The Eternal Bachelor Club

Typecasting · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

Once upon a time when I was about 20, I had an older boyfriend named Jeff. Jeff was a handsome 33-year-old Jewish guy from Long Island with a penchant for all things GTL. (For those living under a pop culture rock, this stands for “gym, tan, laundry”, an acronym penned by Jersey Shore.) Apart from his considerable cultural deficit, Jeff was, by definition, everything you would consider a “good catch”: good-looking, family-oriented, and relatively successful, with a number of retail businesses to support a brood of spoiled brats.

While I was way too young to consider anything serious with Jeff, I was certain that, sometime within the next few years, he would settle down with a minute Jewish girl who would annually pop him out cute Sephardic babies in exchange for red Cartier (push) gift boxes.

The DD Guide to Online Stalking

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

This past Sunday, I accidentally ended up at Gleason’s boxing gym in Dumbo, halfheartedly attempting to tone my arms in preparation for my best friend’s impending nuptials.

Somewhere between sucker punching my brother and napping on the mat, I started chatting with a cute guy. He had overheard that we were Russian, and, as a fellow compatriot, was actively trying to make small talk. As we were leaving, he gave me his name, but never asked for my number. Max. (This is possibly the first time I’m using a real name on this blog. MAX, IF YOU HEAR ME, EMAIL ME! dbagdating@gmail.com)

I have to admit that I felt disappointed. After all, it’s not every day that I meet a Russian guy who speaks perfect English, boxes (fine, plenty of them box – it’s a wannabe Klitschko thing), and even lived in Paris for a few years! Unfortunately, this was the only factual data I had on Max, which was the primary reason for my disappointed. Not only had I not reciprocated his friendliness, I had also failed to source any leads to find him via my top-level investigative skills!

The Story of Failed Serendipity

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

This was supposed to be a Notebook kind of story, the type of plot that goes on to inspire major motion pictures. Instead, it’s just a sad recount that proves that I was set up for disaster from a young age.

Let’s rewind back a good 13 years, to a time when I was a cute Russian teenager skiing with my family in Germany. I had a new red ski jacket and had just convinced my mother to allow me to get blond highlights, coming close to my dreams of emulating Stacey McGill or Jessica Wakefield.

In an act of teenage rebellion, I dedicated the trip to teaching myself how to snowboard, while the rest of my family (4-year-old nephew included) skied ahead of me. Left to my own devices, I soon discovered that doing nothing ‘chilling’ was actually part of the snowboarding culture, and began joining the fellow teen slackers perched on the side of the slopes. Read More

From Russia With Love

Typecasting · Saint-Petersburg · by Marina Khorosh

This is me, obviously.

Oh, Russia..

Considering the recent news events that have left my motherland in an infinite PR crisis, I’m not quite sure how to approach this contentious topic. I recently spent a week in my native Saint-Petersburg and was left with a rather hesitant opinion on the country and the Orwellian direction its heading into. However, I will refrain from politics and stick to my niche, focusing on truly important matters, such as the Russian dating scene.

I have to admit I made very little effort to do exploratory research for this post. Unless you’re from an urban metropolis, hometowns are possibly the least inspiring place to attempt dating, mainly out of that jaded understanding of the city and its inhabitants. Saint-Petersburg, in particular, has a rather low influx of newcomers leaving the chance of meeting a perspective somebody at slim to none. Nonetheless, I did gather some general observations that will just have to suffice.

What British Men Can Learn from French Men & Vice Versa

Typecasting · London · by Marina Khorosh

If I had a dollar for every time somebody advised me to go to London, to “find a boyfriend”, I would have money. Real money. (If I had a British pound, I would be rich.) The way people talk, you would think single financiers are lining up at St Pancras by the dozen, eager to give up their signet rings for the first cute girl to step off the Eurostar.

In an effort to explore this popular notion, not to mention temporarily escape the slightly suffocating ambiance of Paris, I recently started spending more time in London. Upon arrival, I always feel somewhat like a kid at Dylan’s Candy Bar, awed by the overwhelming number of cute boys in suits permeating the streets of Mayfair. These guys seem to combine the best of both worlds, possessing the refinement of Europeans, while still retaining the Anglo-Saxon desire to work and make money. You begin believing that you too, can pull a Bridget Jones, unlocking the mysterious heart of your own Mark Darcy. Read More

The Dbag Dating Guide to Tinder

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

Sorry I have been out of commission people – real life got in the way. (Let’s see how well that whole thing goes.)

In any case, I’m back and eager to feed your brains with completely useless information on this cold Tuesday morning. (If you work in fashion and are creeping towards the finish line that is the end of Fashion Week, this is my way of inspiring you to get excited about life beyond the condemns of Céline!)

As you guys may know by my numerous references, I happen to love Tinder. In fact, I credit this simple, yet instinctively brilliant application for dramatically revolutionizing my love life. Where there used to be bare land, there is now a garden blooming! Up until recently, a garden full of weeds, but a garden nonetheless.

And so today, I would like to give y’all a gardening lesson in form of a Dbag Dating Tinder 101. Read More