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I’ve watched Adrian’s videos for forty minutes. Not because I enjoy the torture — but because I’m trying to catch the sleight of hand.

I’ve got a title slide, a playlist folder, and a passive-aggressive Canva template that says ZETA MALE DECONSTRUCTED in Helvetica Bold.

The plan is simple. Dissect his content. One video at a time. Name the tactic. Explain the psychology. Provide actual tools for women who’ve been on the receiving end of men trying to "mirror vulnerability" like it's a pickup line.

But I can’t find it.

The video’s from one of his live bootcamps—forty-seven men in a rented coworking space that probably feels much smaller in real life. It’s grainy, badly mic’d, and absolutely saturated with the scent of desperate reinvention.

“Gentlemen,” Adrian says on the screen, flashing that media-trained smile that somehow splits the difference between smug and saintly, “what do women want?”

He pauses. Lets the question hang.

“Confidence?” someone tosses out, hopeful.

Adrian’s smile sharpens. “Wrong,” he says. “They want connection. Confidence just gets you through the door. Connection gets you the weekend. Or the wedding. Or the 2 a.m. phone call where she says, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’”

Wow. Did he just recite his own imaginary sext?

The camera catches a wide shot. They’re all watching him. Hanging on every word like he’s Moses, about to lead them out of the dating desert. And Adrian sees it. Feeds off it.

“But today,” he says, “we’re not learning how to pick up women.”

And this bootcamp costs three grand. Just saying.

“So here’s what I actually believe.”

Then, that shift in tone. Like he’s changing gears from content creator to cult leader.

“It’s not about tricks. It’s not about domination. It’s not even about women.”

Blink. Blink.

“It’s about men.”

Oh god.

“We build our confidence with each other. We sharpen our instincts with each other. You want to be dangerous in the right way? Learn how to show up for your own life. Learn how to look another man in the eye and say, ‘I’ve got you.’”

A few guys shift forward like he just unlocked a new cheat code.

“Because the truth is, you can’t connect with a woman until you’ve got something solid under your own feet. You don’t need to be perfect. But you need to be present. You need to be willing.”

I’m ready to roll my eyes. But for some reason, I don’t.

“We train together. We fall apart together. We rebuild together. That’s what this room is for. ”

He paces slower now, voice softened like he’s not performing anymore—just remembering. Or pretending to.

And me—

I’m still on my couch, holding my tea like it’s a stress ball, staring at a man who has just made “bros before hoes” sound like a spiritual awakening.

And what’s worse?

There’s a tear in my eye.

An actual, unsanctioned tear.

I pause the video on his face. His eyes are crinkling. The smile’s soft. It’s the kind of look you want to believe in. Trust.

And that’s what pisses me off the most.

He’s getting better at it.

He tells a story about screwing up a date because he was too busy trying to sound smart. About a girl who asked what he was feeling and he panicked and told her his SAT score.

The room laughs. But he doesn’t.

“I didn’t know how to tell her the truth,” he says. “Which was: I’m terrified you’ll like me and then realize I’m nothing.”

I pause the video.

Goddammit.

It’s too good.

It’s the kind of vulnerable that doesn’t feel edited. The kind that makes you go, oh. You’ve been in the pit too.

I sit there for a full minute.

I close it.

New tab.

Another video .

This one’s a Q&A from some live retreat. A guy with sleeve tattoos is crying. Adrian doesn’t say much. Just sits with him. Nods.

“Let it be heavy,” he says. “You’ve carried it long enough alone.”

I don’t cry. But something in my chest creaks open a little.

Not for him . For the guy. For all of them.

Which is extremely inconvenient because I’m supposed to be dismantling this garbage fire of a man brand, not catching feelings for his redemption arc.

Still. I’m five videos deep before I realize I haven’t touched the takedown script.

By video seven, I start taking notes again.

Except they’re not bullet points. They’re questions.

Why do we believe someone more when they hurt out loud?

What’s the line between honesty and strategy, and does it matter if the result helps people?

Is it manipulation if you mean it, but it still gets you followers?

I hate how he’s messing with my clarity.

I hate that his storytelling works.

And I really hate that my next video might be called:

“The Trouble with Truth: Why Adrian Zayne Is Effective (and That’s the Problem).”

I close the tab. Then I open it again.

Just to double-check one thing.

It’s not for him. It’s for the data.

I’m just... being thorough.

Thorough. Not intrigued. Not impressed. Definitely, absolutely, not into him. At all.