With a Little Help from Your Friends

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Call me a naive Babysitter’s Club byproduct, but I can’t wax enough poetic to female friendships. In an ecosystem where every other touchpoint – men, work, even family – are often imbued with headache and chaos, friends are akin to a glass of Sauvignon Blanc – predictable, dependable, a surefire temporary refuge from your issue du jour. Having stumbled upon many of those over the years, I couldn’t be more grateful to my globally-dispersed gaggle of girlfriends for their emotional support and endless patience!

I say “gaggle,” because it often takes a small village of friends to pick you up from life’s proverbial gutter and hustle you back to sanity. Just like one should not expect their partner to fulfill all their needs, one cannot realistically expect one friend to simultaneously fill the role of mentor, advisor, wing woman, cozy shoulder to cry on, etc. Instead, it is best to amass a handful of trusted confidants to  emotionally exploit  rely on in the perennial hamster wheel that is life. Without further ado, here they are, in diminishing order of importance.

P.S. Don’t forget that friendship is a two-way street and all that. Where a lot is given, a lot is expected!

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La Vie en Rosé: The South of France Diary

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Gloria Steinem likens travel to sex. To quote directly from her new book, My Life on the Road, “[moving from place to place] is right up there with life-threatening emergencies and truly mutual sex as a way of being fully alive in the present.”

For the past decade, travel has served as my best medicine, a surefire way to reboot my brain and move forward as a tweaked version of myself. Following a few shitty weeks – fine, months – this was exactly what I was seeking when I galvanized a group of friends into an impromptu South of France romp, appropriately monikered #EuroMess2018.

And, boy, what a glorious mess it was!

 

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Russian Dating Rumors, Debunked

When I was eleven years old, I went on an exchange program in a French city called Nîmes. On my first night there, a boy named Arnaud confronted me with two pressing questions: did we have electricity, and did bears roam the streets of my native Saint-Petersburg? (And so began my rapport with French men..)

Twenty years later, not much has changed. I still regularly find myself on the receiving end of endless stereotypes about Russia, which have since shifted from bears to De Beers (ha!) Since this is the sacred month when I park myself in the motherland and inhale practical wisdom in bulk, I decided to simultaneously explore some of the dating-related gems that I have been privy to this year.

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Is Social Media a Self-Care Antidote?

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Warning: this is an exhausted topic. Those seeking novelty may click over to Wired to learn about robots using Airbnb. 

July marked the official kick-off of #Summer2018 vacation season, that riveting time of the year when the Instagram elites relocate to their Mediterranean outposts, bouncing from Mykonos to Positano to Capri faster than their Hermes Oran sandals can carry them.

I am usually immune to said Insta-circus. It appears that everything I lack in emotional stability, I make up with a very weak envy gene that allows me to focus on the tryptic of Me, Myself and Moi rather than the lives and possessions of others. (Actually, I kind of want Oran sandals, is that bad?)

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What Nobody Tells You About Life After Singlehood

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So, the narrative has changed.

I am now one of “them.” Namely, one of the Happy People, sailing through the world sans problems or concerns. Actually, forget the world – we live in a different stratosphere, a utopian planet where (pre-Hedi) Céline is free and multi-continental real estate is a rite of passage and North Korea is a natural reserve, haven’t you heard?

Why? Because I’m in a relationship, of course.

Just last week, three people who must have glimpsed my recent Instagram Stories decided to congratulate me on this grand accomplishment. “You’ve been together for a while now! It seems so perfect!” they remarked, as though I had passed some grand milestone that now made my relationship Real. (Then again, I probably had.) After this, they all stared, waiting for me to break into a sonnet about the Power of Love.

I was conflicted. Sure, part of me wanted to comply and tell them what they wanted to hear, cutting the inquisition to finish. At the same time, bullshit isn’t my brand.

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The Idea of “The One” is Suffocating Me

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Editor’s Note: This post is brought to you by Allie Dell, a Texas-based writer and marketing manager sifting her way through a perennial quarter-life crisis. An eternal romantic optimist, she is still determining if this quality serves her well. Hobbies include challenging her body’s caffeine intake limits and lounging in hammocks that don’t belong to her. 

“So, is he ‘The One’?”

If I had a dollar for each time I’ve rolled my eyes at this question, I’d be rich. Well, maybe not rich, but at least capable of affording a legitimate gym membership.

Up until recently, I was rolling my eyes because whichever Dude du Jour I was seeing at the time was nowhere near the potential-long-term-relationship spectrum. Now that I’ve met someone who actually warrants the “boyfriend” moniker, the question seems much more daunting.

As soon as someone – usually, someone who has little-to-no-business digging into the crux of my personal life – casually drops this little question bomb into our conversation, I feel the internal panic seeping in.  

“I mean… I don’t know if he’s The One, but we’re having a lot of fun together,” I respond. After all, isn’t that enough? But it never is, not for these people. They want concrete answers, like your love life is the subject of their weird science experiment or that you have access to some relationship crystal ball. Instantly, my mind starts to run...What if he’s NOT The One? What if I’m wasting my time? Should I break it off now to avoid learning he’s not The One too late?

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