William is part of a group of British guys who travel thousands of miles across the pond just to get laid. On New Year’s Eve, they went to San Diego on their international pickup tour, and I went with them. San Diego was an atypical place for them, as they’d made a tradition of following a model I’d compare to a plotline from the film Love Actually: go to a bumblefuck college town in America, impress girls with their British accents, and have as much sex as possible.
…Though this was William’s first foray into anglophile-baiting sex tourism, his friends Dan, Carl, and Chris had fucked their way through several college towns, including Auburn, West Chester, Syracuse, Tuscaloosa, and Tempe, all trading off the basic assumption that British dudes are more attractive than American ones. Their operation has proven effective: the Auburn student newspaper wrote about the fact that they came to the town at all, which should give you an idea of how excited some American women are at the prospect of simply interacting with them.
In the 12 hours we spent together from 10 PM on New Year’s Eve to a very hungover ride back to Los Angeles International Airport the next morning, I saw three naked girls in the flesh and heard tales of run-ins with Ron Jeremy, a British pornstar, and angry parents who tried to assault Chris for sleeping with their daughter in the middle of a forest in Pennsylvania. I spent the entire evening with them, yelling over a crowded table of several women competing for their bottle service, watching over the aftermath the next morning in their hotel suites (after all but William had gotten laid; William and I “snogged and cuddled,” as Chris put it, adding that it made him feel nauseous), and riding along in the car during their last moments in the States.
I talked with girls who called themselves sluts for sleeping with them, but never once heard the guys talk down about their entire operation. They were adamant about not being cast as pickup artists in my story. But they readily admitted to lying to girls when they met them, saying they were writers from the British GQ, or the entire band the Arctic Monkeys. And even when they didn’t, they were still using their accents to get pussy. Their very presence in these places seems to be the neg: we’re here, we sound cooler than that guy you fucked last week, and we’ll give you a more interesting story to tell than anything you could drum up in this town. Perhaps if every pickup artist had a British accent, a boarding pass, and a current passport, they wouldn’t have to resort to traditional negging.
These fucking guys. As if you needed any more evidence that chicks lose their minds for a British accent, just take the 5 amigos up here who just roll into town, talk about jolly old England and proceed to fuck everyone on site.
Have you seen Love Actually? Who came up with your plan to come here and do this, and when did it start?
Dan: About two years ago, I did. Other people come, my brother and that. This is William’s first trip with us. We just thought, and not based on that movie, but in general, “Why go to Vegas and make things hard?” Everyone there is trying to show off, money and that.
Chris: But in America in, say, Arizona, or wherever, it’s absolute nothingness! You know, in Westchester, Pennsylvania, it’s forest for miles.
Carl: It’s that pull. That pull of being foreign, of being English, that’s a big pull here.
Chris: Right. Like, Alabama is the best place!
William: A British accent is nothing [in San Diego,] but middle America? It’s the best tool in the world.
It’s unreal. 100% of the guys reading this hate their guts, and 100% of the guys reading this would kill to trade places with them. They’re college superstars. The Auburn newspaper wrote a freaking article just on the fact that they were on campus.
They leave all their hotel rooms looking like this.
Their lives are like this:
Have you ever had a girlfriend in all this?
Chris: When I went to Athens, Georgia. I was really good! I behaved. After we broke up, I went on spring break in Panama City. Nine girls. Five days.
They bang the f’ing reporter writing about them!
God damnit. Only thing I miss more than college, is the fact I was never a British dude with a savage accent visiting a college for a weekend.