This imperative tutorial was brought to you by the prolific Rebecca Suhrawardi.
I recently experienced my first ghosting.
My introductory encounter with this modern-day ailment was inflicted by a man a few years my junior – a 35-year-old man, to be exact. Anybody who has ever dated in New York knows that 35 is the developmental dark hole, the age when men don’t know WTF about anything female-related. Sure, they may be proudly wearing certain hallmarks of manhood, like a secure job or a their first piece of real estate. But, when it comes to relationships and emotions, they are either frightened and confused or simply don’t give a damn. It’s a tricky time to engage with a guy – you are almost better to go younger or older, but 35 – oof.
The experience, unpalatable as it was, got me thinking about the times I’ve successfully gone out with younger men. Let me pause here to state that there haven’t been that many – I prefer older men because I’m an Alpha female on the outside and a loving mushball on the inside (Scorpio!) and need someone who is strong enough to take my Alpha female hand and lead the way, and be bloody mature about the whole thing. I also like a man that has his feet firmly planted on the ground, and it takes time for a man to get there, developmentally. Besides, it takes a lot to tame a firecracker such as myself, and I have found that age and experience help the case.
O come all ye singles, for it’s the most debaucherous time of the year! In the midst of the Siberia of fun that is Cuffing Season hides a fun-soaked Holiday Party oasis, a sliver of time to dunk your brain in complementary Veuve Cliquot and allow the Gods of Promiscuity to guide you towards Great Mistakes. No, I am not advocating promiscuity – I’m a ROLE MODEL, after all. (To my dog Chloe, at least.) I’m just stating the obvious fact that the holidays season has strong potential for excellent misadventures which, in turn, often result in outstanding Walks of Shame.
Often disregarded merely as an aftermath of a Great Mistake, the Walk of Shame is actually a delicate art form. If honed with care, it eventually allows you to shed all traces of embarrassment and own your 8am cat eye makeup and heels like you’re Adriana Lima and the world is your VS runway. Since it is my strong belief that no Walk of Shame is created equal, I have decided to compile some of my most notable morning after memories, along with those of my friends, for some imperative holiday inspiration.
I would also like to officially dedicate this post to Uber, committed to rescuing countless desperate women since 2009.
Jordan Nadler attempts to find an answer to a question that may no longer be relevant in today’s election. For more no-nonsense insights, follow Jordan on Twitter.
“Would you ever date a Republican?” I was recently asked. It struck me as a funny question. The way the person said “Republican” sounded like she had just asked me if I would ever bear-hug a cactus.
This election has seemingly turned Republicans and Democrats into warring clans. It’s like we’re the Jets and the Sharks (obviously the Democrats are the Sharks) except this Godforsaken election has rendered all of us too exhausted to sing. The words “Republican” and “Liberal” have become synonymous with every other negative word in the English language. We have never been more divided, but it’s not politics that we are divided on. This election has so little to do with political theory and so much to do with who we are as people.
This valuable life lesson is brought to you by my dear friend Rebecca Suhrawardi, a New York-based features and fashion journalist with an expat stint in London. When she is not being a tormented writer, she is busy being a mummy to her mini-golden doodle, Aiko. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram where you will find useless information, links to her work, and pretty images.
In a world full of ghosting and benching, living, breathing humans have become as disposable as that swift swipe to the left. Forget about bloody chivalry; it seems that, when it comes to dating, simple humanity has been thrown out the window. At what point did we forget that those left behind in the wake of rejection are actual fellow humans, with real feelings and attachments? Ghosting isn’t fun no matter what the circumstances, and neither is any method of ending a relationship that doesn’t involve some sense of decency. There has to be a better way.
Editor’s Note: This modern-day horror tale is brought to you by Julia Reiss, a Los Angeles-bred writer and humorist with Parisian tendencies, based in New York City. When she’s not writing or overcome with ennui, you can find her flexing her credit limit at any of the city’s retail establishments. For updates in short form, follow her on Twitter and Instagram. And for all other things Julia, stay up to date at www.iamjuliareiss.com.
The way I see it, online dating has a deceivingly bad rap. Sure, I had my initial trepidations. But that’s only because, as a child of the 80s, I was taught that the only people you could meet online were the those who weren’t allowed to be within 100 feet of a playground.
Editor’s Note: Nope, we are not reporting back from the early 2000s. It appears that speed dating – the very same dating format that once inspired SATC’s Miranda to pretend to be a stewardess for the sake of male seduction – is still a real thing, taking place on the island of Manhattan. While no allure of “blog research” could convince me to embark upon this terrifying venture, a friend of mine, lovingly known as The Log, recently had the courage to sign up for a speed dating event that granted her the opportunity of meeting 15 eligible bachelors over the course of 2.5 hours. “That’s more dates than I have been on in the past 10 years! Why the hell not?” she told me when confronted by my bewildered stare. I promised her not to judge, as long as she agreed to report back with a story. Which you can now enjoy for yourself.