In 2019, when I was 35, I had a weird, super-late period. I happened to be going to see my OB that month and said, “Is this something I should be concerned about? My wife and I want to have kids but we’re probably still a year or two away from that.” She said, “You shouldn’t be worried about one weird period, but if you’re one or two years away from starting a family, I would recommend you just start the process and educate yourself and make an appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist.” So, last May, we did that.

She said, “Yeah, I think you’re probably starting early-onset menopause.” My mom started at 37, so last year she’d said, “I don’t want you to wait.” And I said, “Well, we just went to Mexico, we’re supposed to wait at least six months because of Zika.” And she was like, “I don’t want you to wait six months, I want you to get tested and start now.”

So we basically started trying to get pregnant shortly after that. We found an egg donor online and started trying to do an IUI [Intrauterine Insemination]. Every month I would do blood work to determine whether I could even try that month based on my egg level. So, we tried three times and did not get pregnant three times. Then we had more months when we weren’t able to try at all. 

I learned so much about my period while going through fertility. I literally realized at age 36 that my body’s been doing this for 28 years and I had no idea what the hell was going on. I didn’t understand the intricacies of which hormone your body produces during the first half of your period and which hormone your body produces in the second half, in order to thicken the lining to prepare for a baby to implant itself in your uterus. I just had no idea what any of this was doing. 

There are gross things I’ve learned now that I’m supposed to be aware of when I ovulate. They recommend paying attention to your discharge during the second half of your period. There’s this woman who recommends putting your fingers in it so you’re familiar with the texture, and as the texture changes, you’ll know when you’re closer to ovulation. It’s the craziest stuff that I’ve learned about myself during all this. I think nobody knows anything about how their own fertility and reproduction works until there’s a problem.

Anyway, my hormone levels were too near to menopause that month and my doctor at the time would say, “I don’t recommend that you spend the money to try with your hormone levels looking the way they do.” Then we started with a new doctor right before COVID. She agrees with the diagnosis that I’m starting menopause very soon and she feels like I don’t have many months left. But she wants to continue on and keep trying a couple more times. We’ve basically said we want to try one more time. It fits how much sperm we have left from our sperm donor. But we wouldn’t try this May because the clinic was closed.

Then, on top of that, just coincidentally, super-fun, on my period that month, I started getting hot flashes. So I was having hot flashes, I don’t know, throughout the day and night, probably 25 to 30 times. It felt like this constant reminder that my window was closing rapidly and all I could do was sit in my apartment and think about it. There was just nothing I could do.

Hot flashes come along with some of those fertility drugs but this is definitely the first time I’ve had hot flashes without the assisted drugs. The first few times I didn’t even notice it and then by the end of the day I realized, “Okay, this is not like ‘Oh, I was walking around and I got hot.’ This is a hot flash and this is continuing to happen, it’s not a one-off and I’m not taking any drugs. This is just my body doing this.”

My hot flashes start from my back. So, all of a sudden it’s just, like, heat radiating off of my back all the way up my neck, under-boob sweat. I mean, it’s awful. The only good thing is that quarantine is a good time to have them because I can take my shirt off in the middle of a conference call and no one will know. 

But, another thing that’s frustrating is that I follow all of these people—I don’t know what to even call them, people in the infertility world, women who are experiencing this—and I listen to a couple podcasts about it. Everyone was saying, “You know what, while we’re all taking time off of our fertility rounds, we’re home, maybe we’ll just get pregnant.” It was all of these heterosexual couples talking about how that’s an opportunity. And I was just sitting there with my wife going, “There’s no sperm in this apartment.”

Basically every time you start your period, you start the opportunity for a new cycle. So I called my clinic when my period started at the beginning of May and they said, “We aren’t able to open for that service.” They basically only opened for one very specific type of surgery or procedure, which is frozen embryo transfer. Not coincidentally, it’s the most expensive one that you can do. They weren’t open for the one that I need, which is the least invasive, least expensive. But they did say to check back in two weeks. So, I was ovulating that week in May, but there was nothing we could do because we didn’t go and get my baseline blood work done on the first week of my period.

I’m married and my wife has been incredible through all of this. She’s never had the desire to carry a child, so there are some aspects of this she can’t totally empathize with, but she’s been incredibly sympathetic. After I knew I wouldn’t get able to get an appointment, I’d been doing really well and feeling positive, like, “You know what? This is meant to work out the way it’s supposed to work out.” I’ve been on these crazy fertility diets and I’ve been completely restricted. I haven’t had caffeine or alcohol for, like, six months. In some ways it was a relief to be able to say during quarantine, “You know what? I’m going to have a glass of wine tonight and it’s fine.”

I thought, I’ve got at least two weeks where I can work out the way I want to work out. Eat whatever I want to eat. I can drink. I can stop eating so much goddamn kale every day. Kale is supposed to make you fertile. I think I drank an entire bottle of wine by myself. And I had a coffee on Saturday morning for breakfast. It was amazing. I’ve definitely had wine since then, but very healthy moderate amounts, not super-fun amounts of wine. 

It was nice to have that stress removed. But Mother’s Day triggered me and everything felt impossible again. My wife had this moment where she looked at me and said, “I feel like you’re manic right now.” I’d said, “Hey, maybe [our guy friends] will be open to donating sperm. They can just come drop some off at our front door!” That’s so counter to the plan we’d created for ourselves. Going with a known donor was something we talked about in the beginning of our process, but for a lot of reasons we chose not to do that.

At that point, she felt this level of stress about it that I couldn’t understand. We talked about it and decided it was a little quick. We’d need to give our best friends some time to digest the information. It’s absolutely something we’d consider. The reality is that it would be so much cheaper for us to go that route.

I’m a birth mom. When I was 18, I got pregnant and I had a baby and placed him for adoption. We’ve spent $12,000 so far, which in the scope of IVF and infertility is really low, but given what we initially thought—that we’d just have to try this one or two times and we’d be pregnant and it would be done—we thought we were going to spend $5,000. The idea of not having to spend tens of thousands more is really attractive, especially right now. My wife is a photographer and she has no income right now, so we’re living off of my income. We’re super grateful that I have a job. But the idea of spending tens of thousands of dollars for more of this doesn’t feel safe right now.

Ever since then, I’ve been so excited to get pregnant and carry my own child when I was going to keep this child, and it was meant for me. The only year Mother’s Day was ever hard was the very first year after my birth-son was born. Since then, I’ve thought of Mother’s Day as a weekend to reflect on how incredible this boy is and to reflect on this incredible life he has that I’m tangentially part of and was completely unable to give him when I was 18 years old.

This is the first year where [not being a mother again] felt like it was absolutely not my choice and I may never have this opportunity. It was a really awful weekend. I just cried all day. I mean, like, crazy amounts of crying. We live right next door to a flower shop. I was doing a workout in my apartment on Saturday afternoon and watching people in line to buy Mother’s Day flowers, just in tears.

Trying to get pregnant through IVF is a huge rollercoaster. You go through all of this hope and excitement and you’re working toward something and you think it’s going to work. Then you find out that it didn’t work and it’s an incredible low and sadness. But then, literally two weeks later, you’re back on the hope part again. I would say there haven’t been very many lows other than the times when we’ve tried and it didn’t work.

Now, clinics have reopened, and we’ve been able to try again, but we had a chemical pregnancy, meaning I got a positive pregnancy test and then started my period about four days later. We’re now taking a month off and hoping to try again in November. During the initial quarantine lockdown, we had no idea when the clinics would reopen, and now having the option to try again in the future makes me feel much less trapped and hopeless.

The post Praying for Pregnancy During a Pandemic: ‘My Wife Said ‘I Feel Like You’re Manic Right Now’’ appeared first on Repeller.

Five months into the pandemic I was asked to do a comedy show over Zoom. Despite having worked as a stand-up comedian pre-pandemic, up until this point I had politely declined any live streaming shows. It didn’t feel right to tell jokes into my empty apartment for an audience on mute.

Missing the high of the stage, I agreed to do a particular show: a comedy dance show.  I am never short of dance moves, even when audience members are in short supply. The walls of my apartment had been known to request blindfolds.

I immediately started planning my dance numbers. One of my favorite drag queens, Lady Red Couture, had recently passed away, so I planned a dance number to her song “Extra Value Meal” and choreographed a performance with many fast food-related gags—including, but not limited to, eating two Big Macs while hula hooping.

A couple of days before the show, I was tagged in a promotional post on Instagram. I looked at the line-up to size up my competition. And that’s when I saw the judges included one I was unfortunately too familiar with: Greg. Crap.

Greg, my former crush, the one who consumed my world and lived rent-free in my mind for years, would be one of the judges. Our relationship was pivotal, and was the reason for several big changes in my life. The first time I was ever on a plane was to visit this man. It felt like a movie and it felt very adult. 

We hooked up once, resulting in an apology for “giving me the wrong impression.” This conversation took place on a bridge. At the time, I had been watching a lot of Sex and the City, so naturally I thought it was true love.

I spent the better part of a year chasing him in-between states and exchanging near-daily text messages and inside jokes. The last time I had talked to Greg, he had accused me of having “some unhealthy delusions about our relationship.”

 I would have preferred “you’re crazy”—it’s more to the point. 

Greg strung me along for a year before giving me the kindness of breaking my heart. But more importantly, he made something snap inside me. A big component of my unrequited love was that he didn’t think I was funny, and, therefore, not qualified to be a real girlfriend.

In my post-heartbreak rage, I submitted a writing packet, which led not only to my first job in comedy but many jobs that I have strung into a career. I had spent the last four years working my ass off to prove to him that I was just as good a comedian as he was.

After months of COVID, when I didn’t even get to see my best friends in the world, this man was going to be (virtually) in my living room. And he was going to have to tell everyone his opinions on me pulling Whoppers out of my bra to disco music.

Should I drop out? No. Maybe he would drop out? I crossed my fingers. He didn’t. Crap.

This wouldn’t be your average embarrassing run-in at the DMV or a random party. He would be in my living room. He would see everything. My crappy David Bowie poster and that, despite two job promotions, I hadn’t redecorated or switched apartments since I was 24.

I cringed at the thought of the “me” who had loved him. The girl who drank an entire bottle of 7-11 strawberry Boons Farm and texted him from a friend’s phone that he should love me because “Elizabeth is perfect she is a big fan of Lady Gaga.” 

It seemed like a super-compelling argument at the time.

After two days of fretting, Taylor Swift songs on repeat, wardrobe changes, and exhausting all my friends, the show came.

We saw each other in those tiny Brady Bunch-esque Zoom boxes before the show streamed on Twitch. It turned out it wasn’t that different than seeing each other at a party. We didn’t speak directly to one another, but engaged with those around us.

As I sat in my apartment, while also in a virtual room he was in, I felt okay. I was grateful to have the moment between us, as scary as it had seemed. It felt nice. And after months of being away from other people, it was amazing to be experiencing regular human emotions again. Even if it was about someone I hoped to never see again.

I danced. He scored me. A perfect ten. And made a very awkward comment about my silhouette looking lovely in sequins, which made me feel like I won the break-up.

He gave me the kindness of treating me like a contestant he was rooting for, of scoring me more than fairly, which frankly I deserved after the airplane credit card debt and my broken heart.

Maybe, just maybe, he understood who I was now. I was no longer the girl in love who jumped for him at a moment’s notice, I was his peer. There wasn’t a confession that he was still madly in love with me. There wasn’t the regret in his eyes I would have liked. But there was the professional confirmation I needed from him all along. Finally.

I was crowned the winner, and I got the confirmation I wanted all along:

I am very funny. And I’m a hell of a dancer. 

The post True Life: I Ran into My Ex… Over Zoom appeared first on Repeller.

My son’s last haircut was in December. He was already overdue for one in March, when all the salons closed, and by May he had a mullet, albeit a curly, adorable one that my mom begged me not to cut. Calder, all of 7, liked it too—said he looked cool, like a skater kid—except when I’d bark reminders at him to stop brushing it out of his eyes when we left our Manhattan apartment for our daily constitutional around the park. “Don’t touch your face!” I’d yell, terrified of the unseen germs on elevator buttons and door handles, and then I’d immediately feel bad for yelling. I started tucking his hair back with bobby pins, but little curls always managed to escape, framing his hand-sewn puppy-print mask. 

By June it was grazing his shoulders, but he wouldn’t let me cut it. Only Pepe, his longtime barber at Astor Place Hairstyles, could have that privilege. (“Do you think he misses me?” Calder asked one night. Of course I said yes.) Combing through the tangles after his baths began to lead to fights and tears. As if we needed any more tears in our house. Tears about remote learning, about having to go outside, about limited Minecraft play, about the lack of mac and cheese in our cabinets, about how I worked too much. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I stopped combing it. At bedtime I tried running my hands through his hair and my fingers got stuck. 

When school ended we decamped to my in-law’s cottage on a lake in Western Maine. Calder started swimming every day and soon his luscious curls had become knots and nests, impenetrable to brushing. He’d scream bloody murder when I came at him with a comb. He deemed my conditioner “girlie” and refused to use it during his much less frequent than normal showers (“Swimming in the lake counts as a bath!”). I tried attacking the knots while he was zoned out in front of his iPad, watching Duck Tales before dinner, but I’d inevitably only get one side brushed out so he looked like some kind of Tim Burton creation. 

And then I found it: a bottle of Johnson’s No More Tangles spray in the bathroom cabinet, a relic from when his much-older girl cousins were long-haired elementary schoolers. Johnson & Johnson released No More Tangles in 1971, 18 years after it cornered the market on baby shampoo. A commercial from that time features an angelic-faced blonde preschooler with a mess of wet hair, frowning at the camera. “I have this terrible problem with my hair after shampooing,” she says with a slight lisp. “The comb gets stuck in the tangles and it hurts. Thank goodness Johnson’s invented No More Tangles. Mommy just sprays some, and no more tangles.” Cut to the girl smiling with a salon-worthy ’do. “And see how shiny and manageable my hair stays!”

Here was my answer: a simple mix of behentrimonium methosulfate, cetearyl alcohol, sodium benzoate, citric acid, dimethicone, trisiloxane, and polysorbate 20, all wrapped up in a flowery fresh scent. Forget the organic, sulfate- and paraben-free products that filled my cupboards at home. Forget the manufactured and marketed idea that “all natural” could keep my kid safe and healthy. I sprayed some on my own hair and breathed in deep: Here was the chemically engineered scent of possibility. 

That night after his shower, I showed Calder the bottle and explained how his cousins had used it and that it really delivered on its name. He looked dubious but sniffed it and nodded approvingly (“It smells like a ladies’ clothing store; I like it”), and I sprayed away. Finally the moment of truth: I pulled my comb through his wet, brown hair and it slid through seamlessly. He raised his eyebrows comically high and smiled: “I really have no more tangles!” And with that, he bounded out of the bathroom to go play with his Lego, the moment, the months of anguish, already forgotten.

I laughed but I could feel the tears welling up. There were so many things in my life that I couldn’t untangle at that moment. And I knew, on every level, that this was a minuscule win, one of those tiny victories that on any normal day, in any normal summer, would be disregarded immediately. But I let that feeling of victory linger, and when I kissed Calder goodnight and breathed in the flowery scent from that eight-year-old bottle of cream rinse, I felt stronger.

The post Pandemic Parenting: When Detangling Hair Feels Like Your Greatest Triumph appeared first on Repeller.

This last pressure has always weighed the most heavily. Post-high school, I never really had a “crew”–the extensive friend network that lends itself to massive group chats and 20-person dinners. Instead I have what I’ll call “pods,” small groups of roughly 2-4 friends from different areas or phases of my life, each tucked into their own neat little orbit and only colliding on rare occasions like birthdays or weddings. Combining friend groups is hard. Making new, genuine friends as an adult is even harder–for me, at least. I used to consider this a big issue, one I spoke about to therapists and incorporated into New Year’s resolutions: Put yourself out there more! Ask someone out for coffee! Act now or doom your social circle to permanent smallness!

It only recently occurred to me that this particular anxiety–the one that says everyone is out there making new friends and combining friends and being extroverted except me–hasn’t buzzed in my chest like a wasp in months. After the revelation hit, I started thinking about the future of friendship. I’ve been thinking about how it’s going to work over the next year, and what I want my relationship with it to be.

Friendship feels more important than ever, but in a completely different way. There’s still a sense of pressure, but one that is more internal-facing–one that asks me not what I’m doing to make more friends, but instead what I’m doing to serve the friends I already have. How can I make them feel seen and appreciated when I can’t actually see them in person right now? How can I give more and ask for less? Am I reaching out only when I need something, or when I think they might need something? Maybe “pressure” isn’t the right word, because that tends to have a negative connotation, and there is nothing negative-feeling about this desire. It feels more like a kind of yearning, born from the tender space between missing and wanting to be missed in return.

I’m still learning how to get it right, this friendship thing, especially in such a strange and isolated time. But I’m grateful for the perspective–the proverbial kick in the pants reminding me that while making new friends will always be a worthy pursuit, re-investing some of that time and energy into the ones I already have and love is often even worthier. I’m also curious how other people are negotiating their respective relationships with the joys and pressures of friendship right now. Are you struggling to stay in touch with friends, or has it come easily? Have you made any new friends? If you felt like you needed to before, do you still feel that now? Have your friendships been enriched by communicating in quarantine or strained? How will the future of adult friendship and what we expect it to look and feel like will be impacted by this collective experience? Let’s discuss in the comments.

Feature photo via Fox Network.

The post Open Thread: How Are Your Friendships Changing? appeared first on Repeller.

For some, love in the time of COVID-19 is a bit like having been proverbially sent to your room, and in turn, denied the pleasures of sex and dating on the whole. For others, it’s quite the opposite: An all-in, bar-nothing edition of partnership (in which you and your significant other spend every waking moment living, working, eating, and sleeping within the same very expensive walk-in closet — I mean, apartment). If you’ve familiarized yourself with any of Andrew Cuomo’s art nuovo, you’re well-versed in the trope that is the Quarantine Breakup (see: the boyfriend cliff). In short, present tense romance is a strange beast.

So, in service of fixing in on some piece of the watery, illusive concept that is “intimacy” in the time of Corona, I reached out to Cyndi Darnell, a certified clinical sexologist, therapist, and couple’s counselor, about the scope of her job right now. Here’s your behind-the-Zoom-curtain peek at what it’s like to confront matters of sex and dating for a living, in the midst of both a global pandemic and a social revolution.

Are you seeing any common threads in the issues your clients have been raising throughout quarantine?

I actually don’t feel that most people are coming to me with issues that are born out of quarantine. Instead, I think people have a bit more time on their hands. They’re not rushing around quite like they were a few months ago. Essential workers aside, for the most part, my clients are either working less, working from home, or not working at all. They have some space to sit with their own thoughts, their own discomforts, their own anxieties. And for many of them, cohabitating with a significant other is bringing a number of shared issues to the surface.

Under normal circumstances, both parties get out of the house, go to work, socialize, go on vacations. Now none of that’s happening. There are no distractions. There’s nothing diluting their time together. And because there’s less space and more time, I think people are feeling like they really do have the opportunity to prioritize something like therapy.

I have a number of clients coming to me right now and saying, “I’m in a relationship that is, for whatever reason, not satisfying me. How might I be more satisfied?” Those existential questions are my specialty. I don’t take a diagnostic or illness-based approach to sex and relationship problems because, well, I just don’t think sex and relationship-based issues are illnesses. They’re part of life. They require some work and some questioning. And it’s only natural that, when you have more time on your hands, you’re inclined to start thinking: What does my relationship mean to me, and why? And that’s the nature of all existential inquiry: What is the point of all this?

One could say, well there is no point except what you make of it. It’s about agency. So people are sort of doing that now — reclaiming that agency, seeing a therapist, figuring out how to build out their relationships in the most satisfying ways possible, asking the important existential questions.

At the moment, couples are facing a lot of issues that were bubbling under the surface over the past few years, and are just now coming to the foreground. Not because the relationships are necessarily falling apart, but because they’ve gone from maybe spending fifteen hours a week with one another to 80-plus hours. And with plenty of good reason, that comes with complications.

I’m also seeing a rise in anxiety-related conditions. Surrounding sex, there are things like unreliable erections and trouble orgasming that manifest when anxiety levels are particularly high. And obviously, anxiety levels right now are very high. So a lot of what I’ve been discussing with my clients centers about strategies for getting space, strategies for communicating more effectively, strategies for checking in with your body, strategies for having the discussions that should have been had a couple of years ago about the details of your dynamic.

What are some strategies for getting space from your partner right now?

Generally, if you’re living in close quarters, I encourage couples to take turns going out for the day. If you can, take your laptop to the park and sit and work there. If there’s someone in your pod with a spared work space, try that for a day or so. If it feels financially plausible, consider renting an Airbnb close by and allowing yourselves some elongated time apart. Couples, even the happiest couples, need space.

Traditionally, we’re not trained to be able to say to our partners: “I need to go away from you because I can’t stand being around you all the time.” With good reason: this sounds off-putting. We’re so inclined to believe that if we need space from someone we love, it might say something negative about that love. The standard narrative is, “You’re my partner, we’re in love and we should spend every minute together that we can.” But frankly, for most people, that’s not how love works.

For many, navigating questions of space for the first time is challenging because it makes them question the relationship. But the relationship is not necessarily in trouble simply because you — and your partner — want to have time by yourself. It’s just a new skill that needs to be learned and in that way it’s much more of a social problem than a psychological one.

Have you encountered any Quarantine Breakups?

Honestly, I’m not seeing too many of these. That’s not to say they’re not happening. But likely, folks wouldn’t come talk to me if they’d already made up their minds to break up, anyway. A bartender is probably a better person to consult about that.

It’s a relatively unsexy time to be alive. Beyond the pandemic, we’re looking at a racial revolution, a political reckoning, the collapse of our economy. Do you think that’s having a significant effect on your clients’ sex lives?

Yes, definitely. I have many clients for whom the combination of COVID and the political and social climate has been really stifling sexually or romantically. But in these situations, the main thing to understand is that this form of processing is necessary and important. Whether or not it’s uncomfortable, we have to sit and feel these things.

The fact that you’re having strong emotional responses to this extraordinary time of social and political upheaval is not a weakness. It’s not a flaw in your character. It suggests that you have empathy and compassion and awareness. And for some people who it affects in deeper and more complicated ways — Black people in particular — of course these wounds are torn open. There’s trauma involved. And if they’re finding it difficult to cope, it’s not a sign of weakness or a sign that there’s anything wrong on an individual basis. This is really a time of reckoning at a social level, and while individuals will feel it and experience it differently there’s such a robust movement happening currently, and that change is inherently destabilizing. For everybody.

Is there anything to be done about that?

Generally, only during major wartimes have we seen this kind of instability. No, we’re not having a war right now — or at least not in the entirely traditional sense. But what we’re having is a social revolution. On the one hand, it’s an extraordinary thing to participate in, and on the other hand, it’s incredibly unsettling. So, in short, losing your mojo in the midst of all this doesn’t mean you’re a flawed person, or that you should try to dispel this emotional processing from your brain. It means that you’re reacting to your environment which, under the circumstances, is entirely reasonable. Even good and healthy. In time, the ‘mojo’ will come back.

At bottom, no matter who you are, it’s likely that you’re feeling less safe than usual right now. Your nervous system is taking a lashing. Even if whatever you’re confronting doesn’t affect you personally as an individual, it affects your community. It affects your loved ones. This will throw you off both mentally and physically. So, I encourage my clients to reflect on what matters to them, what their values are, what kind of people they want to be, and then scale out from there. What kind of person do you want to be in your community? What kind of community do you want to live in? What are your community values? Looking at these things from the broadest possible lens can help us think practically about solutions and coping mechanisms, but at the same time, it can help us distance ourselves from some of the more personal torment.

Are your clients still going on dates or hooking up with new partners right now?

The short answer is: Yes. Beginning and maintaining a relationship exclusively online is very difficult. So I do encourage folks, once they’ve gotten to know someone online, to interact in person — while of course being attentive to health protocols. The way we should be approaching these conversations is sort of similar to how we might approach STI tests. We should disclose the date of our most recent Covid test, and discuss the necessary steps we’re both taking in order to make it possible to meet in person without endangering ourselves or our loved ones. We need to use protection (masks) and meet under safe circumstances (outdoors).

That said, there are, of course, aspects of traditional dating that are simply off the table right now. There’s no way to attend a sex party safely. Even if you have COVID-19 antibodies, we don’t have enough research to know if you can catch the disease again or spread it around.

Fortunately, having Zoom sex — or Facetime sex, or whatever platform your prefer — is a completely valid way of interacting until physical intercourse becomes more available. No, it’s not the entire solution to this problem (the problem being our inability to go out and pursue casual intercourse), but it’s certainly a method that people are encouraged to use without any sense of shame or awkwardness. Under the circumstances, it’s a blessing that we have these kinds of technology. It’s a gift.

While cohabitating, have your clients experienced any issues around masturbation or porn consumption?

A lot of folks worry about the porn they consume and the amount — and if they’re living with friends or partners, they’re now facing the impact of that in a new way.

That said, there’s no definitive quantity of porn that is necessarily unhealthy. It really depends on whether the person in question experiences their porn consumption as problematic. If they don’t, then odds are, no one’s being harmed and there’s no problem. There’s no culturally sanctioned “this much porn is acceptable in a day.” So, when clients are stressed about it and they come to me wanting to talk about it, my interest is in why they think it’s a problem rather than how much time they’re spending. If you feel your consumption is out of control, it’s good to consider what it is that’s making you think that. What about your consumption is distressing you? What effect is it having on your life? On your relationship? On your work?

Do you think this period will have long term effects on dating and sexuality, even after there’s a vaccine?

I suspect that our dating lives will look different for a long time. We won’t know anything about how this virus affects us in the long term, and we’re going to have to be cautious for a while for that reason. Say, you’ve had the first iteration of COVID, then it mutates. Next year, you might be susceptible again. There are so many floating questions. We have very few answers in the larger sense, which means we’ll need to operate with caution for the foreseeable future — even when there’s a vaccine.

What do you imagine the dating scene will look like in the short-term future?

For single people, dating is still happening, but it’s happening in a really different way. Something as casual and simple as a first date requires people to spend some time thinking about their values and what matters to them and what kind of relationship they want to have. These are questions we usually try to save until we’ve developed a comfortable rapport with someone. They’re not “first date” questions, per se.

If you’re living with older people — or other people at all — that will really affect your ability to run around and meet people and enjoy casual hook-ups. Sharing a home with someone makes you responsible for their health and wellbeing as well as your own. We’re learning a whole new way of navigating an interpersonal and social context.

While dating, we’re going to need to have much bigger conversations about our health protocols and our values before we even meet up in real life — which is an odd thing at the very outset of a relationship. It makes hooking up not impossible but more complicated, and it means limiting the number of partners we engage with (if we’ve been previously inclined to “shop around” as it were). For now, we’re going to have to choose one or two people who practice the same protocols as us, and who have the same health values as we do. So in that way, our dating scene right now is going to feel far more labored than a normal hook-up might. But it still exists.

Of course, there are generally a lot of negatives there. But do you think there are circumstances where this particular version of dating is actually beneficial for some?

In a way, it’s like going back to an old-fashioned way of doing things. From a health POV, you kind of have to “go steady” with single individuals, because you could really harm someone if you don’t.

That means, at the outset, there’s a prolonged period of chatting online, and going through the motions before committing to a real-life meet up. There’s a tacit understanding (which should also be discussed) that, if you’re making the choice to engage physically, there’s some longevity or exclusivity attached. For some people, that’s a good thing. It’s an easier way to approach dating if it feels scary. Things have to move slowly, and I do think some people are enjoying that shift.

I think others are really struggling with it, though. When you’ve had a smorgasburg of opportunities available to you, and then, all of a sudden, you have to choose, it’s limiting. If you’re hardwired sexually for adventures, and play, and group activities and that kind of stuff, this is going to be a really hard time for you. There’s no blanket solution. It sucks. There’s no other way you can slice that pie.

Graphic by Lorenza Centi.

The post The New Rules of Dating, According to a Certified Sex Therapist appeared first on Repeller.

A portion of proceeds from Man Repeller’s partnership with Inner Circle is dedicated to charitable organizations that support social justice causes and to individual projects by BIPOC creatives.

People say that friends make the best dating app editors for a reason. Sparking intrigue in the hearts of your suitors by way of a dating profile is no easy feat, and there’s nothing quite like a close friend to bounce ideas off of and to function as your system of checks and balances (you’ll repay them with a pint of ice cream, I’m sure).

Two pairs of friends recently proved this theory correct when they documented the experience of setting up two Inner Circle dating profiles: one for Naydeline and one for Steffi, both creative types based in New York City. Their friends Leslie and Tess, who are both spoken for, came in with the assist and lent some authority to the project. Inner Circle is a global app, most popular in England, Brazil, and the Netherlands, for lighthearted people who are serious about dating. Designed to celebrate the nuances of each user, Inner Circle stands apart with its emphasis on facilitating real connection offline, getting you closer to meeting your match in person rather than sinking a lot of time into chatting on-app.

Here, each friend-pair annotated the profiles they made with the behind-the-scenes, sausage-making conversations and thought processes that go into setting up a dating profile that rings true both on- and offline.

Steffi, a site curator in New York, looking for a romantic prospect who can appreciate a pajama shirt worn outdoors

Steffi and Tess teamed up to take on Steffi’s Inner Circle profile. While it doesn’t quite translate on paper, much of this conversation was conducted in British accents. Here are the rules of the road, according to Tess and Steffi.

1. Always pick an even number of photos, for reasons based on gut feeling alone.

Steffi: Let’s do photos. I’m feeling very visual.

Steffi: So the first one I have is on my Instagram. Me at the beach. You know the vibes. I think it’s nice, right? It’s like, not too scandy and then it’s still got my face—

Tess: You’re a highlight in this. You’ve got your angle on lock, my friend.

Steffi: Oh, thank you. I appreciate it. It takes practice. It takes dedication.

Tess: Oftentimes too, this photo of you from your week in L.A., the cheetah-print shirt, it gives me intrigue. I like it. I mean not as much as your first one, because your first one should be clear.

Steffi: Yeah, that was a little blurry. I feel like that one is kind of edgy, cool girl. And then it’s like, “Oh, pajamas as outside clothes. Very innovative.”

Tess: Right, it also weeds out the normies right away.

Steffi: It weeds out the British version of men with fish.

Tess: How many photos do you think is not too many, not too few, but just enough?

Steffi: I usually think four or five, right?

Tess: I personally don’t like five. I like even numbers. Also, what are your thoughts on… do you want to be one of the people who puts a meme as your last one?

Steffi: I feel like that’s not a thing anymore.

Steffi:: For the fourth photo, I think I’m going to put one of me and you, because it’s just one with yourself.

Tess: I like putting a photo of you with somebody else to prove that you are not a bot as the third or fourth photo. I was thinking about that for the first photo, but I can’t stand the “me or her?” dating profile. Anyway, you look so cute. And I look like an eel. It doesn’t matter what I look like. It’s fine. That’s a great picture of you.

Steffi: So iconic. That was a good photo. You also look really cute in that—you’re just like a happy, happy jelly baby.

Tess: I do look happy jelly in that photo. I’m fine with it.

2. Create intrigue with a mysterious job title.

Tess: Do you want to put your occupation?

Steffi: I just wrote “writer.” I didn’t put anything else. Because I feel like people won’t understand what a “site curator” is.

Tess: Hear me out, like that could be potentially—

Steffi: Interesting?

Tess: “What’s a site curator? I would love to learn more about what you curate on your site.” I mean, I don’t know, probably not but…

Steffi: Is that more intriguing than being a writer?

Tess: I actually don’t know.

3. Pick a favorite place outdoors.

Tess: For your favorite place…

Steffi: Let’s do Prospect Park.

Tess: I think that’s cute. It’s also kind of an invite. Because in a pandemic, that’s still viable.

Steffi: Actually, that’s real. Very good point.

4. Be honest about how you spend your free time.

Steffi: How do I spend my free time?

Tess: Basically it says, “Share what makes you interesting.” You’re like, “I have a middle part, love. And it looks good actually.”

Steffi: “I have a natural middle part, and what about it?”

Tess: Oh my God. Imagine having a natural part. That’s a dream. How do you spend your time? Oh my God. Tell them about your 40 jokes a day.

Steffi: Oh my God.

Tess: “I am writing 40 jokes a day for a year, FYI.”

Steffi: Yep. Actually, maybe I should write that. I feel like all my things I do in my free time are just writing different things.

5. Prompt a conversation with a conversation prompt.

Tess: Do you want to do an open question? Maybe like, “Do you do the cooking? Do you do the cleaning?”

Steffi: “What’s your dish-washing process? Describe your dish-washing process.”

Tess: Hang on. That’s not bad, because it’s kind of necessary. You don’t want a guy who just… I’m having this vision of a grown man filling up the sink with water and just dumping plates aggressively and throwing them on the rack—

Steffi: I think the process of washing dishes is a fragile one because what I do is, I put the plug into the sink and then I put the soap in and then I turn the water on, so that the water gets evenly nice and bubbly across. And I feel like that’s not—

Tess: You fill up the sink? That is not common, no.

Steffi: Yeah, because I don’t turn on the sink again. I just use that water. And then I wash all my dishes in that water, which I feel like is not common practice.

Tess: This could be a great way to find a man near Prospect Park with a dishwasher.

Steffi: “Who wants to play mermaids with me?” Wait, that should be the quote.

Tess: That’s a good one.

Steffi: Okay. I’m changing it. I’m changing the profile prompts to: “Do you want to play mermaids?”

Tess: And I think that will naturally attract men who do dishes well.

Steffi: Yes, I do agree.

Tess: Kind of a two-for-one?

6. Hear them out: a philosophy behind withholding your favorite spots.

Tess: I think not adding where you would want to go for a drink could be good, too, because I feel like it’s kind of a miss to meet people who like the same place as you do. Or to depend on them liking the same places as you for your only common-ground trait. It’s so fun to show people places they’d never been.

Steffi: Yeah. That is so much fun. And really, in a place like New York City, there’s always a place you haven’t been.

Steffi: *wrapping up voice* Yay. That was fun.

Tess: Mission possible.

Steffi: Mission possible. Oh my God.

Naydeline, a journalist in New York, looking for a fellow Francophile

Naydeline and Leslie worked together on Naydeline’s profile, while Leslie’s apartment was being haunted by an unidentified presence. They discovered that on Inner Circle, you can find other people who were born on your birthday. Here’s a peek through the keyhole at how Leslie and Naydeline arranged Naydeline’s profile just so.

1. When it comes to photos, make a charismatic first impression.

Leslie: So do you want somebody that you can travel with, or do you want someone to go to museums with you?

Naydeline: Both.

Leslie: Use the one on the boat that I sent you. You look fun, charismatic, and like you’re comfortable in your own skin. I’m a fan of nature.

Naydeline: I’m going to use it, even though I’m wearing sunglasses.

2. You contain multitudes: Allow certain categorizations to be open for interpretation.

Leslie: I’m saying you’re a runner, because you run from the train to class to your internship to back home.

3. Leverage your arts and culture preferences toward your preferred brand of dates.

Leslie: Concertgoer, theater lover, musical fan, art lover. You’re all of it, bro.

Naydeline: If they weren’t so expensive, I’d go to Broadway shows every weekend, I feel like. They’re so cool.

Leslie: I’m going to put “theater lover.” Let’s see if we can get you a man who takes you to the theater.

4. To start a conversation, kindly request some memes.

Leslie: Would you say hi, or hello, or hola? “Hi everybody, I’m Naydeline.”

Naydeline: This isn’t LinkedIn—this is a dating app. You can talk about what I like to do.

Leslie: “I love adventure”? I don’t know.

Naydeline: That’s so corny. Everyone who says “I’m adventurous” on their dating profile is not adventurous. I’m going to tell you that right now. I like to include a little game in my bio, something like, “Send me your favorite meme, or send me your best pickup line.” That’ll help people start a conversation, I guess.

Leslie: “I love memes.”

Naydeline: “I love memes”? Oh my god.

Leslie: “Send me a good meme.”

Leslie: I have: “If I had the time and money, I would travel more.” There are 81 available characters left. Or is this bio enough?

Naydeline: I feel like it ends weirdly. Maybe put some places I want to travel to: “Looking for someone to go to blank with.”

Leslie: You want to go to Paris, I know you’re bothering me about that again.

Naydeline: I do want to go to Paris. I spend way too much time watching Parisian YouTubers.

5. Strategize for a good first date.

Leslie: Where would you like to go for a date? Food?

Naydeline: Yeah. I love that. Honestly, I feel like dates at restaurants can be awkward, but I feel like you also get to know people better.

Leslie: Yeah, and you can get a sense of someone’s manners.

Leslie: Okay, where would you like to go for a drink? A rooftop bar?

Naydeline: To be honest, a rooftop bar. Anything that’s just not that basic, like I don’t want to sit in a dark-ass bar. There should be nice views.

Leslie: Okay, so how about a rooftop bar to get some air and to get to know you?

Naydeline:: Yeah. I like that.

6. Vocalize that you’re open to new places.

Naydeline: I haven’t been to a lot of bars. Unless restaurants with bars count. Can you skip that? I’ve been to like one bar. Is it called Barcade? I think it is.

Leslie: Okay, I said, “My favorite place is a Barcade, but that’s actually the only bar I’ve been to. Looking for fun new bars, any recommendations?” Because that could be a conversation starter.

Naydeline: True, okay. Dating profile pro.

Leslie: Well I’ve never really done this, I’ve only done one dating profile. But it was when I was in Greece and I was dared to, because I’ve been in a long-term, committed relationship

Naydeline: I know, so I was surprised you’re doing so well.

Leslie: Hey!

Ready to get in the mix with Inner Circle? Phone a friend, download the app, and get cracking.

These conversations have been condensed and edited for clarity.

Graphics by Lorenza Centi.

The post Proof That Your Friends Are the Best Dating App Editors appeared first on Repeller.

“I don’t know if I’m just bored and want the attention, or if I actually really like her.” —Lucy

I started to talk to this girl in January. It was really casual at first, but we were going on dates–it wasn’t like we were just hooking up. We admitted that we had feelings for each other, but we wanted to take it really slow. Those plans were interrupted when quarantine hit in March. I went to Atlanta to stay with my parents, thinking I would only be gone for a week or so, but it’s been three months and I’m still here.

Our relationship became entirely virtual, which is weird considering we aren’t even officially in a relationship. It really impacted our momentum. I can’t tell if she’s lost interest in continuing things, or if the mixed signals I’m getting are stemming from the experience of being in quarantine, where everyone is somewhat depressed. I’m also confused about my own feelings. I don’t know if I’m just bored and want the attention, or if I actually really like her.

I was able to go back to North Carolina, where we both live, at the end of May, and got to see her outside while staying six feet apart. We picked up right where we left off and things felt good, but then I had to go back to Atlanta and the momentum fizzled again. It’s hard being long-distance when the relationship is so new. We don’t have that built-in foundation yet.

I had an inkling that she was talking to other people, so I downloaded Tinder again (because that’s where we originally matched) and saw she’d added more recent photos, so I was like, “Ah, dang it.” I decided I needed to talk to her about it. I asked if she was seeing or talking to anyone else, and she told me she was only talking to me romantically.

She also said she could see us dating and being in a relationship, when we’re able to actually be together in person. That gave me a bit more clarity, but still it gets confusing. I read into everything now, you know? It’s so hard to understand how someone else feels when you’re only communicating over text message.

“The scariest part of a wedding is that it’s only the beginning.” —Bianca

I live in London with my partner of four years and our two dogs. We were supposed to get married at the end of May, but we had to cancel the wedding due to the pandemic. As soon as we did, this huge feeling of relief flooded me. I work from home as a private chef, so ultimately not a lot changed for me with the enforced quarantine, but my fiancé, who works in the (currently shut-down) film industry, was suddenly at home indefinitely. The dynamic in the flat is so different from what I’m used to. He’s almost treating it like an extended holiday, which bugs me quite a lot. I’m just like, “When are you going to leave the house?” And then, “Why am I not happy to be with you here?”

I’ve been experiencing significant feelings of doubt, and have considered ending our relationship. This is super hard for me, as we have been living together for three years and our lives are very entangled, not to mention that it will be challenging to find somewhere I can live and work. I can’t afford the rent in our flat by myself long-term, and I’m not in a position to share with a roommate when I need to have 90% sole ownership of the kitchen most days.

It’s difficult to try to make this decision while still in lockdown. I can’t tell if quarantine is revealing the reality of our relationship, or if the circumstances are so unique that I need to take my feelings with a grain of salt.

Pre-lockdown, my fiancé and I spent between two and three waking hours together on an average weekday. Now, we spend 18 working hours together daily, and I wonder if it has expedited the progress of our relationship. In other words, is a month of lockdown equivalent to six months of being together under normal circumstances, and would these doubts have manifested eventually, just further down the road?

I keep thinking about how the scariest part of a wedding is that it’s only the beginning. You think you’re about to pass the finish line, and then it’s all over. But it’s not over, it’s the first day of your marriage.

“He seems unsure of what he wants… and I don’t know if I should wait around while he figures it out.” —Ashwini

I started seeing a guy I met on Hinge a month and a half before a complete lockdown was imposed in India, and things moved pretty quickly between us (when you click, you click!). Two weeks into seeing each other, he asked me to leave my toothbrush at his place. I ended up quasi-living there at least three days a week, and it was great. We would order takeout and watch movies together almost every night.

Cut to the pandemic–our ability to meet up was totally disrupted. I couldn’t go to his place. There were no Ubers, there were no regular taxis, no buses, no trains, no metro. There was nothing. At first we were still talking to each other every day, but he ended up moving back to his hometown to live out the remainder of quarantine with his parents, and we started communicating less–out of sight, out of mind, I guess. That’s really when I started to feel a strain on the relationship.

I asked him if he had started seeing someone else, but he assured me he hadn’t. He said he was still into me, he just didn’t know how to navigate this situation since we can’t see each other and don’t know when we’ll be able to. I’m trying to be understanding about that. The world is falling apart, and every person has their own way of dealing with it. Mine would be leaning onto him for a bit of moral support or whatever, but clearly he operates differently. So I said, “Whatever it is that you want I’ll make peace with it, I’m sure I can meet you halfway.”

He seems unsure of what he wants, though, and I don’t know if I should wait around while he figures it out. I don’t want him to feel pressured or rushed. I just want to be able to pick up my phone and talk to him whenever I want. That would be enough for me right now.

We’ve decided to take things down a notch and hopefully go back to how we were before the pandemic caused this rift. I hate it, but at least he is not seeing someone else. I want to believe there’s hope for us.

The post 3 People on Navigating Their Relationship Doubts During the Pandemic appeared first on Repeller.

The Art of Showing Up is filled with what I’ve personally come to know as “Rachel advice”—guidance that’s practical, thoughtful, and—above all else—inclusive. Rachel is my former editor and current good friend, and when I was trying to pick my favorite part of the book to run as an excerpt on Man Repeller (an impossible task) she suggested that we jump on the phone and talk instead. Below, we talk through some of her ideas about what showing up and self-care look like in 2020.

On Showing Up for the People You Love

Gyan: We’ve spent a lot of time talking—and writing—about friendship and self-care with each other in the last few years, but it feels like none of these things have been quite as important as they are right now.

Rachel: Yes, totally.

Gyan: How have you adjusted the way you show up for people in 2020 compared to how you did in the past?

Rachel: Well, one of the biggest things right now is that you can no longer show up for people in person. You can’t meet your coworkers for a drink when they get laid off or even just send a care package as easily as you might have last year. But I’m also feeling like I’ve had so many friends who are long-distance that I actually feel pretty equipped for this. I know you are as well [as an Australian living in the US]. We’ve already had to be fairly creative and do things from afar, and I think that’s actually why we’re adapting so well.

Gyan: All of our friends might as well be long-distance friends right now.

Rachel: I think showing up is also about being more mindful of the current moment, which means considering that people might have lost their jobs or be otherwise worried about money. Or people might be really overwhelmed and emotionally taxed because of the emotional load of living through a pandemic. I’ve spent the last few years so focused on friendship that this hasn’t actually felt like a huge adjustment.

Gyan: That’s actually what I was thinking when I was reading the section of your book about good group hangouts. All of the tips in that chapter—from being thoughtful about your invite lists to taking notes during conversations—are also things that are so easily adapted from IRL hangouts to online hangouts. Aside from those things, have you been doing anything else to make online hangouts feel more special?

Rachel: Having themes or activities planned make Zoom or FaceTime calls feel more special and more fun, in the same way that having a theme party can be fun in person. Even if you’re just having dinner with your friends, and it’s not the time for a theme, just saying, “This is the subject of this hangout” can keep things focused. Even saying, “Let’s get on a call later this week and gossip,” can make it more fun and exciting.

Gyan: My most memorable video calls during quarantine—which have actually all been with our group of friends—have had a set agenda. Or at the very least, have had someone say through the week, “Okay, let’s put a pin in this conversation and we’ll all talk about it properly on Saturday.” It’s so nice.

Rachel: Yes, totally. It helps!

Gyan: Another thing I wanted to talk about from the book is the idea of “friend levels.” Can we talk about that a little?

Rachel: So, this concept comes from the book Frientimacy by Shasta Nelson. She talks about the levels of vulnerability that exist within friendships, and the way that the amount of time you’ve known someone can influence how vulnerable you can be with them. So, if you’ve known somebody a really long time, there’s going to be more vulnerability in that friendship—we all know that instinctively, but it’s helpful to remember. And if you haven’t known somebody for as long it’s probably not as appropriate to be super vulnerable with them. It doesn’t mean you can’t be honest, but just that that level of vulnerability will look different.

So, if you’re at a Level Three and then you go straight to a Level Ten with your vulnerability, it’s probably going to feel like a mismatch to that person and maybe even to you later on.

Gyan: I’ve found the concept of those friendship levels really comforting this year. In the last three months, I’ve realized how many people I used to see really casually, almost for the sake of going to dinner and exploring NYC together. At the start of the pandemic I thought, Maybe those people aren’t actually my friends at all because we aren’t talking a ton. But I’m slowly realizing that they’re just on a different level.

Rachel: I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have acquaintances or friendships that are reliant on proximity. It doesn’t mean those friendships aren’t meaningful. I think, right now, people are taking a look at their friendships and thinking, “What is this person’s role in my life? What is my role in theirs?”

Instead of spreading yourself super thin and trying to set up a Google Hangout with everyone you know, it might make sense to focus on the two or three people you feel a really strong connection with and try to build those relationships up and make them deeper and stronger through this.

Gyan: Can we also talk about Ring Theory, which you also wrote about in your book. It feels particularly important right now.

Rachel: Definitely. So, Ring Theory first showed up in the Los Angeles Times and the idea is to imagine concentric circles. So, there’s a small circle and then a bigger one around it and a bigger one around that. The person who’s going through a rough time is at the center of the ring and then there’s people who are at each of those circles extending out.

So, if I’m going through a rough time, my partner is going to be the next person in the next ring because she’s closest to me. My mom would also be in that closest ring. And then, from there outwards are more distant friends or coworkers—just people who are not as close to the center of the thing that is happening.

One example for right now could be, if someone’s really stressed about everything that’s happening with police brutality they shouldn’t have to turn that inward to the people at the center of the ring. They should be able to dump it out to people who are more removed from it. In this case it would be to other white people or other allies. That’s what dump out, comfort in means.

Gyan: What would you say the best friends in your circle are doing right now in terms of showing up for you?

Rachel: My friend Sally, who you know, is a great ally. She’s talking to white people, she’s donating, she’s uplifting Black voices, and making sure she’s really focused on that at the political level. She’s also doing a lot for me personally. A couple of weeks ago, she took it upon herself to just look at a wishlist I’d made of everything I wanted on Animal Crossing and started tracking down everything for me. I think she’s on these side websites or Reddit. She hasn’t told me how she’s doing any of it exactly, which is part of the magic.

She didn’t say, “I’m doing this because of all the things that are happening right now.” She just saw a thing she could do for me that she knew would cheer me up in this really small way. Playing Animal Crossing is an escape for me, and her doing this essentially gave me an extra thing to do as a coping and self-care mechanism. It’s fun and it’s sweet and thoughtful, and just very unique. That’s not advice that everybody would want at this moment but she’s the kind of person who knows me well, trusts our friendship, and trusts her instincts to notice.

On Showing Up for Yourself

Gyan: In the chapter “Showing Up for Yourself When Shit Gets Hard” you talk about accepting that normal doesn’t really exist anymore as a way to deal with bad times. I know that you wrote this book before the pandemic, but that sentiment feels so relevant to right now.

Rachel: Acknowledging that things aren’t normal gives you the freedom to reimagine and reset your expectations. It gives you a chance to take a really realistic look at what’s happening, but also to envision a different future. It allows you to re-calibrate your sense of etiquette, your sense of duty to others, your sense of duty to yourself. I think it relieves a lot of pressure.

Gyan: I was talking to another friend (who recently lost someone close to her) yesterday who was saying that she didn’t have the energy to work out, or meditate, or do morning pages—all her usual methods of self-care. And I quoted something that you’ve written about before, and also in your book, that’s along the lines of: “Well, did you have a shower today? Did you eat breakfast? Is your house clean enough that it’s hygienic?” And she said, “Yeah, I’m doing all those things.” And I was like, “Well, maybe that’s just enough for now.”

Rachel: That’s it, yeah. It’s really hard to admit that you can’t do the things you used to do. And it’s weird because we’ll hold these ideas in our heads—and I’ve totally done this before—where you’re like, “I know things are bad right now, but I should still be able to do the exact same things as always. And only feel bad about this a tiny bit of the time.” But that’s not how it works.

It’s weird to have that realization of, like, “Oh, I see it’s not just painful in theory it’s painful in practice.” Of course you’re not going to be your normal self right now because things are not normal, or you’re not normal, or the world’s not normal. Recognizing that has always helped me feel better.

Gyan: I think that one of the issues with the way self-care and wellness have been marketed to us is that they often start with this assumption that you’re starting your journey at 100%—that anything you do in the name of self-care is improving upon that baseline, as a bonus. But who’s at 100% right now? Whether you’re Black, or you’re a person of color or queer or trans, or you’ve lost your job, or someone you love has passed away, or you or someone you know has been arrested—there are all of these things happening right now now that have taken everyone down so many additional pegs that the recent concepts of self-care don’t really apply.

Rachel: I felt that since the beginning of the pandemic when everybody was like, “What’s your hobby going to be and what are you going to learn?” I love self improvement—I love it, I love it all the time. But there’s no room for self-improvement right now, we’re in survival mode!

Gyan: Totally! How are you feeling about the fact that it’s kind of a timely moment for your book to come out?

Rachel: I feel sad that the book is so useful right now because I don’t want anyone to need this book, particularly the sections about showing up when shit gets hard. But, I feel glad that I can be useful right now. I tried to write it in a way that it would be broadly applicable in tons of different situations. It’s nice to know that when people are going through a hard time you have something to offer them.

Rachel Wilkerson Miller is VICE’s Deputy Editor, Life and author of The Art of Showing Up: How to Be There for Yourself and Your People. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram.

Photo of Rachel by Elena Mudd.

The post How to Show Up for Your People, and Yourself, Right Now appeared first on Repeller.

A portion of proceeds from Man Repeller’s partnership with Bumble will be donated to the National Domestic Violence Hotline, which answers calls, chats, and texts from those affected by relationship abuse and supports survivors, their friends, and family members 24/7/365 throughout the U.S. and its territories.

A friend texted me a few weeks ago with a salient theory: “Once we’re allowed to go on dates again, I feel like it’s going to be the greatest time to be single in American history.” His optimism was energizing, as was the suggestion that we might be a part of something historic, something akin to the repeal of prohibition. As the weeks in quarantine add up, my initial survey investigating who’s swiping on dating apps right now already feels like a relic from a bygone era. In need of an update on the state of dating swiping affairs, we’ve partnered with Bumble to take the pulse on how Bumblers are Bumbling a month or so into isolation. Who’s dressing up on top and wearing sweatpants on the bottom? Whose moms keep sneaking up behind them on their Video Chat dates? Who’s doing a design-agency-caliber rebrand of their profile?

You know what’s better than texting your friends for dating advice (sorry, friends)? Surveying the greater MR community on their Bumble shenanigans, and gleaning all sorts of intel in the process (tried-and-true opening lines chief among them). And for the cherry on top: a few MR readers annotated their Bumble profiles, walking us through their thought process like a celebrity home tour.

In the logical chronology of how modern courtship unfolds, read on below for: Pie charts aplenty! Annotated Bumble profiles and first date outfit ideas! Giggle-inducing stories during our global gossip shortage, as my friend Starling called it! Polar opposite predictions for dating’s future! And then, whether you’re looking for connection or banter, pick me up around seven in the comment section?

Table of Contents

• Step I. Refresh Your Profile
• Step II. Craft Your First Move
• Step III. Make Your First Impression
• Step IV. Soul Search
• Step V. Pivot to Video
• Step VI. Pick Your Outfit
• Step VII. Plan Your Date
• Step VIII. Debrief With Friends
• Step VIIII. Look Into Your Crystal Ball

Embrace the self-portraiture boom

— “Updated my pictures, had more time to take bomb selfies.”
— “I added some photos post-quarantine-hair-dye!”

A new chapter for your autobiography

— “I changed the bio to: ‘ out of quarantine snacks plz send help’”
— “New bio, to indicate I am also sealed in my house but looking to speak to other humans who are fun.”
— “My bio: ‘I’m super passionate about socializing which is why I’ve already gotten in contact with your blood relatives and turns out I could potentially be your type.’”
— “My bio is now: ‘Keeping my social distance.’ And I changed a few photos.”

Widening or narrowing the radius

— “I’m with my parents, so I updated my location.”
— “I haven’t updated my profile, but I put my friends who didn’t leave NYC in charge of managing my profile. I retreated back to my hometown in MA… and do not wish to match with anyone here.”
— “Changed my preferences (I’m not anonymous in my hometown… and I’m definitely not out).”

A tip straight from the source: using three or more profile photos increases your chance of matching on Bumble by 31%.

Canned as a sardine

— “The gif with the bear saying hello with his paw.”
— “‘You come here often?’”
— “‘If your name is Junior, and you’re really handsome, c’mon raise your hand.’”
— “I just type out the guy’s name with an exclamation point.”
— “‘I’m gonna be honest, I don’t plan on leaving my house anytime soon, I’m just really bored.’”
— “The recipient’s name and exclamation points !!!!”
— “‘Will exchange home-brewed mead for fly-fishing tips.’”

Flattery (the sincerest form of flattery)

— “‘You look really sturdy.’”
— “I use a really genuine compliment, honestly. I feel like guys don’t get those a lot.”
— “Congratulations on being the most attractive person I’ve matched with.”

Intellectual curiosity with a question mark

— “‘What’s your favorite quarantine snack?””
— “‘If you had a free afternoon (no quarantine), no obligations, no traffic, and $50 in your pocket, what would you do?’”
— “‘If you could road-trip anywhere in the world, where would it be?’”
— “‘Hey what’s your dog’s name!’”
— “‘Do you believe in ghosts?’”
— “‘What’s the most interesting thing you’ve done this week?’”
— “I ask about their go-to album during quarantine.”
— “‘If you were a shoe, what shoe would you be?’”

Bespoke as an Italian suit

— “I typically look for something in the profile of the person that I matched with that is either unique or strikes me as a bit strange and I’ll ask them about it.”
— “I’ll ask a question about one of their pictures. If they’re playing an instrument, I’ll ask what kind of music they like, if it’s an obvious touristy picture (example: them at the Colosseum) I’ll ask when they visited and if they liked it.”
— “Something related to their linked Spotify.”
— “It’s usually based on their profile. I’m a custom gal.”

A tip from Bumble: the bold among us can send an Audio Message to your match instead of text.

I’m funnier than a standup special

— “I’m a laugh and a half.”
— “That I’m fun and can banter.”

I contain multitudes

— “I’m multifaceted with a big personality.”
— “I’m a collage of a human being. Also, that I am a successful woman, and I will not tolerate someone who will talk down upon me.”

I know exactly what I want

— “I like a very specific radio show that I hope some man out there also likes.”
— “I want happiness, no drama, a creative thinker, and someone with a sense of humour.”

They should manage their expectations

— “I’m probably taller than them.”
— “I am (and this should be) uncomplicated.
— “That my love for Jeff Goldblum will never match any kind of love for you.”
— “That I‘m hot, fun, and need to be fed constantly.”
— “I mean business.”
— “I’m looking for something real.”
— “I am cute and like pizza.”

A tip from Bumble: add the Virtual Dating badge to let your match know you’re down to date from home.

The post 160 People on Exactly How to Date Online Right Now appeared first on Repeller.

After centuries of being forced into the margins, to be Black, femme, and powerful today is a revolutionary act. And it’s through the strength of our community that we’re not only able to fight the good fight side by side, but rest our bones together when that fight takes everything out of us. For me, this community takes many forms, but as I reflected on how I’d like to celebrate Black History Month, it was my friendships that came to the forefront. My connections and the spaces they thrive—our kitchens in Brooklyn, our backyards and stoops, our group chats—are not only my home away from, but an extension of the safest place I know. My Black femme friends have stood in the gap for me, professionally, personally, and through some pretty dumb-ass moments.

Take, for instance, the day I was working from home and saw a rat (not a mouse, a RAT) take his morning stroll through my living room. I didn’t call my landlord or 311 or 911; instead I hit up my group chat and asked who in the entire fuck was home at 1 p.m. on a Friday that could take me and my puppy in until my fiance got home. First they told me how shitty the situation was, which validated my feelings, and then they jumped into action to get me to safer ground. Cut to me and my dog Blanche rolling into Ericka Hart’s house with a bag full of random-ass dog toys and snacks and me in sweatpants and lingerie, because that’s what I had on when he who shall not be named came to visit. I ordered Domino’s pizza and sat on her couch watching telly and scrolling Insta as if I were home while Ericka worked on projects and watered her plants and I remember thinking, Damn, ain’t nobody like a Black femme.

These bonds run so deep for so many reasons; I don’t think there’s a world in which I could get through my life without them. I could yammer on all day about the hows and the whys, but let me tell you ‘bout my gooodddd friendssssss! Yaminah Mayo is a writer, model, and a force, and while we share Black twitter roundups and memes all day long, we also talk about issues like how much we should be charging brands for social promotion. Where else can you negotiate social content creation AND get a thank you in the form of a Whitney Houston gif?! I’ll tell you where: Black femme sibling circles (as I’ve been known to call them, too intimate to not be fam).

When I produced my first large-scale event on my own, I was in over my head. I was expected to pull whole-ass rabbits out of hats and I didn’t even have a lucky rabbit’s foot to hold onto. But in stepped Kiyanna Stewart, founder of Blk Mkt Vintage, along with her partner Jay. I told them what I needed to make this event a success, and of course, Black women came to my rescue with zero hesitation. Spoiler alert: That event was the best and would have been an entire mess had it not been for Kiy and Jay.

Last week, I invited Ericka, Yaminah, and Kiyanna to join me for a photoshoot and discussion about Black femme friendship. We met in a Black-owned space, put on clothing by Black designers, and got our faces beat by a Black makeup artist (hi Tara Lauren!) Below, the photos and conversation that followed.

Crystal: Okay, so we all work in very different fields—entertainment, business, fashion, academia—and we all know that many of these spaces are very white, and very patriarchal, so why is it so important to have a Black femme sibling circle that you can call on?

Yaminah: It’s so important because sometimes Black men and masculine people just don’t have the range! It’s like they think they have a monopoly on oppression. Also, it’s important to know that what you’re going through is valid, like, Okay, yes, that’s totally racist! Yes, that’s totally sexist! No, you’re not being dramatic. It’s good to be affirmed. And whenever I win, I get to share that with y’all what I did, so you all can win too! We use our friendship for business practices, relationship advice, food, style…

Crystal: Yes! I mean, I can hit y’all up for anything. When I need to know if these shoes go with this bag, I can hit y’all up. When there’s a sample sale, I pretty much know everyone’s sizes at this point and can send pictures or just by like, “Bihhhhh! You need these silver overalls, I can’t take a picture but they’re $40. I’m getting em for you!” Or like, me and Kiy were going to a Roaring ’20s-themed party and she hit me up before like, “Chileee I been too busy to buy something, what you got for me?” And of course I was like, “Girl, come get this vintage Dior robe!” So for me, there is just no other connection that resembles and feeds my soul in the way these friendships do.

Kiyanna: Yes! There is something in particular about being affirmed and celebrated by people who share your experience. This (points to the group) is reliable, I can rely on these folks for their opinions. You’ve been through the same or you will be going through the same and that’s what makes these relationships unique.

Ericka: It’s the familiarity, too. Like, Yaminah, you are an honorary queer person,* and as queer femmes, It’s nice to be able to talk about my relationship without having to explain it, or to talk about cultural things like, “No, I don’t want to see that movie, because it’s super straight, I want to see a film with queer influence!” So it’s great to be able to bounce those things off of people who not only look like me, but also navigate the world in similar ways that I do. Also, I don’t have to say much! Like in the group chat when we’re being messy, I can drop a name or situation and y’all will be like, “Yeah, no, we don’t fuck with that either!” and I’m like, Okay, so I’m not losing my mind! It’s just so important to be validated by your people.

(*Ed. note: Kiyanna, Erica and myself are queer and Yaminah is not, but she is one of the bombest allies.)

Crystal: I think there is an added layer of magic with this group in particular, where I just feel so blessed—and I’ve told y’all I’m just so emotional these days so I might cry—but it’s just such a blessing to be able to look to people and not just exchange ideas but also actively think: How can I support the things that you do? How can I pay you and also get you paid for the services and talents that you share, in a world in which we are rarely adequately paid for all the magic that we create on this earth?

Like, I don’t know very many groups who can be like, “Oh, you need a venue? I have a friend who owns their own beautiful-ass vintage shop!” Or like, “Okay, I don’t know shit about academia and I still have questions around sexual education, let me hit up Ericka who is a whole-ass professor at an Ivy league!” Like, that shit is special. Andy Barnard said on The Office: “I wish there was a way to know we were in the good old days before we left them,” and whewwww that just hit so close to home for me, as I sit and look at us at this very moment. I know I will be talking to my babies about their aunties and the way you all have shaped the trajectory of my life. We will look back at pictures from this shoot and call them the good old days and maybe these pictures will live on in a place like Blk Mkt Vintage and someone else will be able to see how dope Black femmes were!

Ericka: And this shoot is so special. Look at the people that are working with us on this shoot! There’s a Black femme photographer and a Black femme stylist and a Black makeup artist and I’m taking pictures without even looking at myself in the mirror because I trust Black femmes. On any other shoot I’d be in the bathroom trying to fix things, but y’all are like, “You like fire!” So I get excited and I’m just like, Okay let’s do this, cause the truth is, some of these people will have you out here looking a mess—shades all wrong, angles all fucked up—but I’ve had nothing but trust today.

Kiyanna: I’m appreciative to be a part of this shoot—it also feels like an extra affirmation that it’s taking place here in the store. When Jay and I were thinking about opening this space, we knew it would be so much more than just a place where transactions took place. We wanted to make a space where community could be found and a place where you don’t have to look far to see yourself.

On this day, no matter where I turned or who I was talking to, I saw myself. And for that I will always be grateful. To know these people is to know that I have an army at the ready (and bail money, if ever needed) and an extra closet full of fly shit. To know them is to be surrounded by a bunch of fools who make me laugh until my sides hurt. To know them is to love them, and it’s my greatest honor to call them my people.

Big thank you to Ericka, Kiy, and Yaminah for dropping everything to shoot this editorial. Y’all are more than I knew I could have in a friendship and the pinnacle of what it means to have a sibling circle.

Photographer: Makeda Sandford
Styling Assistant:  Share C Koech
Hair & Makeup Artist: Tara Lauren
Location: BLK MKT Vintage

The post “That Shit Is Special”: A Conversation on What It Means to Be Black, Femme, and Friends appeared first on Repeller.