SARTORIAL SINS: WHAT NO MAN SHOULD EVER WEAR

Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

I recently did an interview for Lyst in which I was asked to name some items that a man should absolutely never wear on a date. While I would love to perpetuate an image of myself being highly open-minded and refraining from judging men based on appearance, let’s cut the bullshit. Most of us care. A wrinkled shirt suggests sloppiness, a bad watch distracts from a conversation, a pair of lightly flared jeans linger in your memory forever, subconsciously making you refrain from all future dates.

Alas, not all sartorial sins are the same for each woman – one woman’s whiskered denim trash is another woman’s Jersey Shore treasure. I will now share my list of items that makes me squirm, but only under the condition that you will then you share yours. Deal?!

A Pilot, A Boat, and a Stripper

I Know How To Pick'Em · Toulouse · by Marina Khorosh

When it comes to sh*t dating, it is rare for me to find people as wickedly talented as myself. The only person who appears capable of giving me a run for my money, is one of my best friends who has now rightfully earned the title of my Muse, and will be referred to as such. A fellow expat living in Paris, she seems particularly determined to find Mr. Right in this wonderful city, and continuously seeks out various gentlemen in the bottomless pit that is Tinder, resulting in a myriad of colorful adventures.

Last winter, Muse truly outdid herself, picking up none other but a an Air France pilot, a character who kept us entertained for a good six months. Mr. Pilot was a very tall, very charming fellow who quickly swooned Muse with his WhatsApp messages and his text messages and his multilingual voicemail serenades that she would play to me on loudspeaker, grinning from ear to ear. The only issue with the Pilot was that he was based in the city of Toulouse in the South of France, hence they yet had to meet in person.

The Single Girl’s Guide to Doing Valentine’s Day Like a Parisienne

DD x Vogue, Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

For as long as I can remember, my sartorial choices for Valentine’s Day have involved pajamas.

I’m not talking about the beautiful silk Carine Gilson kind, worn for a séjour at Le Meurice, surrounded by rose petals and champagne. No, I’m referring to the Uniqlo single-girl variety, worn on a couch, surrounded by comfort food and Scandal.

Read on HERE!

What Real Women Want for Valentines Day

Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

My French hubby-in-law was recently asked to recommend a romantic scenario for celebrating Valentine’s Day in Paris. Manicorn that he is, he immediately whipped up the following recipe.

1. Book a table at the private Rose Salon at Cristal Room Baccarat.

2. Take her on a champagne-fueled tour of the art gallery before dinner.

3. Dance “Por una Cabeza” in the reception room, which apparently looks like Versailles.

4. Prepare to be f*cked like a cheesecake.

TBT (2009) : JDate, A Time Before Tinder

I Know How To Pick'Em · NYC · by Marina Khorosh

In case you guys didn’t know, the gem that is Dbag Dating was first created in 2009, when I was twenty-two, unemployed and certifiably insane. My penchant for reckless globe-trotting and repercussion-free romantic trysts lead to a series of crazy adventures, some of which were chronicled via this very blog. Of course, right as it was starting to pick up, I happened to meet a boy and fall in love, causing me to abandon the project – and dating – altogether. Reading back, I miss the old me, with her wild antics and juvenile, tongue-in-cheeck musings. And so, I have decided to bring it back in the way we resurrect all nostalgic memories on the Internet – with a TBT!

The Dbag Dating Guide to Latin Lovers

Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

I love me a Latin anything – Mexican food, Peruvian corn, Pisco Sours, Flamenco, you name it. Never having stepped foot in South America (yet – I’m saving myself), I have successfully outsourced the culture via a number of crazy Latino friends, as well as the other national treasure that this part of the world to offer – los hombres.

Latin men have led to some of the more exciting adventures of my young life. There was the Argentinian singer I met next to the Beatrice Inn one night, who played me ballads on his guitar while whispering sweet nothings in my ear. There was the Brazilian boy who flew all the way to Paris to visit me after knowing me for merely a few days. Lastly, there was the suave Peruvian we appropriately nicknamed Juan Pablo, who, in his brief moment of courtship, treated me better than any other guy ever did.