A month after I started my blog in 2010, I took the bus from JFK into the city. As I got on the bus in my Jessica Simpson slingbacks (ridiculous, I know), the driver took zero pity on me and took off. I went crashing with my bag and my floppy hat right into the aisle. I looked up and locked eyes with a blue-eyed hunk who simply asked, “You alright?” before helping me to my feet.
I didn’t know it then, but that was the day I met my very first New York love, Scott.
This post is part of the Ask the Addict advice column. Learn more about submitting your (anonymous!) question here.
When I started this blog, I made a vow to myself and to all of you that I wouldn’t use this place to manbash. Even with all of the terrible dates, disappointing break-ups and everything in between, I’ve never revealed an identity of the men I’ve dated or said things that weren’t true.
Well weren’t incredibly exaggerated, I should say.
I never wanted this space to be about the dudes – but about the girls and what it’s like to be a 20-something single gal dating, learning and growing in a big city. So while this post isn’t exactly man bashing… it’s a little more hater-y then my other blogs I’ve written.
I’m sorry I’m not sorry for posting this – but c’mon men.
Recently, I wrote about how dating apps can make you feel like you’re dating… when all you’re doing is scanning pictures and having conversations that legit lead nowhere.
Before I wrote the post, I had a conversation with my roommate C about how logging onto Tinder or Hinge (or countless other dating apps) is so easy, but actually getting up the guts – and putting in the minimal effort – to meet someone for a drink can be really hard to do.
And so we decided we would keep each other accountable for getting out there by creating The Dating Pact. And now, I invite you to join us (and possibly win a prize!)
The rules are simple:
When I’m outside of New York or when I talk to friends from home or another state, I almost always get asked: what’s it like to date in New York City?
It sucks. It’s terrible. I hate it.
Okay, I don’t (most of the time) and I still have hope (some of the time), but the truth of dating in Manhattan is something that took me a while to admit: being a single gal in this city isn’t easy. But when I first arrived in those black pumps with blind ambition about my career and my love life, I thought I’d be the exception. I thought moving here justified my bravery and my dedication to the city I love and I’d be rewarded with… well, love.
600 blog posts later, I think I’ve proven myself wrong.
loveaddictnyc.com 