The Text Hoverer


This brilliant theory is brought to you by a young comedian I met this week named Jared Freid (@jtrain56).

The Text Hoverer – the guy who is always on your radar via the multiple connecting touch points of your smartphone device (iMessage, WhatsApp, Snapchat for those of you who think they’re tweens), but never goes as far as instigating physical interaction. According to Jared, the goal of the Text Hoverer is to gain trust through consistency of communication, which enables him to bypass the traditional time and cost-consuming dating methods and shoot straight for the late night booty calls.

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My Date With the Zionist


The reason I never posted this story is because my mother, who adamantly refuses to read this blog (oblivion is bliss) firmly advised me not to publish it, fearing that I may break the Internet, Kim K style, with this taboo topic. (Not to mention forever scare away any potential Jewish suitors, i.e. kill any hope she has left for me in this world.)  Since I could probably use the extra buzz (and have long ago lost hope), I will take my chances.

It was a Sunday morning in July 2014 and I was randomly perusing Tinder in search of nothing in particular. In a sea of boring, skinny Parisians, I discovered a cute Belgian banker, with whom I happened to have five (Jewish-slash-Eurotrashy) mutual friends. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and he was returning to Brussels that afternoon, so, in a Carpe Diem moment, I suggested that we meet up for breakfast in Monmartre. In my psycho female brain, I sort of envisioned us falling in love over our Eggs Benedict and spending the afternoon walking around the 18th Arrondissement, staring into each others eyes in the beautiful hidden gardens near the former residence of Dalida.

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Does Falling in Love Make You Lazy?


This summer, I almost fell in love. This is a courageous confession and I will say no more. (Love, like sex, is mine and mine alone b*tchez!) Somewhere around month two of our cross-Channel-tryst, I started feeling it, that very familiar, endorphin-laden high that I had practically laid a crest on, gradually transforming me into a big, dumb glob of mush. For months, I wasn’t particularly good at doing anything except chatting on WhatsApp, jumping on trains for romantic getaways, daydreaming while roaming the streets, daydreaming over bucketloads of rosé and just being a giant, walking waste of space.

Yeah, summer 2015 was fun.

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Why Are French Guys Dressing Like They’re From Brooklyn?


In my first days of living in Paris, I quickly discovered a way to soften the notoriously frosty Parisian demeanor. “Je suis New Yorkaise,” I would utter, with what I hoped was an air of nonchalance, and would watch my opponent’s expression morph from superiority to something that could almost be mistaken for . . . admiration? Just as Paris seems to be the only city capable of intimidating the jaded New Yorker, that same fascination has been flowing back across the Atlantic in equal measure. The French are increasingly enthralled with all things New York—particularly its crunchier artisanal cousin, Brooklyn. From the endless cohort of sneakers and Levi’s 501s to the ironic Girls references to the bagel shops and vegan eateries sprouting in lieu of traditional brasseries, Paris, it seems, is getting more and more like New York’s own Left Bank. And as the new Brooklyn Rive Gauche exposition at Le Bon Marché debuts, another question arises: Just as American women have fetishized the mythical romantic Gallic gentleman, do Parisians hold a torch for the Brooklyn equivalent? And is that why every guy here wears plaid shirts and week-old stubble?

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Shopping for Vintage Fashion Like a French Girl


Back before globalization (and the Internet) made it possible for the Saint Laurent bag du jour and the latest Chanel quelque-chose to become available worldwide, all of the best things in the French fashion world were concentrated in their place of origin: Paris. And even today, there are still some things that you just can’t find online—like the contents of many Parisian closets, which double as sartorial goldmines and are only emptied for the most in-the-know boutiques in Paris. If you don’t happen to have a French fairy godmother offering up her most prized possessions, your next best bet are some of the most trusted names on the Parisian vintage circuit—find them here.

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