• Nothin' But A Number: The Quest To Keep Count

    After a one-night stand last night, I spent the morning how any self-respecting hungover woman would: I slept until 2, took four Advil, and tried to the list out all the men I’ve had sex with. I’ve always thought my bedpost notches a point of pride, and adding one to my mental tally has always been an enjoyable sign-off. It’s the same thrill as entering a finished book on Goodreads—you add your trophy to your collection, and start looking for your next long-term project.

    A friend of mine once said it’s creepier to keep count than to not, but I disagree—knowing my conquests' names and my number gives my madness a method. Listing helps me remember, functioning as my own perverse scrapbook. At the very least, it meant I was organized.

    Somewhere along the line, though, I lost my devotion to upkeep, and this morning, I realized I’d completely lost count. I was used to forgetting some last names, but my number entirely? I was disgusted with myself. Not remembering made me feel like more of a whore than my 20-30 sexual partners ever have. Each liaison turned into a forgotten, unworthy blur.

    As I picked up my pen to write them all out, I realized I didn’t even have the patience. Many had slipped my mind or were better left forgot. I’d have to come to terms with my new, numberless identity. Best not think about it too hard. 

    Do you keep track of your sexual partners?  

  • The YOLO Paradox: The Four-Letter Acronym vs. the Four-Letter Word

    It's been said (though probably by a white person somewhere) that dating is the hardest part about New York. It's harder than doing laundry. Than catching a cab in a hailstorm. Some say its even harder than (gasp) finding an apartment. But this sea is big, and its fish don’t seem that ineligible. So where are all the better halves? To answer that, let’s analyze NY through the lens of our generation’s most annoying acronym.

    New York is one of the most happening cities on the planet, and living here means being at the center of it all. The desire for new experiences inherent in New Yorkers leads to a thirst for stories and lack of commitment. To put it in terms we can all understand, YOLO.

    But what happens when this YOLO philosophy meets infinite opportunities? Combine the desires to do everything and be everywhere with humanity’s time and space limitations, and you’ll likely wind up disappointed. Enter FOMO. Once it strikes, the cycle begins: you try to cure FOMO with YOLO, this gives you different FOMO, and it goes on until eventually you die.

    This is the YOLO Paradox: the more you care about the life in your years, the more regret you’re going to feel when you can’t accomplish your perpetual To-Do List. It’s buyer’s remorse. And when capitalist theory finds its way into our relationships, they’re just as doomed as last year’s smartphones.

    The sheer fact that we have so many datable options in New York means we’re going to weigh them. While that may mean we’ll wind up with someone great, it’s going to be a bumpy ride before we get there.

    In the meantime, let’s all just hope that last sentence was innuendo.