French Women, Slightly Decoded

Typecasting · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

Judging by the New York Times bestseller list alone, it appears that the whole world is fascinated by the mystery that is the French woman. How is she so skinny? How are her kids so well-behaved? Is she actually sort of a bitch?

The other night over drinks, I gave one of my French girlfriends free reign of my Tinder. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that every guy she spoke in the course of two hours ended up falling in love with the French version of me. The French version of me did not over type, she did not over share, she exuded an aura of mystery by keeping her answers short, yet never appearing rude. Reading back the messages, I myself started growing intimidated by this alluring creature of so few words, yet seemingly so much substance.

The Story of Cyrano de Bergerac

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

Up until this past January, I was practically a Tinder virgin. Despite having a steady stream of Frenchies on my roster, my only real-life encounters involved the Incredible Hulk scare and a painful Sunday coffee with an SFR technician. It was proving to be a long and boring winter, and so I decided to give it another try with a fellow we will call Cyrano de Bergerac, a nickname he earned due to the alarmingly large size of his nose.

As usual, the warning signs were there from the get-go. To start, Cyrano arrived on our date a full hour late, which I excused only because we had arranged to meet within a 200-meter radius from my house. He was very handsome – a miracle, considering that he had one of the biggest shnobels I had ever seen on a human being. Somehow, he managed to make up for it with his Tarzan-esque wavy blonde hair, light green eyes, and deep, sexy voice that I found irresistibly charming.

The Dbag Dating Guide to Vacationships

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

Vacationship (portmanteau of vacation and relationship) – a romantic affair one engages in while on vacation. Often has similar characteristics to a real relationship, yet must never be mistaken for such.

(*FYI portmanteau means word hybrid; I learned this by Googling Kimye)

You know the drill. It’s summer, and you head to a warm European destination with your girlfriends, determined to live out an expedited version of Vicky Cristina Barcelona. At club recommended to you by a Facebook friend, you meet Marco, a handsome local with a thick accent and excellent John Lobb loafers. You spend the next few days blissfully admiring Marco’s city through a rosé-tinted prism, dreading the day you must bid adieu. Of course, Marco happens to love New York (Paris / London / whatever urban metropolis you are from) and is planning a to visit next year.. Your paths will cross again! You exchange Facebook information and promise to keep in touch. With none of that rosé to lubricate the language barrier, your interactions quickly become limited. Soon, Marco becomes a mere fragment of your vacationship past, a blissful memory that cheers you up while trudging to the office on a dreary Tuesday morning..

Perfect on Paper Peter (& the 10 Times I ran away)

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

Many years ago, my friends and I met a group of girls at a bachelorette party in Montreal. As the glowing bride-to-be reached her tenth kamikaze shot, she decided to volunteer a candid detail behind her love story. “I only started liking him on our fifteenth date”, she informed us, shattering our youthful beliefs about the instantaneousness of true love.

Fifteen dates?! At this point, I was giving up after fifteen minutes if a guy wasn’t piquing my interest. What about love at first sight, the once-in-a-lifetime connection, Cupid soaring through the sky and piercing his bow through two soulmates’ hearts? The story stayed with me, becoming somewhat of a barometer for how bizarre life can be.

Divorcée Dating 101

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

As predicted by Sex and the City and our mothers alike, as we reach our late 20s, the pool of eligible, baggage-free bachelors slowly starts to dwindle. We begin hearing dismal statements like “All the good ones are taken”, making one yearn to book a one-way ticket to Bali and shack up with a dreadlocked surfer named José in an effort to escape the banalities of life.

However, as one pool diminishes, another one begins replenishing itself. This is the pool of the divorcées, often accompanied by a wading pool of rugrats left over from the failed experiment. (I am really outdoing myself with the metaphors today.) Recently confronted with this predicament, I have yet again composed an educational list that showcased the benefits and downfalls on embarking upon a the journey to the Land of Used Goods.

Best Dating Advice from Mom

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

My mother almost never gives me dating advice, fearing that her guidance will steer me in the wrong direction and cost me the potential love of my life. Having married my father at the age of 23, she feels that she has little understanding of the modern dating world and all the crazies it has to offer (needless to say, this blog is a perennial question mark in her mind).

The best lesson I learned from my mother was by watching her in action. When I was little, my parents slept on a pullout futon in the living room. Every evening, my father would ask my mother to prepare the bed for him, and she would dutifully head to the living room to undo the ancient green futon. Years later, when we moved to a bigger apartment where my parents had a real bedroom and a queen-sized bed, my father still continued ask my mother to “prepare” his bed. Instead of telling him to take a long hike to Bed, Bath & Beyond (or whatever Russian equivalent of it), my mom would go to the bedroom, undo the covers, and fluff my father’s pillow to make it look nice and accommodating.