Two girls by the bar. Giuseppe and I looked at each other, a silent code for our intentions.

He attacked first. Started talking to the one closest to him with his incredibly strong Italian accent. He always spoke super loud, all while gesticulating as if he was trying to escape from a group of angry mosquitoes. He got way too nervous and spoke mainly nonsense.

I talked to the other girl with a very different vibe. My time dancing Bachata had taught me that there's such a thing as a masculine energy: Calm, but not boring. Confident, but not arrogant. Dominant, but not intimidating.

Giuseppe's vibe was too polarizing. We used to go out with other friends, get drunk and hit on the girls at the bars. I'd say about 99 out of 100 times, he'd get rejected.

But oh that one time.

That one time, we weren't even in the bar. It had just closed for the night, so we were talking right outside. As usual, Giuseppe spoke so loud he could be heard from the other side of the street.

That gorgeous girl did indeed hear him speaking. And that was all it took. She came from the other side of the street and introduced herself.

As usual, Giuseppe got incredibly nervous and started saying nonsense, but thanks to the Tortellini gods it wasn't anything way too offensive. And shockingly, she couldn't stop herself from laughing at every single sound that came out of his mouth. Five minutes later, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from us, taking him to her place.

For the most part, Giuseppe -- bless his heart -- was a bit of a buffoon. But it turns out that, to one out of 100 girls, that was extraordinarily charming.

Years later, I still think about that night sometimes. What was it about Giuseppe's speech that made that beautiful woman walk up to us from the other side of the street, like a hungry shewolf preying on a pasta-cooking, hand-gesturing lamb?

Don't get me wrong, I was happy for Giuseppe. He was kind of weird whenever a woman was around, but he was a good guy.

I just needed to understand what was going on. I needed to know if my buddy, with the insane energy he brought to his interactions with women, was actually onto something.

After careful reflection over the years, I realised that Giuseppe was a great example of what I call the fun-cool tradeoff.

Whenever his nonsense wasn't way too nonsensical, Giuseppe was pretty fun. He spoke with a ton of energy, always accompanying his words with appropriate hand gestures. His humor wasn't too witty, but he overcompensated by using a lot of it. He never brought bad vibes to the table, never confronted anyone, never talked about serious or deep stuff.

To most women, Giuseppe seemed too try-hard. They took the frame that he was a buffoon trying to entertain them. To be honest, most of them treated him pretty badly. I've tried explaining the situation to him many times, but he won't listen.

I'm sure you've met some dude who's pretty much the opposite. Tries to appear cool, poised and nonchalant, but most of the time he comes off as boring. He thinks people are admiring him for his upright posture and perfect outfit, but in reality nobody's really looking at him. He's trying to aura-farm so badly he's forgetting to, you know, actually interact with others.

It's very damn difficult to be fun and appear cool at the same time. To be fun, you have to take risks, show that you care, and make yourself vulnerable. All that pulls you away from appearing conventionally cool.

I fully believe this tradeoff doesn't have a universal solution.

Just like with fashion, the same outfit won't work for every occasion. You'll need to think about the occasion you're about to show up to and dress accordingly.

But I do have one fashion rule: Always be slightly overdressed. And I'd be willing to make the case that it's kind of the same with the fun-cool tradeoff.

I always try to bring one level of fun above the people around me. A little bit more energy, more dynamism, more humor. I do my best to adapt to the circumstances. The levels and types of fun I bring at a nightclub and at a job interview are radically different.

One level more is the perfect balance. People are yearning to have more fun. At work, on the street, in the nightclub. We all love those who can make our days a little bit lighter, who can make us laugh, or excite us unexpectedly.

But when the difference between our vibe and theirs is too big, it creates a dissonance. Nobody in their right mind would hire a clown at their mother's funeral. When someone is way too excited, way too humorous for the seriousness of the situation, it comes off as weird. It's socially inept at best, irresponsible at worst.

If I could talk seriously with Giuseppe for one minute and have him actually listen to me, that's what I'd tell him: Read the room. Adapt your energy to the situation. Bring one more level of fun, not seventeen.

And that's my message to you. Feel the vibe of those around you. Pump your energy a little bit higher than theirs. Propose plans slightly more exciting. Tell jokes a bit spicier. Over time, reading the room and adjusting your level of fun will become second nature to you. You'll be able to immediately get into the perfect state to connect with others.

But again, if Giuseppe had followed my advice, he wouldn't have been as engaging to the tipsy, extremely high-energy, Italian-loving passerby woman. I guess being completely outrageous has its benefits one out of a hundred times.