Let me set the scene for you. One day you’re at the grocery store, dutifully squeezing all the avocados until you find the ripest ones, then moving them to your basket. You have your headphones in, you’re concentrating very intently on the task at hand, and you’re really not thinking about anything other than the guacamole you’re going to consume while watching “True Detective.” As you continue your thorough work of squeezing and replacing the avocados, your hand touches something warm, something tangible, something human — the calloused, strong hand of your dream man, a tall man-bun sporting, flannel wearing carpenter, a Ryan Gosling in “The Notebook” meets Jared Leto’s hair with a dash of McConaughey’s Foghorn Leghorn swagger. [Dream man. -- Amelia] You drop his hand, you gasp, he smiles. Numbers are exchanged. Drinks are had. You share this improbably cute story with everyone you meet, and are greeted with a variety of emotions ranging from derision to laughter to misty-eyed joy. You marry under a canopy of Etsy-sourced mason jar tea light holders and gingham and drive off in an old convertible, the “Just Married” sign bouncing against the bumper. That’s your life under the spell of the meet-cute. Keep reading »
Breakups suck, whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee. No matter which end of the fray you’re on, there follows a mourning period, a delicate time in which you probably lash out at friends, obsess over details of the way things ended, and make ill-advised decisions about ice cream for dinner and browsing on Tinder. It’s impossible to make generalizations about how long a breakup takes to process, because every single relationship and situation is its own special snowflake. I can’t tell you what it feels like to be a part of your breakup, because only you were there to experience it. The adage about using an equation involving the amount of time you were together as the “x” factor for how long you should be upset after it ends is stupid, plain and simple. That being said, here are some rough guidelines on acceptable mourning times, from someone who has been through her fair share of breakups. But feel free to ignore them if you feel like wallowing for an extra month or six. Keep reading »
No one really likes first dates because they are the most stilted of all human interactions, second only to that thing that happens when you’re trying to pass someone on the street, and you keep feinting the same way. As a result of this intense and horrible discomfort, people try to avoid dating at all costs, citing excuses from “washing their hair” to “rearranging all their books by color and alphabet.” It’s even harder to be encouraged to participate in these sorts of activities, because if you’re out of practice, a first date seems like the worst possible thing in the entire world. It’s a whole thing. What do you wear? How do you act? What on earth do you talk about or do? How do you handle the stranger sitting across from you? Common sense gets replaced by sheer panic and feet get firmly planted in mouths. And worst of all, what happens if you really seem to like the person, but are just so out of practice that you bungle the thing? Oh, the things you might say! As a person who abhors the notion of first dates, I’ve figured out four relatively solid tips for those out there who fear them just as much as I do. Keep reading »
College Humor recently launched a video titled “Tinderella,” an animated fairytale parody depicting Cinderella if she and her prince met on Tinder. The video ends with the two hooking up and never speaking again. Honestly, I envy anyone who made it to the fleshy phase using the dating app. You are stronger than me.
I’d been single for 32 years, the same amount of time I’d been alive, when I joined Tinder. Unrequited love was all I knew of romance. So, I was determined to learn how to online date. Friends told me it was silly to use the app to find a relationship because it was intended for impromptu coitus. I argued that people use online dating sites to find life partners AND to fulfill their foot fetishes. It’s all what you make of it — plus, I liked having the power of the swipe. Sadly, I didn’t last long on this courtship gizmo. The profile pics alone were more than I could handle. Here’s a brief review of the many photos that made me swipe left: Keep reading »
Choosing a restaurant to eat at is an easy, fun task. Say there’s a new Chinese-Cuban-Indonesian fusion place that opened up on your block. Maybe you want to go there one night, because you enjoy clever fusion and you’re hungry, but you’ve never been and don’t want to waste your money on some greasy noodles. In this instance, Yelp does the legwork for you, but there’s no such great rating system for online dating sites. Like any sensible human trying out a service, you’d definitely want to read reviews before you go there, right? Look no further — we’ve done the dirty work of reviewing and ranking some choice online dating sites in a way you’ll understand — by comparing them to food. Keep reading »
For the majority of my last relationship, my partner was in the throes of a slowly unwinding nervous breakdown. He moved to New York at the same time I did, and lived for a brief period in a state of almost too much togetherness, bound because we loved each other, but also because we didn’t know what else to do. There is a strange thing that happens when you first move to a new city. Stripped free of your usual comforts, you cling readily and fiercely to whatever is available. For us, it was one another, and that felt fine to me, but less so to him. With the stress of living in a new city and delving into a new relationship, his anxiety and depression blossomed beyond the average quarter-life crisis into something much more serious. Keep reading »
It happens to everyone, eventually. You’re out with your friend and her new man, sitting across the table from them like a little girl out to dinner with your parents. The guy she’s seeing is nice enough, always kind to your friend, and pleasant to you, but you can’t help but shake a feeling of deep-rooted dislike. Her new man is nice, he’s kind, he’s always polite, but you don’t find yourself clicking. No matter, you tell yourself. I’m not the one dating him, she is. Who says I have to like him? Keep reading »
I am the oldest of four girls, a pack of sisters who descend in age like uneven stair steps, from 31 to 29 to 26 to 23. As the eldest of this pack, I am a consummate older sister — bossy, with a tendency towards lecturing, and a fondness for teaching “lessons.” In the context of my family, this dynamic has its place. The traditional roles of birth order are said to be fluid, but mine never is. I am eternally a big sister, and this dynamic has bled into my love life. Keep reading »
Technically, there are four seasons, but I like to think of Winter and The Holidays as two distinct entities. The Holidays are their own special thing — a whirlwind of lights and fun and being hungover at the office on a Wednesday. The Holidays end with a splash, making a champagne fountain and entering the New Year clutching the hands of your friends, or making out with that dude you winked at, then cornered at midnight. After the dust settles, the fog lifts, everyone starts to make their way back to their regularly scheduled lives — that is Winter.
Winter is long, it is the interminable darkness of three to four months until Memorial Day weekend. Winter is losing gloves on the subway and runny noses, and spending time alone because it’s too cold to get anyone to leave their house. Winter is a time for introspection, reflection, eating a lot of cookies, and falling into a state of weird, depressive hermitude that may lead you to consider the Winter Boyfriend. Keep reading »
Theres something about twinkly lights and snowflakes falling on a hushed street that can send even the most confident woman into a free-fall, scrambling for the nearest warm body to spend the holidays with. This time of year lends itself nicely to reflection, to family, to untold amounts of love and cheer and wassailing, but can also very easily be horribly, awfully depressing. If you find yourself pushing through throngs of rosy-cheeked, hand holding couples stopping to kiss under every available sprig of mistletoe, don’t despair. Don’t get mired in the “woe-is-me-I-need-a-man” blues.This is a time for reflection, but it’s also the best present the universe could ever give you — built in downtime, for you to think about what you want and how you want it. Keep reading »