay’ followed by lunge, or listen to a half-hour long spiel of neg-isolate-kiss-close – I’ve just handed in an essay and I want to dance on the cheese floor with my girlfriends.

However, in the spirit of emancipation, liberation and all things feminist, I’m prepared to try out these moves myself. If they (supposedly) work for boys, then maybe they’re worth a try for me.
9.30 am, ready to set off to the Rad Cam with Shakespeare and Macbook in hand, I add a cheeky pair of high heels and a beret. Naturally, I bought it for a bop, but I thought as an act of peacocking it’s simple. But getting to an empty desk was embarrassing rather than a confidence boost, and I’m pretty sure that the looks I was getting were disdainful for the clip-clop noise my heels were making on the floor. Approaching two boys whispering by the photocopying machine, I tried out a literature-related neg on one of them. (Strauss rates his targets on a 1-10 scale, I’d say the two I had in front on me were a 5 and 5.5. Not great, but its slim pickings out there, and no amount of flirting is going to solve that.) Pointing to the Cambridge Companion to Hamlet, “Ah, wise move to start with the easy stuff.” After an initial quizzical look at my heels, conversation was facilitated, and email addresses were exchanged (we’re doing the same special author dontcha know?) although it was more along the lines of how far had I got in the faculty reading list than shall we go back to my room and have sex.

Encouraged by my small success I gave it a go in the Bridge that evening. I had little trouble with peacocking in this situation, my make-up and short skirt routine were surely the definition of it to begin with. But when I got into the Bridge, all psyched up and ready to get my game on, I realized that none of this was necessary for me. Because the brutal truth is, that with the majority of unattached boys (I won’t say every) a simple lunge works wonders. Seduction techniques are fundamentally unnecessary. Sure, Strauss’ rules will work, but a flirty neg and memorized opener won’t work any better than anything else – they may be clever, but these boys aren’t the hardest challenge to crack.