It is often said that nobody does life on earth better than the French. If this is true, then the holidays must be the pinnacle of this journey, complete with gluttonous feasts and debaucherous parties to rival no others. But what comes after, when the Dom Pérignon buzz fades and the New Year rolls in? Does the accompanying spirit of new beginnings and quest for self-improvement reach French turf, or is this yet another banal pursuit that this nation is (enviably) resilient to?
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Foreword: In case you aren’t blessed by the Raya Gods, similar rules apply to Bumble. And Hinge. And JDate. And Christian Mingle. And even the Sears of dating that is Tinder.
This past Christmas, I got my very own miracle. I got accepted to Raya, the Mecca of online dating apps, where regular folks are granted the right to mingle with (Instagram-slash-D-list) celebrities via a (highly-exclusive-slash-ambiguous) selection criteria.
For the two months that I remained in Waiting List limbo, I consoled myself with the delusion that this mass hit of a blog was preventing me from being instantly accepted. Yeah, right. As it turned out, the delay had nothing to do with my potential threat to the Raya codes of discretion, but, rather, on my low ranking on their looks + cool factor algorithm.. Because, the minute they ran out of models, they accepted me! The Promise Land of all dating apps finally parted its magic gates!
Hi guys! I’m back! I apologize, but even the most committed pr0-bono bloggers occasionally have to take a short break in favor of.. Proliferating their alcoholism? Field research? Luckily for us, New York provides both in abundance, offering a two-week plethora of holiday festivities that finally reached their cumulative peak this past Saturday, bringing alongside a Dbag Dating fairy-tale that truly captures the holiday spirit!
Some men speak only when spoken to. Others (the best kind) only speak when they have something valuable to say. And then there are the third kind, the ones who think that every trivial thought in their head is worth articulating. Ladies and Gentlemen, meet The Voice, a man who’s pretentious Queen’s English still rings in my head like an incessant buzzing bee, threatening to morph into a fragment of my paranoid nightmares.
As we step into the booze-fueled debachery that are the Holidays, I’m tempted to write you a cheesy post about being happy solo, wearing glittery Dries while hooking up with random strangers, cuffing it up with your tennis instructor, and generally having all the fun a human being can while consuming their weight in spiced eggnog. Except, you’ve heard it all before. And so, I propose that we take it one step further and start focusing on what is more beneficial to us in the long run:
Making space.
It’s no secret that Art Basel, or any other art fair for that matter, now attract not only the creative classes, but every Joe Shmo seeking a quick escape that masquerades as a cultural endeavor, equipped with a bustling social calendar and a built-in pickup scene to match. By Day 3 of these shenanigans, half of South Beach starts resembling (and smelling like) Saint Patty’s Day left for two days to fester, with a dbag smog so dense that its practically blinding. Luckily, I am here to help you decipher the different douches you may have met this past weekend, with an accompanying strategic recommendation!
