Here is a complete article from the March 1966 issue of
Cavalier on how to pick up a groupie, written like you'd expect a deer hunting manual would read. References to The Beatles and Stones and other pop icons abound. And the advice seems to be completely ridiculous, as if written by a 1950s hep cat trying to make his way in this new world of rock and roll (yet, it's actually written by a woman).
So you want that girl. The chick with the long, straight, blonde hair and all-eyes-no-face kind of makeup. Yeah, that leggy one in the "poor boy" sweater, bell-bottomed pants and little white boots. The one who knows how to do the wildest combination of Frug, Twine, Swim, Jerk and Watusi without smiling at all or sweating a drop.
Her? Forget it. Also forget that girl with the very short Vidal Sassoon haircut, pierced ears, short-short dress, white stockings and soft baby-look shoes. Forget it unless you have a Beatle haircut and play amplified guitar (bass, six or twelvestring) or drums in a rock'n'roll combo which has now, has had recently or everybody knows is about to have a record listed in Billboard's Top 100. The only exceptions are if you're Bobby Dylan, or like Mick Jagger and you sing lead and play with a tambourine in a group that's always in the Top 100, or you're a New Misty Crintzel and nobody else is in town.
First of all, she's not a chick; she's a bird. And if you're still going to come on to her, don't call her "baby." Call her "Iuv." Then again, don't call her "luv." Only pop stars can comfortably use that term of endearment (they soothe 15,000,000 frenzied teens with it); she'll know if you aren't one; and she'll immediately hate you for knowing what she's accustomed to hearing and using that knowledge to try to score with her. Those two war babies and God-only-knows-how-many-others-like-them are what a Kink, an Animal or a Beau Brummel would call a groupie. They hang out for groups. They'd part with maidenheads in a minute for an hour with a Mindbender, a Beach Boy, a Byrd, etc.