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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The Story of Mister Quinoa

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Editor’s Note: This episode of the OK Cupid Files is brought to you by The Drama Magnet. 
 
I like to think of the whole OK Cupid episode as a research method to help my friend with this site. (Yes, I’m a great friend. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.) One of the most memorable “encounters” was what later became known as Mister Quinoa.
 
MQ was a 21-year-old-comedian who didn’t speak a word of English but looked hot in a ‘dirty  hipster/starving artists’ kind of way. (Editors Note: he didn’t. He just looked like a dirty hipster and starving artist rolled up in one package, with a tacky fedora thrown on top.)

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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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Hips Don’t Lie

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Slimane mafia strikes again.
 
Editor’s Note: Yesterday, we opened up a discussion about the man who refuses to eat, a disturbing phenomenon that is becoming increasingly common in today’s world. Let’s continue this thématique with an opinion piece by The Drama Magnet on men in France and their physical incompatibility to her Latina curves.

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Dear Men, Food is Not Your Enemy

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The other day, The Drama Magnet (I officially renamed her last night for pronunciation purposes) sent me an opinion piece on a topic I had planned to write about for awhile – the manorexic man. Joining forces, we decided to issue a plea on behalf of all the women who are growing increasingly tired of this new breed of male, proliferating the previously safe hetero zone with rapid speed.

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Dbag Destination : Antwerp

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Since the goal of this site is for you guys to live vicariously through our misadventures, I though I would add a little happiness to your cold and wretched Tuesdays (especially you, weather bitching New Yorkers) by giving you a recap of the lovely weekend Drama Magnet and I spent in Antwerp.

Just two hours away from Paris, Antwerp seemed like a perfect getaway destination to a place where people speak English and cigarette smoking is not a national pastime. En plus, there is a kick-ass Dries van Noten store and a Royal Academy fashion exhibit that was bound to nourish my Instagram feed for about a week.
The city was pretty much everything we expected – clean, pretty, boring in a way that is relaxing for the first day and then starts giving you FOMO anxiety that progressively increases with every passing hour.

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