Prozac for the Soul: Rachel and Jeremy Schinazi


It was August 2008 and I was away in Russia, when I received a phone call from my best friend, Rachel. “I met a guy. He’s French, and he’s crazy”, she informed me, sending me a link to his Facebook page. Skimming through the profile of a cute Frenchie named Jeremy Schinazi, we giggled at his jewfro and blue plastic sunglasses he was so fond of at the time. Little did we know that this goofy French boy would soon go on to play a pivotal role in her life, becoming her best friend, closest confidant, and later on, her husband and the father of their beautiful baby girl, Leni Natalie. Seven years later, I am honored to call him one of my dearest friends, as well as his own special title of Husband-in-Law. They both live in Paris, where Jeremy runs marketing agency Twin Panda Group and Rachel raises Leni, documenting said métier via a mommy blog La Yummy Mummy. The other day, we sat down to discuss their fateful meeting in NYC’s Meatpacking District, the formative first years of their relationship, new parenthood, and my hopeless love life. Read on!

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Ask Me Anything!


“Why are you so weird?”

It has recently come to my attention that I am a terrible blogger, lacking the selfies, tweets, and other ADD-inducing micro-content that makes the World Wide Web the colorful place that it is. While you will have to wait for an OOTD post (probably, forever), I will indulge in some narcissism by creating a little bulletin board in which you guys can post any question you would like answered!

While I doubt that I am that much of an enigma, perhaps there is something about this walking disaster of a human that piques your curiosity? Or, perhaps, you would simply like me to dispatch some terrible dating advice? If so,  write your question in the comments section and I will answer directly!

You can also email me at and I might make a nice anonymous post out of it!

And remember, there are no stupid questions, but only truly idiosyncratic answers, which you are most definitely guaranteed!

The Single Girl’s Wardrobe Essentials for Spring

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Do Men’s Looks Matter?


There is an old Russian saying: “A man has to be slightly better-looking than a monkey”. This implies that a man must not be evaluated by his looks, but appreciated for his more Alpha qualities, such as brains, generosity, and hard work – attributes that will benefit a woman’s happiness in the long term. Without the crutch of conventional good looks, a man will have to work harder on earning a woman’s love and affection, hence appreciating her more once he finally wins her over. Good-looking men, particularly those who are all-too-aware of it, are considered to be a recipe for disaster, a freeway to a lifetime of speculation and paranoia about the whereabouts of a philandering Don Juan. This, for you, is Russian female pragmatism.

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What Kind of Dbag Dater Are You?


Dbag Dating is an art, a natural talent that one cannot fake. Not only do you have to be born with an intrinsic flair for the Weird and the Wrong, but you also have to work hard on letting it flourish, avoiding squelching it with a quest for silly things such as normalcy or healthy relationships. Below is a quiz that will help you determine if you’ve got what it takes, and, if so, which Dbag Dating category you fall into!

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The Little Voice

the little voice

In a turn of events that my friends have proclaimed to be “inevitable”, I recently found myself on a date with a much older man. While we won’t yet dwell on the pros and cons of dating somebody who was wrapping up high school while I was still in the Teletubbies stage, I will definitely attribute this as being one of the more interesting dates I’ve had in awhile, as evidenced in the following tidbit of our conversation alone.

Over a tea at Café de la Poste (neither of us were drinking, myself for cleansing purposes, him for unknown elderly purposes), he gave me a brief autobiographical overview of the past 20+ years of his life. After an unsuccessful stint with marriage, he had gone through a series of long-term girlfriends, and was now happily célibataire (single), enjoying a fulfilling existence of creative friends, athletic endeavors, explorative travel, and a newfound interests in astrology. Hearing my age – 28 – he exclaimed, not without a dose of sarcasm: “Oh yes, that within the age that I actually have a real interest in women –  28 to 33. The 23-year-olds are starting to feel a bit immature.” If I wasn’t sure before, then it was crystal clear now – I was dealing with a real, certified Eternal Bachelor. No longer capable of containing myself, I made a backhanded comment about all-too-afmiliar with “his type”, leading to me pulling up the article for us to analyze together. The parallels being endless, we had a good laugh.

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