If you want to take something,
you must first allow it to be given.
~ Tao Te Ching (36), trans. Stephen Mitchell
Some people are born charismatic. I was born shy — or perhaps it would be more precise to say, I grew up feeling perpetually puzzled by people.
I was book-smart. I wished I could become people-smart.
This wasn’t a random wish. My puzzlement was painful. I watched my family at home, and wished I could understand what was stirring them to do and say as they did. I watched the kids at school and wished I could unpick what drew some of them together and pushed others apart.
When I was nine, my family moved to a new neighbourhood. This led to me changing schools twice within one year. I failed to fit in at my third school: 18 months in, I was still getting called “the new girl.”
Have you seen that one kid who sits apart, nose in a book?
I longed for the apparent ease of folks you might describe as charismatic. To make new friends effortlessly. To know how to coax new connections to grow deeper. To forge strong bonds. To bring together friendly faces.
I longed for the apparent ease of folks you might describe as charismatic. To make new friends effortlessly.
I ended up befriending the next “new girl” to join the class. She looked as scared and isolated as I felt. We bonded over that.
The pattern would repeat. When I was 16, my family moved countries. I didn’t manage to make friends at my fifth school, in the UK. It still felt like my face was pressed against the window, looking in on social life from the outside.
At University, the way to meet new people was to go to parties. But I didn’t do well at parties: I didn’t know what to do when I got there — apart from drinking, which I never learnt to enjoy.
My first summer as an undergrad student, I worked at an international call centre. A colleague mentioned that there was a salsa dance party on Sunday night. I thought I’d give it a try.
This brought a little revelation. People were reaching out a hand to offer a dance. I didn’t have to drink to fit in. Nor did I have to talk. Just nod to say yes, and do my best to keep up with the dance moves.
Someone said, I haven’t seen you before — were you here last Friday?
No. What was last Friday?
They have a dance class here every week, and after the class, there’s dancing.
Next Friday, I went along. Someone said, do you like the Tuesday class? Next week, I was out dancing on Tuesday and Friday.
The local dance community felt pretty easy to join. If only life were like the dance floor!
It would take many years for me to realise that life and the dance floor have a lot in common. In fact, it would take someone asking for my help.
Kindling a spark
“I want to learn how to improve my relationships,” says Sean at our first coaching session.
Margarita: Okay. Any particular kind of relationship? romantic? workplace? family? people you’ve known for a long time? people you’ve just met?
Sean: Any and all. I want more friends, and I want to find a romantic partner. I’m too lonely. And I guess it’s up to me to do something about it — only I don’t know where to begin.
Where does one begin?
My mental search brings up memories of the dance floor. You begin with First Contact, setting up the dance.
In Argentine Tango, a dance is arranged through a subtle process called cabeceo (from cabeza, the Spanish word for head). Cabeceo is a way of communicating, discretely, across a crowded room. It involves catching someone’s eye, then — crucially — holding it long enough for the other person to know that this is deliberate contact, not a passing glance. If they nod, or make some other gesture that conveys agreement, you know you have a dance.
This simple-sounding activity proved tricky for my Tango students. Holding a stranger’s gaze for longer than a heartbeat felt taboo. And yet, this skill is vital, if one is to arrange dances.
Holding a stranger’s gaze for longer than a heartbeat felt taboo. And yet, this skill is vital, if one is to arrange dances.
I wrote about taking that first step — minute yet mighty — in Letter 1: It begins*. What I offer Sean is something similar: to practise making contact with strangers, by offering a compliment that sets up common ground.
Next week, he arrives perplexed.
Sean: I have as few friends as I did last week.
Margarita: That sounds frustrating. Did you have a go at offering a compliment to someone?
S: Yes! I spoke with three new people.
M: Wow! Well done! I notice you’re not looking pleased?
S: Well, none of those became a conversation.
M: Any chance you’re measuring last week’s success by this week’s wish? You succeeded in creating three new moments with complete strangers. Just two weeks ago, would you have believed that you could do that? Is this new accomplishment not cause to celebrate?
S: Yes, but that’s no use if I can’t turn those moments into longer conversations.
M: Fair enough. So your next wish is to know how to extend the conversation. We could call that Step 2: Extending Contact.
S: Yeah, okay. How do I do that?
M: The essence of Step 2 is to stay curious about them. Which, if you’re wanting longer contact, is genuinely where you’re at, anyway. The best tip I’ve come across for this stage: ask something they’d enjoy talking about.
S: How do I know what they might enjoy talking about?
M: Ask a question that directs their mind to something they find pleasant. If the first words you exchanged mentioned their work, ask them what their favourite thing is about what they do. If you started out by commenting about a book in their hand, you could ask what they think is the best bit in the book so far. The simplest questions are the best for this. You want to make it easy for them to reply.
Another week passes.
Sean: I spoke to five new people this week!
Margarita: Wonderful! How does that feel?
S: I still get uneasy and awkward at times… but I can see that things are coming along.
M: That’s great to hear! Did you try Extending Contact?
S: Yes, I did. Two people seemed keen to rush off. But the other three stuck around and chatted with me for a bit. Only…
M: Only?...
S: Only, I didn’t get anyone’s number. So they were nice conversations… which aren’t going to become anything.
M: And you’d like for some of these new conversations to become something?
S: Well, yes!
M: Okay, so now you have a way of creating new moments with complete strangers, and engaging those of them who’re willing in a longer conversation. Perhaps we’ve reached Stage 3: Arranging Repeat Contact. As you said, this generally involves swapping contact details.
S: I didn’t know how to initiate that!
M: Yeah, there’s a knack to doing that. People generally swap contacts when they’re parting. The trouble is, if you keep waiting for the conversation to end on its own, it can run out of steam — because the two of you have only just met.
S: Exactly!
M: But you don’t have to wait. You can take the lead to wrap up the conversation and suggest a follow-up: a coffee, or some other reason to meet again.
S: You mean… I would deliberately end the conversation?
M: If you decide that this would protect the initial spark of mutual interest, yes. First-time conversations are delicate. We can ask too much of them too soon.
S: How would I end it without seeming clumsy?
M: For you as well as for the other person, the two of you chatting is an unexpected addition to your day. It’s perfectly plausible that you need to head off somewhere. You can say, ‘I need to head off, but it would be great to continue this conversation another time.’ If they nod, or give some other sign of agreement, you ask when might be suitable and offer to swap contacts.
S: What if I’m not sure that they’d want to talk with me again?
M: If you’ve been asking them about what they enjoy, there’s a fair chance they would. People who take interest in others are rare enough. Someone who creates enjoyable moments is extra-fun to be around. More time around them is an attractive proposition anywhere — in romance, at work, or just socially.
Sean and I also talked about his misgivings that taking the lead might be tainted with manipulation. We re-visited each stage — Initiating, Extending, Arranging to Repeat — to see which moments gave him concern.
He came to the conclusion that taking care to steer the process of getting to know someone is not actually selfish. It’s about shaping an enjoyable experience for both sides. Noticing the original spark of attraction and helping it to blossom into something alive and rewarding.
What does attractive mean?
Have you ever wondered what ‘attractive’ actually means? We have this notion that people either are or aren’t. That attractiveness is a one-time on/off switch: you’re either born with it, or you missed out.
My take on attractiveness changed after a tiny moment in a charity shop (known in the US as a ‘consignment store’). Standing in the queue, I can hear a man talking to the — frankly batty — elderly female volunteer at the till. He’s had to repeat himself two times already, and she’s still confused. I start to worry that their miscommunication is going to hold up the queue. Then that concern dissolves, replaced by admiration. He carries on speaking in a patient, elegant, respectful way… and I stop caring how long the queue will take. As he picks up his purchase and walks to the door, a thought surprises me: What an attractive man!
I never saw his face. Why did this stranger suddenly pop up on my attractiveness radar? This got me so intrigued, I set out on a quest to find out more.
The next level of sophistication, beyond the binary on/off idea of attractiveness, is a scale. In this convention, a handsome man might rate 8 out of 10, and a homely woman might only score a 3.
The scale gives us a way to talk of gradations in the power to attract. But it still treats attractiveness as a static feature, as if, no matter what someone does, they belong in a category, as if their attractiveness ceiling is set once and for all.
But my encounter in the charity shop had me convinced that attractive is as attractive does. Attract is a verb.
… my encounter in the charity shop had me convinced that attractive is as attractive does. Attract is a verb.
After thinking over my experiences on the dance floor (and reading lots of books on dating), it finally dawned on me that attractiveness generally changes over time and distance. I’ll go so far as to say: attractiveness can change in a split second.
Imagine walking into a busy bar. Across the room, a striking stranger attracts your gaze. Your feet carry you closer, almost without consulting you. Once within earshot, however, you get a shock: the stranger has a screechy voice. Your path veers to the left — again, almost without you deciding to abort your mission. The stranger’s striking looks attracted you at ten paces, but at five, their voice repelled.
This isn’t limited to romance. The same dynamics can be seen in other contexts. To take just one example: a new colleague who seemed personable at the start of a meeting might say something off-putting that will change your mind.
Does attractiveness remain in flux over longer stretches of time? Can it wax, as well as wane? I expect your own history of friendships and relationships can provide an answer. We’re always refining and enriching our take on everyone around us. It’s the reason why we celebrate long-lasting partnerships and connections — because longevity of attraction is never guaranteed.
The key that unlocked the topic of attractiveness for me is in this phrase, my own definition of what attraction means:
Attraction is someone feeling that closer would be better.
This applies across both distance and time. When I was teaching Tango, someone might spot a flyer for my class on an Events board. If something in the flyer beckoned, they would arrange to come along to a taster session. If that experience felt good, they’d sign up for next week’s class. If my teaching felt good to them, and they still wanted more, they might ask me for a private lesson. Inspired by the power of attraction, my students moved their own feet to come closer.
How can you apply this to your own context?
The first step, as ever, is to figure out what you’d wish to have happen. What — or perhaps whom — would you like your boosted powers of attraction to bring towards you?
What — or perhaps whom — would you like your boosted powers of attraction to bring towards you?
It can help to think about this visually. In Letter 4: The 9-Level Citadel*, I included a video showing a NeuroGraphica drawing I made. It’s called The Garden of ByHeart Community. I sat down to do this drawing because I wanted to think about how attraction plays out in my working life. The smallest innermost circle represents my long-term partners and collaborators, the closest in proximity and highest in mutual commitment. Next level out represents clients working with me 1:1. As the concentric circles build out, the immediacy and closeness of contact is reduced. Yet it’s important that there is something both valuable and attractive for people to experience at each level. Something to inspire those for whom it’s the right fit to take a step closer.
Once I know the zone I want to focus on, I ask myself “What can I do to inspire the feeling that closer would be better, from here?”
Letting attraction lead
Of course, one person’s attractive is another’s turn-off. So it’s about fine-tuning my approach to fit those I seek to attract. Fortunately, as we explored in Letter 7: To be seen with the Eyes of Love*, affinity goes both ways.
I play a similar game when it’s my turn to choose. I was recently invited to join the pool of reviewers for the Brighton Festival and Fringe. Reviewers get complementary tickets to attend shows. The extra perk is the freedom to select which shows I review. In practice, however, selecting proved a daunting task. There were over 800 entries in the Brighton Fringe 2026 brochure. I was free to play — but how to find my way through the maze?
I couldn’t possibly know what each show would be like. I could only go by what the show creators presented me with. But it would be too big a task to read the full description in literally hundreds of listings. What to do?
I decided to pace the process, stage by stage. I began with my initial impressions from the show title and the three-line blurb under it. If something beckoned, I’d add the show to my Maybe list.
This protected me from a temptation that I’ve seen play out in dating: trying to make significant decisions in one go. When I began talking with women about their first dates, it surprised how often they would say “I wouldn’t marry the guy, so what’s the point?” As if a date’s top three lines could tell them everything they’d need to know.
I chose to only initially ask, would I want to know a bit more? With my Maybe list at 38 entries, I re-visited each one and read the full description. The question now was about how much more time and effort to invest. My filtering question was the same: how strong was my sense that closer would be better?
I chose to only initially ask, would I want to know a bit more... how strong was my sense that closer would be better?
Only when I had my shortlist ready did I bring in other filters: which shows had already been reserved by other reviewers, which slots could fit into my schedule, and so on.
This sequence of steps protected me from another common pitfall: giving too much power to external factors. This can play out anywhere. In personal relationships, this often looks like trying to make yourself likeable. Bending too much to try to fit what you expect others might like. In business, it might be trying to design what you think people will want to buy, without checking if delivering the offer is viable for you. In the case of my adventure as a reviewer, this would be going to see shows I wasn’t interested in, because I gave too much power to the pressure to “review something.”
We touched on the challenges inherent in wanting to be your own person, while staying engaged with the world, in Letter 3: Autonomy-in-Connection*. This is such a rich topic, however, that we may revisit it in a future Letter.
From perplexed to practiced
Writing this Letter, I began to wonder what difference it might have made if I’d realised the active nature of attraction earlier. How would I have seen the world and my place in it? What might have felt within reach?
I’d assumed that upgrading my attractiveness in any meaningful way would necessitate a change in my essential nature. That to change my attraction score, I would need to change myself. Perhaps I’d need to become less pensive and more extraverted.
Even if such change were possible, I wasn’t sure that I’d want it. Would becoming someone else for the sake of greater attractiveness be worth it?
What if I’d known that I could have fun with the gestures of attraction without needing to overhaul who I was?
It strikes me that, when I did get round to exploring attraction, it worked a change on me — in a gradual, organic way. New experiences and recognitions trickled inwards. Without becoming a whole different person, I discovered that my essential nature wasn’t “over-sensitive and introverted.” As I grew more at ease around fellow human beings, sensitivity became a strength.
As I grew more at ease around fellow human beings, sensitivity became a strength.
So, where did this quest take the bookish girl perplexed by the complexities of human interactions?
Perplexity has become fascination. Every encounter — whether I deem it “successful” or otherwise — is now food for reflection and a chance to learn more.
I no longer ask if somebody is charismatic. I’ve come to believe that the exchange of gestures in the Dance of Attraction can be learnt.
Following what beckons
Attraction isn’t about becoming “irresistible.”
It’s about caring what draws someone in.
What inspires them to move their own feet
because they feel that closer would be better.
And it’s important to include yourself.
You too have the power
to step towards what beckons.
Beginning the dance
→ Letter 1: It begins
Staying your own person in connection with others
→ Letter 3: Autonomy-in-Connection
Thinking of your community as zones of attraction
→ Letter 4: The 9-Level Citadel
Building your faith in others valuing you
→ Letter 7: To be seen with the Eyes of Love
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