We often ignore the indifference of men and dive headfirst into their lives, filling all the empty space with a curiosity, an empathy, that isn’t shared.
Trophy-Men & The Still-Twisted Power Dynamics of Dating Today
I Am So Tired…
A Lemonade-inspired note on fuckboys in gentleman’s clothing.
Millennial Arguments Against “He’s Just Not That Into You”
He sent you a gif of Shia LaBoeuf crying and told you he’s going through a lot right now.
My Old Flame
In The New Yorker’s most recent Summer Fiction Issue, they asked some awesome writers, including Joshua Ferris, Miranda July, and Rachel Kushner to write short essays on the topic “My Old Flame.” They were so wonderful, and after a long writing drought, they inspired me to hurriedly write my own.
Things Fall Apart, and Then What?
I’m of the mindset that everything happens for a reason, with the caveat of: if you search hard enough for that reason. So, I’ve been digging relentlessly to try to find one, looking inside myself with the hope that I’ll figure out what this little life hiccup wants to tell me/what I can learn. I’m realizing, instead, that I might just have to succumb to the reality that these epiphanies rarely happen right away.
Sex & the City, Why’d You Have to Play Me Like That?
I can’t really blame the show for leading me astray, after all it’s entertainment, not a guide for what to expect when you’re [not] expecting. But I can overthink it, helping myself sleep at night by mocking its insane conception of young (and, eventually, less young) women living in the city.
Number One Dating Rule: Don’t Follow Idiotic Dating Rules
We are constantly letting the fear of seeming too into anything (especially those people we like to see naked) turn us into overly anxious, over-analytical people.
Has Texting Made a Shitshow of Our Dating Lives?
Girl meets boy. They have feelings, instant chemistry. It does NOT translate well to texting.
The Summer (Day) of My Discontent
On Sunday I Instagrammed a cry for help in the form of a drab coconut popsicle, the sad caption reading: my only friend. This dramatic statement is far from the truth, but in that moment, as everyone in NYC appeared deeply invested in something called the World Cup with their pals, and I sat alone in my apartment clogged with snot and overwhelming angst, it felt true.
