Q&A: Osaka Nampa Master

Nampa is the Japanese term for guys picking up on girls in public locations, usually with the sole aim of getting them into bed. A whole subculture has sprung up around the word, and akin to titles like "How to Talk to Women" and "How to Make Someone Fall in Love With You in 6.7 Seconds" in English bookstores and across English webpages, "How to Nampa" is a term probably every magazine with a 20-something male target audience in Japan has published articles about.


In today's Q&A, we read up on the adventures of one particular Nampa artist, "Shimada," in the Osaka area, who is perhaps a bit past his prime at 30-odd years old but still updates his blogs with specific Nampa success stories in various places around the country. The basic routine seems to be: Truck out to somewhere for an afternoon, invite women out on the street to go for a drink, then escort whomever accepted the bait to a love hotel, leaving early enough to catch the last train home.

Ouch. That's right. He doesn't even want to wake up next to her.

Anyway, let's take a look at some of the tricks of the trade!

---

So there I am, in a cheap izakaya.
The girl I'm scoping is like this:

Age: 21
Blood Type: B
Occupation: Medical Secretary
Name: "Saori"

I sidle up to her and say, "So, this is the place to be, huh?"
She laughs at me.
The izakaya we're in is famous in Osaka for being dirt-cheap.
It's got a name like something-"factory."

Anyway, so we toast with beers, then I introduce myself and make some empty small talk.
We talk about her job...
Saori apparently doesn't want to work at all.
She thinks work is a waste of her life, so I tell her what's up.

There's nothing not worth doing in this whole world.
You only make a decision that something's worthless.
A person's wisdom is in how they find meaning in and ascribe value to the things they do.

I know I have her.

I'm completely full of myself.
'Cause this is first-rate stuff, right?
Even though I, Shimada, am a fourth-rate human being.

Anyway, I'm already pretty drunk.
I've been drinking since I started scoping chicks in the afternoon.

Next we talk about love...
...and I shut her down on that topic as fast I can.

Next we talk about dirty stuff...
...and I keep that going as long as I can.

By the time we know it, it's 9 p.m.
By my CVP Analysis, I arrive at a conclusion.

(What's a CVP Analysis?
C = Shimada
V = Victory
P = Project
It's what I call analyzing how much a chick digs me, and coming up with an action plan for the night by catching the subtle changes in her mood.)

So I say to her, "Let's make the after-party a 'Snack Party'!"

(What's a "Snack Party"?
You buy a bunch of cookies and potato chips at a convenience store then take her to a love hotel to eat them.)

Saori loves snacks.
So she's totally into the idea.

We leave the izakaya and buy some stuff at the nearest convenience store.

"Where're we gonna have the party?" she asks.

"At karaoke," I tell her.

"We can take snacks into a karaoke room?" she asks.

I say, "Oh, you're right... How about we have it at my summer house then?"

"Where is it?" she looks at me.

"Follow me!"

And we're off.
We hold hands all the way to the love hotel.

I'm stoked.
There have been so many stupid things happening since this year started.
So, finally... Finally...

But!
Turns out it's not so easy.

When we get in front of the "summer house," Saori, as expected, gets cold feet and starts whining.
(What a pain.)

"What's the matter?" I ask her. "You aren't thinking of something naughty, are you? Saori, you're such a terrible girl."

I remember saying something like...

"I hear this place is modeled on a storehouse in a town on the edge of the Mediterranean, and I've wanted to see it myself once." (We'd talked about how we're both interested in the Roman Empire at the izakaya. I'm not really, though.)

And I remember saying something like...

"This isn't even a hotel! It's a party space!"

Then finally I swore, "I won't do anything," and we pinky promised on it, and we went inside.

(What's a pinky promise?
It's some magic charm. You cross pinkies on a promise and if you break the promise you have to eat a thousand needles. Except, apparently if you break the promise nothing bad actually happens...)

By now it's already 9:30!
I'm almost out of time!

The second we're inside the "party space," I've got my hands all over her.
She protests, but I keep at it and suddenly there's this dramatic change in her.
I mean, wow.
So things get going, and the snacks we bought sit there unopened.

Then it's past 10, and time for the party to end.
I make a dash for the subway, barely making it home by 11.

It's an hour past my curfew, but I'm met at home with a kind smile.
...which is scarier than the old lady getting mad at me.

Her retaliation comes the next day at dinner.
All that's on my plate is a pile of veggies, while she enjoys homemade fried chicken.