And Other Tests of True Love
When a relationship goes sour, those involved will often say that the qualities they initially loved about the other person are the very things that they now can’t stand. Suddenly, the guy who was “ so laid back, I love it” is now “perpetually lazy,” and the girl who was “really confident, it’s so refreshing” is now “ always so full of herself.” Of course, there are other times when, because we care deeply for a person, we try and overlook the less pleasing aspects of their personality and instead focus on all of the positive things that they have to offer. If the relationship is a healthy one (and sometimes it isn’t), then the good will outweigh the fact that he makes weird sucking sounds with his teeth after meals, or has a habit of shaving his beard over the sink and leaving the evidence for us to find later, or insists on changing his seat/table at least twice at a restaurant before deciding upon his preferred view, as though “facing in” or “facing out” is a decision worthy of this high level of contemplation.
But what about when your significant other is Manhattan?
I admit--I love Manhattan. I’ve always wanted to live here and I’m so happy now that I do. But I’ll also be honest and state that this love has come at an enormous cost (besides my entire hard-earned salary)! From a distance, and as love goes, Manhattan sparkled. Everything about it was superior, glamorous, and well—nearly perfect. But now, living here for over a year, I’ve noticed its less than flattering qualities, and for just a moment, I would like to rant about them in all of their unfortunate glory.
1. The Unwanted Roommate
I’m not talking about that random girl on Craigslist that you decided would be a decent human being with whom to live, and instead morphed overnight into a crazed lunatic that calls you out every time you forget to refill the Brita pitcher. Or the acquaintance/friend from high school or college that you thought would make the transition to Manhattan a bit easier and has now affixed herself to you like the parasite you never knew she was and wish you never knew--period. I’m talking about the huge cockroach that greeted you last night when you came into your apartment slightly intoxicated at 3:00am. Or the mouse that squeaked its way into your living room while your roommate was watching The Hills and made her scream so loud that you thought there had been some exciting twist in today’s plot (nah…I wouldn’t go that far). I mean, let’s be realistic here. If these rodents aren’t paying rent, then I don’t want them here. And if they are paying rent, well, then I have an even more serious problem on my hands—and my floor.
2. The Giant Rat Outside My Apartment
Did you ever leave your apartment building one morning and discover a giant blow-up rat waiting for you right outside the lobby? When most people stage a protest of sorts, signs and banners are usually adequate props to get your point across. So is it really necessary for all of us innocent bystanders to witness such a grotesque creature towering over us on our way to work in the morning? Don’t we see enough of these critters in the subway?
3. I see London, I see France…
I was riding in the elevator up to my apartment one day and happened to step inside at the same time as a man who had a cart filled with laundry. I looked down at the pile of laundry for no real reason at all, and the man gave me a steady nod. “Yup, so much for glamorous Manhattan living,” he said, as a linty argyle sock fell haplessly to the floor. I just smiled and nodded back at him. When he left the elevator, a few floors before my own, I wondered if it degraded him in some way to have me see all of his clothing sitting wrinkled in a pile before me, kind of like when you can see backstage at a show and realize the effort that goes into the product. It’s kind of--well--disappointing at times. But more so, its kind of unnecessary. Do I really want to know that the girl on the eighth floor has "days of the week" underwear? Or that the guy on the fifth floor chooses briefs over boxers? This thought never crossed my mind in college. Back then, seeing someone’s laundry didn’t seem to matter one way or the other. I mean, so what? Who cares? We all wear underwear—what’s the big deal? Then again, these days, you don’t find me walking down the hall in a shower towel.
The list could go on—weird stenches on the subways, crowded subways, “it’s-the-weekend-and-after-25-minutes-I’m-still-waiting-for-a-subway” subways. And of course, there’s always the issue of every single taxi being occupied at the very moment I choose to hail one.
But, after all of the complaints, all the exhausted rants, it’s still Manhattan. It’s still the place where I’ve chosen to be.
Besides, where else can you find a 24-hour Duane Reade on every other block?
Yes, the subways may be packed to the brim with too many people and the strong smell of body odor, but at least I can buy dental floss at 3:00am. Right?
Let me tell you something…that’s love.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Selling The Single Girl
The Undercover Culture of Manhattan Matchmaking
At night, my doorman doubles as a matchmaker.
This became apparent to me last weekend. I came home on Saturday night at around 1:00am, after realizing that I was too tired and too sober to brave a night down in the “Who-needs-personal-space-anyway?” meatpacking district. My doorman, an older, heavyset grandfather type who always makes me feel like my building is truly my home, told me that next Saturday night there would be a party on the floor directly above mine, hosted by a young, Jewish, MIT graduate (which is basically how my doorman phrased it), and that my roommates and I should definitely stop by and check it out. He emphasized that this MIT graduate was a good guy and that a lot of “different types” of people came to his parties.
Was my doorman trying to set me up? It did appear that way.
But it’s not just him. It seems like a favorite pastime of New Yorkers is encouraging us single gals to realize romantic opportunity in virtually everything we do. In a city that is founded upon the possibility to do great things, we are constantly bombarded by the possibility to meet the next guy, or if our appointed matchmaker is feeling really ambitious, “the one.” The old adage says that you meet someone special when you least expect it—at least, that’s the line our mothers like to feed us—but what if the general matchmaking culture in Manhattan conditions you to always expect it.
Think about it. When was the last time someone told you that you should join them at a seemingly random/alternative/maybe that’s “not my thing” event and used the incentive of “you may meet someone” to get you there? If you’re a single gal in Manhattan, people seem to think (and, they may just be onto something here) that the greatest incentive to go out and do something—besides having fun—lies in the possibility that you will happen to meet someone special while you’re out doing it. And I’m not just talking about drinking up in the typical after-hours bar scene. Let’s be honest here: You would have never spent so much time in the fifth avenue Apple Store if your friend hadn’t told you that it’s a haven for hot computer geeks (or if she hadn’t dragged you there herself). And come on, did you really have any desire to take sailing lessons before your mother told you that this was a great way to meet a guy? And what about those Brazilian dancing classes? Your newfound interest in fantasy football? You get the idea.
When I lived at home, the only place where I thought I might be set up with someone was at family occasions. It seemed that everyone, upon learning that I was single (and not really caring if I wasn’t) wanted to set me up with some young, unattached male in their life. Apparently the only pre-requisite needed was that he was Jewish. And I was Jewish. And there it was—magic. (Or so they wanted to think.)
Living in New York, this “selling of the single girl” has taken on new dimensions. Just last week my friend invited me via voicemail on a “Green” boat cruise for individuals focused on improving the environment. My interest was immediately piqued (though I did forget to recycle a large pile of papers in my office yesterday—oops), but just in case, my friend elaborated on the event:
“Well, it’s not really just for the environment, it’s just an opportunity to meet people. You know, it’s just like an event with singles. There will actually be a lot of good-looking singles there. It’s basically just a big singles event on a boat.”
And within seconds, the noble, “save the trees” boat cruise had turned into a veritable meat market.
The urge to play matchmaker seems to be contagious. Just a few weeks ago I was out dancing with a group of people, when a friend of a friend, upon seeing my interest in uh—moving to the music—thought that I would be a perfect match for one of his close friends, because we both “got into the dancing a little bit more than everyone else.” (Should I have been insulted?) While very flattered that he would think of me for his good friend, I was just dancing to music at a bar—like everyone else around me. It seemed almost slightly absurd. The situation made me think about what could potentially come next:
“Hey, do you like the color blue? No way! So does my buddy John. You two really have to meet one another!”
I’m not being cynical—am I?
Of course, if and when we do meet someone—sans set-up—we single gals will never get the chance to take the credit anyway. There will always be that one friend/relative/co-worker who will try and convince us that this fortuitous meeting was completely her doing.
“See?” she will say, “I told you that that was the best place to meet guys.”
Needless to say, you will just nod and smile. Your friend/relative/co-worker will be so thrilled with her matchmaking abilities that she won’t realize the truth: you didn’t follow her advice at all.
She will never notice when you give a thankful wink to your doorman.
At night, my doorman doubles as a matchmaker.
This became apparent to me last weekend. I came home on Saturday night at around 1:00am, after realizing that I was too tired and too sober to brave a night down in the “Who-needs-personal-space-anyway?” meatpacking district. My doorman, an older, heavyset grandfather type who always makes me feel like my building is truly my home, told me that next Saturday night there would be a party on the floor directly above mine, hosted by a young, Jewish, MIT graduate (which is basically how my doorman phrased it), and that my roommates and I should definitely stop by and check it out. He emphasized that this MIT graduate was a good guy and that a lot of “different types” of people came to his parties.
Was my doorman trying to set me up? It did appear that way.
But it’s not just him. It seems like a favorite pastime of New Yorkers is encouraging us single gals to realize romantic opportunity in virtually everything we do. In a city that is founded upon the possibility to do great things, we are constantly bombarded by the possibility to meet the next guy, or if our appointed matchmaker is feeling really ambitious, “the one.” The old adage says that you meet someone special when you least expect it—at least, that’s the line our mothers like to feed us—but what if the general matchmaking culture in Manhattan conditions you to always expect it.
Think about it. When was the last time someone told you that you should join them at a seemingly random/alternative/maybe that’s “not my thing” event and used the incentive of “you may meet someone” to get you there? If you’re a single gal in Manhattan, people seem to think (and, they may just be onto something here) that the greatest incentive to go out and do something—besides having fun—lies in the possibility that you will happen to meet someone special while you’re out doing it. And I’m not just talking about drinking up in the typical after-hours bar scene. Let’s be honest here: You would have never spent so much time in the fifth avenue Apple Store if your friend hadn’t told you that it’s a haven for hot computer geeks (or if she hadn’t dragged you there herself). And come on, did you really have any desire to take sailing lessons before your mother told you that this was a great way to meet a guy? And what about those Brazilian dancing classes? Your newfound interest in fantasy football? You get the idea.
When I lived at home, the only place where I thought I might be set up with someone was at family occasions. It seemed that everyone, upon learning that I was single (and not really caring if I wasn’t) wanted to set me up with some young, unattached male in their life. Apparently the only pre-requisite needed was that he was Jewish. And I was Jewish. And there it was—magic. (Or so they wanted to think.)
Living in New York, this “selling of the single girl” has taken on new dimensions. Just last week my friend invited me via voicemail on a “Green” boat cruise for individuals focused on improving the environment. My interest was immediately piqued (though I did forget to recycle a large pile of papers in my office yesterday—oops), but just in case, my friend elaborated on the event:
“Well, it’s not really just for the environment, it’s just an opportunity to meet people. You know, it’s just like an event with singles. There will actually be a lot of good-looking singles there. It’s basically just a big singles event on a boat.”
And within seconds, the noble, “save the trees” boat cruise had turned into a veritable meat market.
The urge to play matchmaker seems to be contagious. Just a few weeks ago I was out dancing with a group of people, when a friend of a friend, upon seeing my interest in uh—moving to the music—thought that I would be a perfect match for one of his close friends, because we both “got into the dancing a little bit more than everyone else.” (Should I have been insulted?) While very flattered that he would think of me for his good friend, I was just dancing to music at a bar—like everyone else around me. It seemed almost slightly absurd. The situation made me think about what could potentially come next:
“Hey, do you like the color blue? No way! So does my buddy John. You two really have to meet one another!”
I’m not being cynical—am I?
Of course, if and when we do meet someone—sans set-up—we single gals will never get the chance to take the credit anyway. There will always be that one friend/relative/co-worker who will try and convince us that this fortuitous meeting was completely her doing.
“See?” she will say, “I told you that that was the best place to meet guys.”
Needless to say, you will just nod and smile. Your friend/relative/co-worker will be so thrilled with her matchmaking abilities that she won’t realize the truth: you didn’t follow her advice at all.
She will never notice when you give a thankful wink to your doorman.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Modern Day Courting In The City That Never Meets
I’ve recently come to the realization that over the past decade, single New Yorkers have truly evolved—I think.
In New York City, where busy schedules and overwhelming workloads may challenge one’s ability for true intimacy, we relationship savvy New Yorkers have skillfully learned to overcome this challenge by altering the very notion of intimacy itself. Whereas traditional courting involves love letters, pebbles on windows (does that really happen?), pulling out chairs, and an earnest effort to really learn about someone, modern day courting eschews all of these antiquated inconveniences and replaces them instead with frequent and effortless interactions that involve an abundance of exchanges…with not very much being exchanged at all.
We’ve all had it in some form or another: e-mail, text message, IM. Sometimes these modes of communication supplement intimate meaningful interactions, while other times, we fall into the unfortunate but all too easy trap of modern day dating devices.
Enter the electronic relationship.
How do you know if you’re in one? That’s usually pretty easy. Perhaps this guy e-mails you every morning asking you about your day, or one hour past your morning coffee you find yourself g-chatting with him at work and the conversation continues on and off for the majority of the afternoon. It’s a flirty exchange, you’ll give it that much, but there are no expectations. The nature of the relationship lies in the very fact that it flourishes in the online world and not necessarily anywhere else. In fact, if this guy actually picked up a phone and dialed your number, you would be happy, of course, but you would also be taken aback. Even you know that a phone call requires effort, clicking a name on g-chat--well--it doesn’t. That's the beauty of the relationship--and its downfall.
On one hand, you and this guy have discussed a lot with one another, bringing up topics that you probably would not have been comfortable sharing in person this early in the game. On the other hand, you have also established a false sense of connection, because you don’t really know this guy, right? I mean, it’s not a real relationship if it exists only in cyberspace. (Is it?)
One of my friends is involved in a rather exhausting string of e-mails with a guy she has actually gone on a couple of dates with in the past. Due to conflicting schedules, they were not able to see one another for a month, and now their relationship has--rather unfortunately--fallen into the “electronic zone.” And trust me, if you think that you and a potential love interest are stuck in the “friend zone,” the electronic zone is far worse. At least in the friend zone you still maintain some sort of in-person interaction. In the electronic zone, you find yourself getting overly excited when you see their name appear in your g-chat buddy list! (Ladies, don’t even tell me you haven’t felt it.)
And then there is the scheming, sneaky, “I-promise-I’ll-make-you-regret-this” cousin to the online relationship. Enter the text message relationship. While this relationship can begin at any time, it seems to have a knack for establishing itself one late Saturday night when you’ve had a bit too much to drink and need some instant gratification flirting. The relationship inevitably continues the following weekend, when you realize that your text message relationship makes communication so easy and inconsequential that it has given you an outlet to say things that you should probably just keep to yourself. Thankfully, with drunk text messaging firmly established as a modern day cultural norm, you can just laugh about your offhand remarks the next day and blame it on the alcohol, thereby making the text message relationship enticing, enduring (at least for a while), and, best of all, completely noncommittal.
Electronic dating is so popular because it guarantees us easy access to the person of our non-affection, or shall we say “pseudo-affection.” Just a few punches on the keyboard (or keypad) and you’ve communicated exactly what you wanted to say without having any real interaction at all. But is that always a good thing? When you give a guy your number, does he choose to call you when he wants to make a plan, or is the first exchange via text message? And aren’t there any implications in this?
On the flip side of things, there are some single New Yorkers (insert "ray of hope" here) who have adapted to the world of electronic dating and casual interactions by refusing to adapt to it at all, which makes me realize that when it comes to modern day dating, "evolution" cannot necessarily be equated with "progress."
After all, there are still guys who pick up the phone, pull out chairs, and yes...even write love letters.
Wait, hold on a sec…
Did I just hear a pebble hit my window?
In New York City, where busy schedules and overwhelming workloads may challenge one’s ability for true intimacy, we relationship savvy New Yorkers have skillfully learned to overcome this challenge by altering the very notion of intimacy itself. Whereas traditional courting involves love letters, pebbles on windows (does that really happen?), pulling out chairs, and an earnest effort to really learn about someone, modern day courting eschews all of these antiquated inconveniences and replaces them instead with frequent and effortless interactions that involve an abundance of exchanges…with not very much being exchanged at all.
We’ve all had it in some form or another: e-mail, text message, IM. Sometimes these modes of communication supplement intimate meaningful interactions, while other times, we fall into the unfortunate but all too easy trap of modern day dating devices.
Enter the electronic relationship.
How do you know if you’re in one? That’s usually pretty easy. Perhaps this guy e-mails you every morning asking you about your day, or one hour past your morning coffee you find yourself g-chatting with him at work and the conversation continues on and off for the majority of the afternoon. It’s a flirty exchange, you’ll give it that much, but there are no expectations. The nature of the relationship lies in the very fact that it flourishes in the online world and not necessarily anywhere else. In fact, if this guy actually picked up a phone and dialed your number, you would be happy, of course, but you would also be taken aback. Even you know that a phone call requires effort, clicking a name on g-chat--well--it doesn’t. That's the beauty of the relationship--and its downfall.
On one hand, you and this guy have discussed a lot with one another, bringing up topics that you probably would not have been comfortable sharing in person this early in the game. On the other hand, you have also established a false sense of connection, because you don’t really know this guy, right? I mean, it’s not a real relationship if it exists only in cyberspace. (Is it?)
One of my friends is involved in a rather exhausting string of e-mails with a guy she has actually gone on a couple of dates with in the past. Due to conflicting schedules, they were not able to see one another for a month, and now their relationship has--rather unfortunately--fallen into the “electronic zone.” And trust me, if you think that you and a potential love interest are stuck in the “friend zone,” the electronic zone is far worse. At least in the friend zone you still maintain some sort of in-person interaction. In the electronic zone, you find yourself getting overly excited when you see their name appear in your g-chat buddy list! (Ladies, don’t even tell me you haven’t felt it.)
And then there is the scheming, sneaky, “I-promise-I’ll-make-you-regret-this” cousin to the online relationship. Enter the text message relationship. While this relationship can begin at any time, it seems to have a knack for establishing itself one late Saturday night when you’ve had a bit too much to drink and need some instant gratification flirting. The relationship inevitably continues the following weekend, when you realize that your text message relationship makes communication so easy and inconsequential that it has given you an outlet to say things that you should probably just keep to yourself. Thankfully, with drunk text messaging firmly established as a modern day cultural norm, you can just laugh about your offhand remarks the next day and blame it on the alcohol, thereby making the text message relationship enticing, enduring (at least for a while), and, best of all, completely noncommittal.
Electronic dating is so popular because it guarantees us easy access to the person of our non-affection, or shall we say “pseudo-affection.” Just a few punches on the keyboard (or keypad) and you’ve communicated exactly what you wanted to say without having any real interaction at all. But is that always a good thing? When you give a guy your number, does he choose to call you when he wants to make a plan, or is the first exchange via text message? And aren’t there any implications in this?
On the flip side of things, there are some single New Yorkers (insert "ray of hope" here) who have adapted to the world of electronic dating and casual interactions by refusing to adapt to it at all, which makes me realize that when it comes to modern day dating, "evolution" cannot necessarily be equated with "progress."
After all, there are still guys who pick up the phone, pull out chairs, and yes...even write love letters.
Wait, hold on a sec…
Did I just hear a pebble hit my window?
Thursday, August 7, 2008
The Anatomy of a Male Co-Worker
(And what happens when you get too close to it…)
In college, the men were free.
Of course, there was always the stigma of students dating staff, but if you stuck to the majority of men—single, college men—then it was relatively easy to meet someone, hook-up, and carry on what would inevitably become a fairly dysfunctional (or was that just me?) college relationship. The college social equation is flawlessly constructed to bring people together: guys + girls + alcohol + dorm rooms + no mortgage (in deference to parents everywhere, I had to throw that one in there) = a good story to tell your friends the next day. But then you graduate, and for better or for worse, something happens to your sweet, little social equation—and to the guys involved in it.
Now, working in Manhattan, you are still surrounded by single, attractive young men on a daily basis, and between the office parties and happy hours, there is still plenty of alcohol to be had by all. On top of that, all of your apartments (read: beds) are still relatively close to one another; however, despite ease of access, this isn’t college anymore. The name of the game has changed and so have all of the rules—severely. It’s almost like someone has decided to play an evil ruse where they’ve taken all of the eligible single men in Manhattan and have placed them in an office together—with you—and before you know it, that nerdy finance guy who you would have totally swooned over in your Accounting 101 class first semester sophomore year is the suit-wearing guy sitting in the cube next to you. Suddenly, things don’t seem as easy as they were in college.
Ladies, if you haven’t already made their acquaintance, I’m proud to introduce you to your worst (or rather, most complicated) nightmare: the single, attractive and oh so eligible male co-worker. Your co-worker.
There are some girls who just don’t seem to care. Acting on impulse, they hook up with the first attractive guy they find themselves flirting with at a Wednesday afternoon office happy hour. The problem here is that next Wednesday afternoon, the same thing may happen with another guy, and before two months are out, they’re wearing the utterly unglamorous moniker of “Office Slut.” On the flipside, there are some people I know that have chosen to recognize the potential stickiness of the male co-worker hook-up situation, only to find that the supposedly responsible “let’s-just-flirt-and-not-hook-up” approach has turned their coy after-hour exchanges into awkward work encounters, in which both parties feign surprise at actually running into one another in (shock!), of all places, the office!
There is also the issue of seeing your co-workers more than you see everyone else in your life, thereby creating the “I–think-I-like-him-but-it-could-just-be-because-I’m-used-to-him” scenario, in which you and your co-worker hang out all of the time and become really good friends, to the point where you feel like you are in a sexless pseudo-relationship in which there are no real feelings (or are there?), and you constantly try and make sense of the situation until you’re just annoyed by the whole twisted relationship in general. It almost doesn’t matter whether or not there are or were any feelings there, it’s just not worth analyzing anymore.
It seems that when it comes to single, male co-workers, there doesn’t seem to be a specific course of action in terms of what you should and shouldn’t do. Personally, I think that there are several things to consider before making a decision, which for your convenience, I’ve pulled into a brief checklist below:
The truth is, as a PR professional, I don’t have this problem. I work with all women.
And trust me, that comes with a whole other set of issues.
In college, the men were free.
Of course, there was always the stigma of students dating staff, but if you stuck to the majority of men—single, college men—then it was relatively easy to meet someone, hook-up, and carry on what would inevitably become a fairly dysfunctional (or was that just me?) college relationship. The college social equation is flawlessly constructed to bring people together: guys + girls + alcohol + dorm rooms + no mortgage (in deference to parents everywhere, I had to throw that one in there) = a good story to tell your friends the next day. But then you graduate, and for better or for worse, something happens to your sweet, little social equation—and to the guys involved in it.
Now, working in Manhattan, you are still surrounded by single, attractive young men on a daily basis, and between the office parties and happy hours, there is still plenty of alcohol to be had by all. On top of that, all of your apartments (read: beds) are still relatively close to one another; however, despite ease of access, this isn’t college anymore. The name of the game has changed and so have all of the rules—severely. It’s almost like someone has decided to play an evil ruse where they’ve taken all of the eligible single men in Manhattan and have placed them in an office together—with you—and before you know it, that nerdy finance guy who you would have totally swooned over in your Accounting 101 class first semester sophomore year is the suit-wearing guy sitting in the cube next to you. Suddenly, things don’t seem as easy as they were in college.
Ladies, if you haven’t already made their acquaintance, I’m proud to introduce you to your worst (or rather, most complicated) nightmare: the single, attractive and oh so eligible male co-worker. Your co-worker.
There are some girls who just don’t seem to care. Acting on impulse, they hook up with the first attractive guy they find themselves flirting with at a Wednesday afternoon office happy hour. The problem here is that next Wednesday afternoon, the same thing may happen with another guy, and before two months are out, they’re wearing the utterly unglamorous moniker of “Office Slut.” On the flipside, there are some people I know that have chosen to recognize the potential stickiness of the male co-worker hook-up situation, only to find that the supposedly responsible “let’s-just-flirt-and-not-hook-up” approach has turned their coy after-hour exchanges into awkward work encounters, in which both parties feign surprise at actually running into one another in (shock!), of all places, the office!
There is also the issue of seeing your co-workers more than you see everyone else in your life, thereby creating the “I–think-I-like-him-but-it-could-just-be-because-I’m-used-to-him” scenario, in which you and your co-worker hang out all of the time and become really good friends, to the point where you feel like you are in a sexless pseudo-relationship in which there are no real feelings (or are there?), and you constantly try and make sense of the situation until you’re just annoyed by the whole twisted relationship in general. It almost doesn’t matter whether or not there are or were any feelings there, it’s just not worth analyzing anymore.
It seems that when it comes to single, male co-workers, there doesn’t seem to be a specific course of action in terms of what you should and shouldn’t do. Personally, I think that there are several things to consider before making a decision, which for your convenience, I’ve pulled into a brief checklist below:
- Are you attracted to your single male co-worker, or just how he looks in a suit?
- Does your co-worker have an on-again, off-again girlfriend? (Does that girlfriend work in the office?)
- During co-worker happy hours, does he flirt with the bar tender? (Are you sure that the last bar tender was a woman?)
- Is he nerdy in an attractive way, or is he just really nerdy and you are trying to convince yourself that he is attractive because he is the only guy you’ve seen on a consistent basis for the past month?
- Does he have an annoying habit of sending inter-office e-mails or IMs to you with randomly placed and oddly excessive exclamation points?
The truth is, as a PR professional, I don’t have this problem. I work with all women.
And trust me, that comes with a whole other set of issues.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Same-Sex Platonic Courting
How Girls Make Girl Friends in Manhattan
This past Friday night at Jones Beach, as Counting Crows played yet another relatively unknown and slightly depressing song from their new CD (*sigh* why didn’t they play Mr. Jones?), my close friend turned to me, her eyes teary, and announced that the official countdown had reached four weeks. She would be leaving for Israel in just one month (eek!), and would be staying there for at least a year. I have only been friends with this girl since January, but ever since meeting her, I’ve become aware of a new phenomenon, that is, the extremely methodical, seamless and slightly amusing (read: “ironic”) way that girls make girl friends in Manhattan.
In terms of this particular friend of mine, I remember seeing her from across the bar at a mutual friend’s birthday party in Manhattan.
We had gone to college together, and though I knew her name and had seen her on campus pretty frequently throughout my four years, I never felt the need to pursue a relationship with her. As far I could tell, she just wasn’t “my type.”
But Manhattan is a big city, and the key to not getting lost in a crowd is to be an active crowd participant—which we apparently both knew. A few beers, some casual chit-chat about common college memories (Really? That happened to me too!) and before long we were exchanging numbers and scheduling our first official…date?
Well, sort of.
Okay, so perhaps neither of us was interested in one another in “that” way, but still, this was more than a plan to hang out. You make plans to hang out with your friends, and you make your friends by having repeated contact and meaningful conversation with these people, thereby establishing a connection. But when most of the people you have repeated contact with are your co-workers or previously established (read: “pre 9-5 life”) friends, it can be difficult to forge new female friendships unless you’re willing to enter the well-known but seldom spoken about world of “fem-dating.”
Many women go through the fem-dating experience without even realizing it. They randomly get a text message from an old female friend asking to hang out, receive a woman’s business card at a bar one night, or find themselves engaged in long conversations that have an ironic way of ending in, “we should definitely hang out!” The process of establishing a fem-friend is usually so subtle that you don’t even realize it’s taking place until the second or third “date.”
Similar to the traditional world of dating, there are some relationships that are clearly just “flings,” where after a few brunches you realize that despite some common interests, this is not going to be a long-term relationship. Of course, there are other relationships that are built on what I’ve termed “fem at first sight.” In this scenario, things progress rather quickly, and in just a few weeks you are chanting Sanskrit at an Ashram together, meeting their mother, attending Friday night services at temple, and driving out with their friends for a weekend trip to the Hamptons. The best part about long-term “fem friends” is that you get all the benefits of a great friendship and can still “fem-date” on the side without breaking any rules. In the world of fem-dating, polygamy is actually encouraged!
I mean, let’s be practical here, if Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha all have plans one night (or decide to move to Israel), won’t Carrie wish she had been on more fem-dates?
This past Friday night at Jones Beach, as Counting Crows played yet another relatively unknown and slightly depressing song from their new CD (*sigh* why didn’t they play Mr. Jones?), my close friend turned to me, her eyes teary, and announced that the official countdown had reached four weeks. She would be leaving for Israel in just one month (eek!), and would be staying there for at least a year. I have only been friends with this girl since January, but ever since meeting her, I’ve become aware of a new phenomenon, that is, the extremely methodical, seamless and slightly amusing (read: “ironic”) way that girls make girl friends in Manhattan.
In terms of this particular friend of mine, I remember seeing her from across the bar at a mutual friend’s birthday party in Manhattan.
We had gone to college together, and though I knew her name and had seen her on campus pretty frequently throughout my four years, I never felt the need to pursue a relationship with her. As far I could tell, she just wasn’t “my type.”
But Manhattan is a big city, and the key to not getting lost in a crowd is to be an active crowd participant—which we apparently both knew. A few beers, some casual chit-chat about common college memories (Really? That happened to me too!) and before long we were exchanging numbers and scheduling our first official…date?
Well, sort of.
Okay, so perhaps neither of us was interested in one another in “that” way, but still, this was more than a plan to hang out. You make plans to hang out with your friends, and you make your friends by having repeated contact and meaningful conversation with these people, thereby establishing a connection. But when most of the people you have repeated contact with are your co-workers or previously established (read: “pre 9-5 life”) friends, it can be difficult to forge new female friendships unless you’re willing to enter the well-known but seldom spoken about world of “fem-dating.”
Many women go through the fem-dating experience without even realizing it. They randomly get a text message from an old female friend asking to hang out, receive a woman’s business card at a bar one night, or find themselves engaged in long conversations that have an ironic way of ending in, “we should definitely hang out!” The process of establishing a fem-friend is usually so subtle that you don’t even realize it’s taking place until the second or third “date.”
Similar to the traditional world of dating, there are some relationships that are clearly just “flings,” where after a few brunches you realize that despite some common interests, this is not going to be a long-term relationship. Of course, there are other relationships that are built on what I’ve termed “fem at first sight.” In this scenario, things progress rather quickly, and in just a few weeks you are chanting Sanskrit at an Ashram together, meeting their mother, attending Friday night services at temple, and driving out with their friends for a weekend trip to the Hamptons. The best part about long-term “fem friends” is that you get all the benefits of a great friendship and can still “fem-date” on the side without breaking any rules. In the world of fem-dating, polygamy is actually encouraged!
I mean, let’s be practical here, if Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha all have plans one night (or decide to move to Israel), won’t Carrie wish she had been on more fem-dates?
Friday, August 1, 2008
Are we there yet?
Yes we are!
Congratulations on making it to Friday! I'm going to a concert at Jones Beach tonight (Maroon 5, Counting Crows, Sara Bareilles), but stay tuned for more posts this weekend!
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