Tinder Time With The Incredible Hulk

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I am still not ready to discuss my London adventures, mainly because I have yet to process my infinite capacities of making an ass out of myself. However, I will be more than happy to kick-start the New Year with the story of The Incredible Hulk, my lovely first experience with the online Mecca of fleeting connections, otherwise known as Tinder. 
On my first week of Tinder back in November (yes, I’m a late adapter), a miracle fell into my hands in the form of an American boy named John. (Oh, you betcha that’s not his real name. I don’t have a death wish quite yet.) John was an Ivy League graduate playing professional football somewhere outside of Paris, and so we agreed to meet up that weekend, for he was coming into the city to see the Parisian catacombs with his friends. (This will all become symbolic quite soon.)
It was a lazy Saturday and, in a moment of boredom, I decided to Google John. I typed in his first name and the name of his university, expecting to find a couple of alumni photos and not much else.. Imagine my reaction when I found out that my evening suitor had been recently been involved in a VERY high-profile media scandal, entailing sexual assault accusations.  Somehow, I had managed to find a sexual predator on my first week on Tinder! This, my friends, is talent. 

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Happy New Year (AKA Your Time Starts Now)

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A few weeks ago, I asked my brother (late 30’s, three kids, fairly decent at life) an atypically candid question.
“Do you think I have a chance of getting married anytime soon?”
My brother was quiet, and he’s not a quiet kind of guy. He carefully considered his answer, knowing from experience that one misspoken word can result in many of tears.  
“I don’t think that a person who acts like you wants to get married.”
Of course, the obligatory tears ensued. How dare he say this about his perfect sister, a practically born-again virgin with excellent childbearing hips? But after the shitstorm came the calm, and I decided to hear him out.

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When Love Gets Virtual

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Since t’is the Season to be Merry and you probably have nothing better to do, lets take a quick survey. How many of these apply to you?
  • You are currently talking to a guy (girl) on the phone/Facebook/email or some other form of telecommunication on a daily basis. 
  • Whenever something good or bad happens in your life, he (she) is the first to know.
  • Instead of going out to partake in real life activities, you sometimes stay home to talk to him (her).
  • When you do go out, you feel guilty talking to other guys (girls). In fact, you don’t really consider yourself single.
  • However, sex is something you haven’t experienced in awhile. 
Is this you? If so, you are suffering from Virtual Relationship Syndrome, the biggest form of human procrastination since Angry Birds.

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10 Things I Love and Hate About French Men

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A couple of nights ago, I was sitting in a restaurant with a mélange of expats and some poor Frenchies who had the misfortune of winding up in my presence. With three functioning brain cells left to rub together after days of holiday boozing, I took a receipt and started mapping out a list of reasons why the spawn of Rimbaud and Baudelaire don’t seem to be doing it for me in the romantic sense.
While the original version of this document is now lost, I believe that it went somewhat like this. 

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How to Be Single on the Holidays (the French Way)

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I thought I had alleviated some of the misery that comes with being single on the holidays when I moved to Europe. After all, isn’t the majority of it simply America’s ploy to market us an eggnog-scented illusion of happiness, proliferated by Christmas songs by the likes of Justin Bieber

Nuh-uh, it turns out that Paris is flooded with even more holiday memorabilia, ready to jump at you from every corner. Blocks from my office, a Christmas market glistens menacingly, polluted by happy couples ice skating and bingeing on gluhwein. The Galeries Lafayette shitshow puts its Saks Fifth Avenue counterpart to shame. The goddamn tower is the biggest mockery of it all, sticking its head out at you on every corner, as if to chant “I am the global symbol of romance. Your mere presence in my company is insulting.”

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How to Meet Men at Art Basel (or Any Other Art-Related Setting)

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My grandmother always told me that the best place to meet boys is at the museum. Not just any boys, but intelligent and educated ones, with good jobs and enough cultural depth to drive them there in the first place. For a long time, I disregarded this advice, believing that it was the lack of better options (bars, clubs, the Internet) in Soviet Russia that forced people to seek love in cultural hubs.


While I yet have to meet a man while perusing the Musée d’Orsay à la Blair Waldorf, I’m certainly willing to give the whole cultural angle a try. In fact, I recently decided to give my grandmother’s theory a modern spin and test drive it at Art Basel, the annual Miami art fair that clutters our Instagram feeds every December. 


Let’s just say that I wasn’t disappointed. For once, the epicenter of all things cheesy that is  Miami was populated with a vast variety of attractive, refined, clean men. The kind of men who make me realize that dating hygiene-challenged French hipsters is not my only option.  There is a world out there. Even the straight-to-gay ratio was fairly reasonable – more than half of the men at Basel actually appeared to be of the hetero kind.
 
As usual, I did not make the best of the situation. After meeting one nice, normal guy on the second night (granted, the fall course of this remains to be witnessed), I  thanked my lucky stars and stepped out of the game. However, I did accumulate many observations, resulting in this comprehensive little guide on how to ensure that you are fully prepared to become the next Dora Maar (Picasso’s muse – don’t worry, I didn’t know this either). As they say, those who can’t do, teach



1. Know Your ArtYou don’t have to be a connoisseur, but you cant afford to sound like a complete moron, considering that art will be the primary topic of small talk for 3 days. Pick up a copy of I-D or another one of those fancy $50 magazines and study up. Know some key names:  Yayoi Kusama (everything has dots), Al Weiwei (everything is made out of bikes), Isa Genzken (everything is weird). 



2. Know Your Shows. It turns out that there are two main show locations in Miami, subsequently yielding different types of men. It is important to understand the differences in advance, so that you can strategize your time accordingly. 

Wynwood (Miami Design District) – Smorgasburg meets NYFW. An overflow of hipsters in brogues and Wang backpacks. MY FORBIDDEN HEAVEN. If you do happen to meet somebody in full-length pants, be prepared to think of clever remarks about all the fascinating oeuvres of art you will encounter.
I dare you. 
Miami Convention Center –  If you are the ambitious type, I highly recommend investing in a three-day pass. This is the real stuff that belongs to museums, not some papier maché collages from Bushwick. The majority of good galleries are concentrated here, which means that you are exposed to the Golden Triangle : Artists, Gallerists, and Collectors. Personally, I was a little thrown off after witnessing one too many short guys from Long Island picking out Jeff Koons oeuvres to match their pastel polos – living in France must really be rubbing off on me. 
 
3. Have a Face Sheet. Again, this is a tip for the highly ambitious ladies out there. I thought of it after we met Mr. Brainwash, whom I recognized immediately – after all, the guy is practically a walking header for this blog. What if you simply happened to know what Damien Hirst looked like? In my opinion, there is nothing wrong with a little preparation. I heard women in Moscow do this to meet oligarchs, and look how fantastic that works out for them!
 
This could be you!
4. Dress the part. This is no usual Miami Hervé Leger slutfest. People look cool and you better work it. In fact, aim to look like art yourself.  Conceptual designers specializing in esoteric prints and odd concepts work best – think Peter Pilotto, Mary Katrantzou, Givenchy (or its Zara copy), Olympia le Tan for accessories.
Strive to look like this.

Voilà! You are ready. Now get out there and make mama proud. Send me a care package from the Maldives or something. 
 

P.S. In case any of you were wondering what happened to the banker-slash-art entrepreneur I met on the plane.. Well, nothing. In an effort to appear mysterious, I simply took his business card and told him that I would “find his booth”, before disappearing into the US Citizen entry zone. I did not realize how complex Basel was (refer to number 2 on the list), and that my financier was actually exhibiting at Design Miami, an interior show nearby. I finally got to the bottom of this on Sunday, even paying $20 to enter the stupid furniture show (love is an investment), only to find his booth completely empty.
 

Story. Of. My. Life. This is why I’m counting on you, ladies! 


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