I am into some pretty standard stuff. I like a man with a gorgeous operatic baritone who is fluent in Swahili, makes a mean waffle, and drives a flashy new Prius. But I also have some atypical tastes, too. I think we all do. I’m sure there are random things that guys appreciate about me, too. Like all of the moles I have on my arms. Someone is definitely into that. I think. My husband. I hope. I’m pretty sure he is. The point is: We’re all sexy. All of us. And only when we acknowledge all that is sexy can we finally admit that just about everything is sexy. I think this admission will be better for the world. Here are eight unusual attributes that really catch my attention in a guy. Just to get the conversation started. Obviously, I expect you to share your random turn-ons as well. Keep reading »
Profile for Kate Fridkis
Smooth guys are overrated. And while not every awkward guy is amazing, as a group, they have my vote. I’m so confident about them, I married one. On our first date he stood in front of me, cradling a giant sunflower, and said, “I knew this was going to be awkward, so I’ve been practicing standing awkwardly in front of you.” He was perfect.
I listen as my friends tell me sad stories about the cool, cocky, fiery, loud guys they date. The guys they fight with other girls over. The guys who somehow always end up ghosting them, just when they’re starting to fall. The guys who play in bands or have a signature shoe style. The guys who are never awkward and would never, ever be played by Hugh Grant in a movie about their life. I bite my lip. I don’t want to be preachy. But really, inside, I’m dying to recommend they date someone, well, more awkward. After the jump, why they’re the best. Keep reading »
Being gorgeous sounds pretty great. It sounds like exactly what a woman might want to be. When you’re gorgeous, the world is supposedly your oyster. Whatever that means. More like, the world is your lobster, because people want to buy you expensive stuff. But is being incredibly hot really all that it’s cracked up to be? I think not! You look shocked. But read on. I will give you 10 solid reasons why I’m glad I’m not a perfect 10. Keep reading »
My friend Rachel suggested it. We planned it for Friday the 13th, mostly because that sounded like a special day.
“I could really use a ceremony. Do we get to dress up?” I asked, half-joking.
“Of course we do!”
The Ceremony we planned wasn’t affiliated with any religion or spirituality. It was anything we wanted it to be. The theme, we decided, would be “renewal.”
When I was a kid, I had a great imagination. I loved the idea of magic. I saw it everywhere. Trees were magical. Pretty dresses were magical. It’d been a long time since I felt like anything was magical.So I was a little nervous when the day of The Ceremony rolled around. I am 25. My girlfriends and I don’t play dress up together. We talk about real world stuff. None of us wants to be a princess anymore. Or at least, no one would admit to it.
I was looking at an apartment in Brooklyn. It was, as usual, on the small side. One of the rooms was in the shape of a “Z,” so that there was really no possible way for a bed to fit. Which was too bad, because it was supposed to be a bedroom.
“There’s a big one for sale a couple floors down,” said the broker. “You wanna take a look, for fun?”
Well, of course I did! I spend at least 20 minutes a day on StreetEasy, staring greedily at NYC real estate I can’t afford. Keep reading »
I am the only woman in NYC who has never gotten waxed. This is a fact. If someone collected statistics, the numbers would definitely confirm it.
You could say I’m a bit of a wild woman. My hair is unpredictable, my nail polish is usually mostly chipped off, I can’t do a pantsuit to save my life and I have all sorts of body hair.
I know, I should be ashamed. I once wondered if anyone would ever love me. You’d think not, but actually, I’ve been married for a year! It doesn’t count, though, because he’s the hairiest man in the world. He’s basically half wildebeest. So he doesn’t notice these things. That’s the only possible explanation. Keep reading »
I like boobs. I’m a straight woman, but really, who doesn’t appreciate them? Robots. Reptiles. Sauron. That’s about it. And I’m not even positive about Sauron. He might have, at some point, before he was all disembodied. Breasts are awesome. As feminist writer Gail Collins said in her New York Times piece, “Everybody likes breasts — infants, adults, women, men. Really, it’s America’s most popular body part.” But sometimes it seems like we only get to talk about how awesome certain kinds of boobs are. The ones that are bold, perfectly round, Sports Illustrated-style, belonging to Christina Hendricks, full, plush, generous, prominent, and just generally big.
Those words do not describe my breasts, but I like mine anyway. For some reason, I never learned to be ashamed. I listened to my brothers (and the world) make enthusiastic comments about well-endowed women, and, although I had a few moments of “Seriously, God? Where’s the rest of my chest? YOU FORGOT SOMETHING,” I grew up generally liking the way I looked. It could be that there’s something wrong with my brain. But I think it’s more likely that small boobs are pretty great. Here’s why. Keep reading »
It was Valentine’s Day, and I didn’t have a boyfriend, which I was telling myself was actually pretty nice. The last boyfriend had gotten me a heart-shaped box of chocolates. I don’t like chocolates. I don’t like hearts. He had also written some ill-conceived poetry, comparing my face to the moon, or something. Or maybe he was comparing my boobs to the sun. Whatever. Keep reading »
I used to be really skinny. So skinny my ribs stuck out.
Everywhere I went, women said, “You’re so skinny! Oh my god. I’m jealous.”
I had friends that were more gorgeous than me, but it was OK, because I was really skinny.
“I wish I was as skinny as you,” they said.
I smiled. I said, “Nah, whatever.” Keep reading »
I saw this girl the other day. She was wearing stunningly high, bright green heels, a strapless silver jumpsuit with a huge white belt, and a fur vest. She looked amazing. I don’t know how she did it, but she looked amazing. And I thought, as I always do, I wish I could pull off something like that. And then I shook my head sorrowfully, but in a resigned way, like an old man on his deathbed at the end of a movie about the pointlessness of modern life, and off I went, going about my day in my ordinary jeans and my Old Navy pea coat. But I have dreams of grandeur. There are things I dream of wearing. Things I fantasize about wearing, in another life, when I am reborn as a Minka Kelly look-alike. For every single thing I secretly want to wear, I have a reason why I shouldn’t wear it. I also have a perfectly clear picture of the kind of girl who would look better than me in every outfit I would like to wear (she usually looks like Minka Kelly). But life is for living! Fear is for lame-o’s! And someday I will work up the courage to wear all of these things … Keep reading »