Illustration by the amazingly talented Kelcey Vossen.
Going on a sober date is difficult enough.
Going on a sober date with a 45 year-old artist who is chugging down Mezcal like he’s on his first Cancun Spring Break while projecting the sins of his Russian ex-wife on you, is difficult on an entirely new level. Let’s just call it Dante’s Malebolge of dating.
Papi Mezcal and I met as a result of a fleeting experimental mood in which I temporarily tampered with my Raya age settings, one of those momentary lapses of judgment that come from looking at too much Birkin-Gainsbourg paraphernalia. To my credit, he was a young-looking 47, with a punchy slideshow that advertised his numerous tattoos, globetrotting adventures, and overall affinity for all things cool and hip.
Numbers were exchanged, and, by some technological glitch that I have yet to comprehend, he suddenly appeared on my Snapchat feed. This is when I discovered that Papi Mezcal was a true Snapchat wunderkind way beyond (or, in this case, below) his years. Think slow motion videos of ample-bodied security officers walking backwards through airports, holding emoji donuts while simultaneously releasing emoji turds – Gen Z levels of creative genius, really.




























