Stockholm. Recommended.
First, to dispel the myth: it is not bursting at the seams with superhotties. In fact, 8.5s and 9s were almost totally absent. However, there are far, far more 7's and 8's than in New York. They are in plenty and are out everywhere. Lithe is not the norm, either. The girls are on average sturdier and thicker through the thighs, hips, and ass than New York girls, but they are IN SHAPE. Firm, bouncy asses were everywhere, paired with shapely, muscular upper legs. Coming back to New York, I saw women with asses that seemed nicer and rounder on first glance, but lacked the bouncy, below-surface muscular firmness you start to take for granted in Stockholm. The swedish facial bone structure is also way above average; pretty (short of beautiful) faces were everywhere. Finally, women commonly keep their lovely bodies into middle age (judging by the number I saw), although their faces betray their age as anywhere else. In sum: shapely, pretty cuties in abundance, but no trophy stunners.
Also important: EVERYONE speaks English. It is compulsory from primary school on. Some resent having had to learn it, but this is negated by the fact that being from New York confers status in Stockholm.
There are basically two areas to go out in Stockholm, Ostermalm (especially Stureplan) and Sodermalm. Stureplan is like the meatpacking district; Soldermalm the Lower East Side. A monsoon hit Thursday night, so that left us with Friday and Saturday nights to do damage.
My friend and I gathered information from half a dozen local girls before going out on the weekend, ascertaining that Spybar and O-baran in Stureplan, and F-12 just south of Stureplan were the coolest and hottest spots (all are listed in the Timeout Guide to Stockholm, which was on point). We did not make these spots.
We were on our way to Spybar to meet our friends when we walked by a bar/club that looked hopping early (10 pm). Keep in mind that, because of paternalistic sin taxes, a drink in Stockholm is more expensive than even New York. So people pre-party with friends until about midnight and then head out, already buzzed. The place we found was Cafe Opera, in Ostermalm (close to F12), and which we found out later from local sources was one of the newer super hotspots. Luckily, we got there before the cover applied, which was 30 bucks.
Right off I struck up a conversation with a cutie, and it went well from the getgo. My friend chatted up her friend. I had made the sale and my girl invited me to go with them to the next bar, but I spied the hordes of hotties coming in and decided to take my chances and go for an even hotter girl (being 9 fingers deep in tequila affected this decision I think). The rest of the night is kind of a blur, but I could not get another conversation going beyond five minutes. The crowd definitely gave off an insular vibe. My friend, less drunk and more ambitious, nevertheless got blown out hard about a dozen times (his bar game is just average). A word on style: I was dressed crisply, slim suit pants and fitted designer shirt, but so was every single other dude (except they had well cut sportjackets). There was not even a remotely shlubby guy there. My usual advantage in looks and style did nothing to make me stand out. My other two friends, who we never did meet up with that night, also reported total lack of success in Stureplan.
The next night, four strong now, we hit Bar 54 in Soldermalm. We were a mixed group: two white guys, a black guy, and a Colombian-American guy. The Colombian guy regularly kills it in New York based on his exotic good looks alone. True to form, a girl walked in and immediately threw herself on him without a word; however, she was older (though with a tight body) and, we learned, married. This love was not to be duplicated. Again, we all had trouble sparking conversations; the spot was great -- a dancefloor, two bars, and plenty of hot girls, but the best group was in a lockout circle than no one in the bar could penetrate.
We moved on, by word of mouth recommendation, to a bar/club in a decommissioned boat floating next to Gamla Stan (the old city). The place was called Patricia and it was exploding at 3 a.m. It had about five floors, a bunch of rooms, several dancefloors, and a line out the door. The feel was immediately different; people were sloppy, there was some sort of costume theme, and there were a lot of thug-affecting english dudes (Gamla Stan is the tourist district). My Colombian friend and I went to work and chatted up many women (our other friends had faded into exhaustion), and the reception was much better. Still, nothing stuck until I went to the dancefloor and pulled two girls off of it, one of whom was hot and the other not quite (a bona fide 5). This was at 430 am, yet these girls invited me (in that subtle girl way) to invite them to my nearby hotel after about 20 minutes of conversation. I did and we went, but since I had gifted my friend the hottie, I was just entertaining myself at this point. We did some tequila and they left at 8 am.
Not quite the end of the story. The friend I was staying with is a day game specialist and tried his hand; he did well but the collapsed time frame (he didn't start doing day stuff until Saturday and we left Monday morning) hurt him. Girls told him that guys never approach in the daytime and that they were impressed and pleased that he had done so. Advantage New Yorker. For my own part, I observed that girls would steal glances and even give eyes with awesome frequency. I concluded that this is a function of Swedish men's daytime pusillanimity; since there is no danger of approach, women are emboldened to stare and play coy games -- no bitch shield necessary to ward off unwanted approaches. With a reasonable time frame, you could clean up just by day approaches, and certainly find several networks to plug into at the very least.
First, to dispel the myth: it is not bursting at the seams with superhotties. In fact, 8.5s and 9s were almost totally absent. However, there are far, far more 7's and 8's than in New York. They are in plenty and are out everywhere. Lithe is not the norm, either. The girls are on average sturdier and thicker through the thighs, hips, and ass than New York girls, but they are IN SHAPE. Firm, bouncy asses were everywhere, paired with shapely, muscular upper legs. Coming back to New York, I saw women with asses that seemed nicer and rounder on first glance, but lacked the bouncy, below-surface muscular firmness you start to take for granted in Stockholm. The swedish facial bone structure is also way above average; pretty (short of beautiful) faces were everywhere. Finally, women commonly keep their lovely bodies into middle age (judging by the number I saw), although their faces betray their age as anywhere else. In sum: shapely, pretty cuties in abundance, but no trophy stunners.
Also important: EVERYONE speaks English. It is compulsory from primary school on. Some resent having had to learn it, but this is negated by the fact that being from New York confers status in Stockholm.
There are basically two areas to go out in Stockholm, Ostermalm (especially Stureplan) and Sodermalm. Stureplan is like the meatpacking district; Soldermalm the Lower East Side. A monsoon hit Thursday night, so that left us with Friday and Saturday nights to do damage.
My friend and I gathered information from half a dozen local girls before going out on the weekend, ascertaining that Spybar and O-baran in Stureplan, and F-12 just south of Stureplan were the coolest and hottest spots (all are listed in the Timeout Guide to Stockholm, which was on point). We did not make these spots.
We were on our way to Spybar to meet our friends when we walked by a bar/club that looked hopping early (10 pm). Keep in mind that, because of paternalistic sin taxes, a drink in Stockholm is more expensive than even New York. So people pre-party with friends until about midnight and then head out, already buzzed. The place we found was Cafe Opera, in Ostermalm (close to F12), and which we found out later from local sources was one of the newer super hotspots. Luckily, we got there before the cover applied, which was 30 bucks.
Right off I struck up a conversation with a cutie, and it went well from the getgo. My friend chatted up her friend. I had made the sale and my girl invited me to go with them to the next bar, but I spied the hordes of hotties coming in and decided to take my chances and go for an even hotter girl (being 9 fingers deep in tequila affected this decision I think). The rest of the night is kind of a blur, but I could not get another conversation going beyond five minutes. The crowd definitely gave off an insular vibe. My friend, less drunk and more ambitious, nevertheless got blown out hard about a dozen times (his bar game is just average). A word on style: I was dressed crisply, slim suit pants and fitted designer shirt, but so was every single other dude (except they had well cut sportjackets). There was not even a remotely shlubby guy there. My usual advantage in looks and style did nothing to make me stand out. My other two friends, who we never did meet up with that night, also reported total lack of success in Stureplan.
The next night, four strong now, we hit Bar 54 in Soldermalm. We were a mixed group: two white guys, a black guy, and a Colombian-American guy. The Colombian guy regularly kills it in New York based on his exotic good looks alone. True to form, a girl walked in and immediately threw herself on him without a word; however, she was older (though with a tight body) and, we learned, married. This love was not to be duplicated. Again, we all had trouble sparking conversations; the spot was great -- a dancefloor, two bars, and plenty of hot girls, but the best group was in a lockout circle than no one in the bar could penetrate.
We moved on, by word of mouth recommendation, to a bar/club in a decommissioned boat floating next to Gamla Stan (the old city). The place was called Patricia and it was exploding at 3 a.m. It had about five floors, a bunch of rooms, several dancefloors, and a line out the door. The feel was immediately different; people were sloppy, there was some sort of costume theme, and there were a lot of thug-affecting english dudes (Gamla Stan is the tourist district). My Colombian friend and I went to work and chatted up many women (our other friends had faded into exhaustion), and the reception was much better. Still, nothing stuck until I went to the dancefloor and pulled two girls off of it, one of whom was hot and the other not quite (a bona fide 5). This was at 430 am, yet these girls invited me (in that subtle girl way) to invite them to my nearby hotel after about 20 minutes of conversation. I did and we went, but since I had gifted my friend the hottie, I was just entertaining myself at this point. We did some tequila and they left at 8 am.
Not quite the end of the story. The friend I was staying with is a day game specialist and tried his hand; he did well but the collapsed time frame (he didn't start doing day stuff until Saturday and we left Monday morning) hurt him. Girls told him that guys never approach in the daytime and that they were impressed and pleased that he had done so. Advantage New Yorker. For my own part, I observed that girls would steal glances and even give eyes with awesome frequency. I concluded that this is a function of Swedish men's daytime pusillanimity; since there is no danger of approach, women are emboldened to stare and play coy games -- no bitch shield necessary to ward off unwanted approaches. With a reasonable time frame, you could clean up just by day approaches, and certainly find several networks to plug into at the very least.
