All The Good Advice You Shouldn’t Follow

Dear 2.5 readers who keep coming back after nearly a year of my abstinence from this blog, thank you for your unfailing loyalty. While I’m sure you give very few [BLEEPS] as to why I was absent, the explanation actually doubles as my lead-in into this paramount piece. And so, here it goes.

At first, I was Busy. A real, goal-driven kind of Busy, the kind that deters you from leaving your desk all summer, quietly observing all of Instagram using the Mediterranean as their own personal hammam while you and your Havianas slowly meld into the scorching city cement. The kind of Busy that forces you to cut out all social interaction with people who have no interest in feeding you (Busy leaves no room for pride) or breaking booze with you (Busy leaves no room for wellness). Anyway, I was Busy.

Then, I met somebody. I want to tell you that I abstained from blogging because I didn’t want to jinx my blossoming romance, but that would be a lie. The reality is, I was a-still Busy and b-too preoccupied trying to get him to like me via various acts of chivalry, such as watching his dog while he went to New Orleans for one day to party. We are still together, and I no longer watch his dog on weekends while he parties, because he is no longer allowed to party or do anything remotely fun without me. (JK, I’m super chill. SUPER. CHILL.) Also, if you meet him, he will probably tell you that I’m being dramatic and he was just “taking it slow.” Don’t listen!

Afterwards, when I was no longer Busy and was finally reaping the benefits of my courtship, another blogging obstacle occurred. I realized I had nothing to say. It had been a roller coaster of a year. I had been through a breakup, a health issue, a professional challenge, I had felt hurt and alone and, dare I say, broken, and now, here I was on the other side – happy, healthy, and in love. Every theory I had stood by in the past suddenly seemed invalid: the one about being happy solo before somebody loves you, the one about playing hard to get, the one about men being incapable of change. Left was the simple realization that life is but a moving target – whatever you know today, will probably change tomorrow.

And so, Le Blog Resistance continued.

Cut scene to two weeks ago, when I was walking my dog down Collins Avenue while halfheartedly listening to Oprah’s SouperSoul Conversation with Greg Behrendt of He’s Just Not That Into You fame. Six minutes in, I was starting to get bored with his pseudo-blunt-slash-basic advice, when I heard him say something that made me stop short and almost walk into my dog’s micro-poop. “If you make me work for it, a– it’s exciting, and b– I’m going to get something great at the end of it,” he advised a woman who appeared to be struggling with the dynamics of a first date, adding, “Men like a sense of accomplishment. Men like to win, and if you’re telling me I’m not winning, I’m going to try and win.” 

A year ago, I would have agreed with him wholeheartedly. After all, this is the exact rhetoric that I, as a Russian woman, had been taught ever since I was old enough to wear Tommy Girl. However, every relationship in my life that had started with the man “working for it” (i.e. chasing me – once, all the way to Southeast Asia), had somehow ended up detonating in my face –because their expectations had been too high, or their interest had fizzled out as quickly as it had ignited, or the relationship itself never quite lived up to its colorful genesis. 

Sometimes, a great relationship starts with the man “working for it.” Other times, it starts with the woman “working for it” – perhaps, by watching the man’s dog in a 110-degree heat wave. Other times, it commences with a friendship, or a setup, or a one-night stand, or a missed connection on Craigslist, or any other one of the billions of ways two people can go about writing their story. We are all complex humans with our own past relationships, family histories, and personality flaws, which is why there are as many “beginnings” as there are couples (or throuples, for that matter). 

In recent years, the advice economy has grown into a bigger beast than ever – for proof, look no further than the life advice cluster[BLEEP] that is Goop. You have one “expert” preaching 21-day water fasts, the second one swearing by placenta purees, and a third one claiming that all you need to do is to follow the diet of a baby penguin to become a centenarian. If I took each one of these people seriously, I would never eat another meal. While dating rhetoric is not quite as hazardous, advice like Greg’s is somewhat similar to a fad diet – harmless for most, with potential to be counterproductive or even detrimental to the most sensitive few. 

I’m not here to tell you not to listen to anybody’s advice; how can I, given that I have spewed my fair share in the past, and will probably do so again in the future? All I’m saying is that most advice out there should likely be taken with a grain of salt, be it in dieting or in dating. Also, perhaps, at times we need to stop overanalyzing, embrace our inner French person (because there is one inside each one of us after a glass of Sancerre), and just follow our gut. Watch a dude’s dog when he goes out of town to party, ask him out to dinner, move in with him after the third date – YOLO. The point is, live your own life. Make your own mistakes. Pen your own story.

Speaking of stories, email me at dbagdating@gmail.com if you have any fun ones to share!