When A Woman Plays Like A Man

From the outside, it probably looks like I hate men.
If you’ve seen me on TikTok or Instagram, you’ve likely scrolled past my videos dissecting Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The red flags, the manipulation, the aftermath. My name has become somewhat synonymous with exposing men who play games. But here’s the truth that might surprise you: I don’t hate men. I just finally understand them.

There’s a difference between despising men and refusing to be devoured by them.

Once upon a time, I was the classic lover girl. Loyal. Soft. All-in. The kind of woman who would give everything - her trust, her body, her time, her prayers.
My first love betrayed me with girls I used to call friends. My husband (the man who promised, in front of both our families, to love and protect me) broke those vows over and over again. Eleven years total between the two of devotion, undone by their deception.

When that kind of betrayal hits you, something inside of you dies and something else, sharper, wakes up.

So I did what any woman does when she’s done being the prey.
I became the player.

Not because I wanted revenge. But because I wanted to understand the game and, for once, control how it ends.

When I first picked up The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, I hated it. Every page reeked of manipulation, strategy, and control - the very poison I had just escaped. I slammed it shut the first time. But the second time, I read it differently. Not as a manual for domination, but as a translation of the male psyche.
It taught me how many men move through life. Detached, deliberate, and disciplined in self-interest.

Then, I read The Art of Seduction.

That book didn’t just open my eyes; it unlocked something I didn’t know I had suppressed; my feminine power. It wasn’t about sex. It was about energy. Presence. Influence. The magnetism that can’t be taught, only remembered.

I began to notice how men respond not to words, but to energy. How the slightest withdrawal creates obsession. How stillness disarms more than confrontation. How silence becomes a mirror they project their own fantasies onto.
So, I started to play. But I play consciously. With boundaries, with clarity, with control. I learned how to seduce without surrendering. To connect without collapsing. To enter their world without losing mine.

Now, I study men like case files.
I observe the way their eyes shift when they lie, the calculated pauses, the “accidental” touches. The love bombing, the adoration, the quick withdrawal - it’s all data. Psychology in motion.

And when I sense the game? I smile.
Sometimes, I play along. Sometimes, I let them think they’re winning.
And when I’m bored, I fold my cards and walk away without a word.

The irony is almost poetic: when a woman starts playing like a man (putting herself first, protecting her energy, refusing to chase) they fall harder. They can’t comprehend indifference from a woman they can’t fully possess.

I tell them the truth every time:
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
And yet, they do.

I’m not heartless. I’m hyper-aware.
I’ve learned that power isn’t about manipulation. It’s about self-possession. I no longer let a man come between me and the woman I’m becoming.

So yes, I sip my red wine, read my books, and enjoy the chase but it’s all from a place of knowing.
I’ve lived through the worst kind of control. Now, I choose mine.

Most ardently,
Chenise Sinclaire.