Hey. Yeah, you, with the anxiety. I’d like to talk to you for a second, because I feel – between the all-consuming monster that is Introvert Culture, and the enabling, garbled pseudo-psychology that is Tumblr Advice – that we’ve gotten a little out of control about what it means to be anxious, and what that entitles you to. While it’s an excellent thing that we’re finally talking somewhat openly about mental illness (or, well, anxiety and depression, which are basically the only things the internet likes discussing asides generalized introversion), it’s important that we talk about these things in a constructive way. So let’s do that. But first, some credentials, because I don’t like yelling about things I don’t understand. (Yes, I do.)

I have been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (for the first time about two years ago), and have since taken various medications at different times for its symptoms. I have long taken Ambien for my anxiety-induced insomnia, which I initially thought was its own, separate thing. I have taken Xanax for the more acute symptoms. I have also taken a whole host of herbal and holistic remedies, and have drank more tea and taken more long baths than anyone should in a lifetime. I have practiced #RadicalSelfCare and #RadicalSelfLove. And though my particular symptoms tended to manifest very physically – constant tremors, splitting headaches, severe indigestion —  I also experienced many mental signs of the disorder, ranging from “extreme distress in social situations” to “inability to effectively communicate at work and in my personal life.” So I get it, I do.

And I’m probably one of those people that Tumblr would hate, because you know what finally made my symptoms dissipate nearly-entirely? You know why I no longer take Ambien, Xanax, or any of the many herbal remedies (except on planes, because those things are Fucking Scary)? It’s because I am now getting regular physical activity, eating a balanced diet, and working a job that does not trigger any of my stressors. I also have a dog now, which is by far the most soothing and helpful thing that’s ever happened to me. Point being, though, I was able to work on myself actively and intelligently – which mostly involved treating my body much, much better – and I was able to manage my symptoms. Do I still have a tendency to get into my unproductive anxiety spirals? Sure. But it’s not the same as it was.

But that’s not the point, because what worked for me won’t work for everyone, and I get that. I could very well still be in the depths of my anxiety, when I was on the verge of losing every important relationship I’d ever built, including my long-term boyfriend and my parents, none of whom could deal with my constant shit. I could still be at the place where I was losing jobs and missing out on others, because my tension and hesitation was keeping me from following up on perfect opportunities. I could still be there, as many people are today. And if I were, the last thing in the world I would need is this dumb fucking self-care rhetoric that essentially tells you, “You’re a golden anxiety flower, and everyone else has to deal with you.”

Seriously, nothing is worse than the writing and the ~comic strips about mental illness~ and the pandering videos which tell us that people with anxiety are these fragile butterflies who must be catered to at every turn. “Just take care of yourself,” this rhetoric says. “Practice self-care! Take a bath! Cancel your plans! Don’t explain yourself! If your friends can’t give you space and be totally understanding, that means they’re not your friends!!! They’re toxic! GET THEM OUT OF YOUR LIFE. You have no obligation to keep around Toxic People. If you need to throw your phone into a river and spend two weeks locked in your room eating Ding Dongs, that’s what you need!! :3”

Do you know where someone would be if they practiced this terrible, indulgent advice? Jobless, friendless, and very possibly homeless. (Of course, this advice is directed to coddled young people on the internet, not single mothers of three who have no choice but to forgo treating their anxiety to keep a roof over their childrens’ heads. But who cares about them?? [Insert robotic laugh here.]) The point is, this terrible and enabling advice a) only applies to people who can afford to drown their sorrows with a Lush bath bomb and a glass of Pinot Grigio, and b) encourages you to treat everyone around you like total shit, because your anxiety is some sort of Get Out Of Jail Free Card to abuse and neglect your social circles.

But the truth is that your friends/family/coworkers are HUMAN BEINGS, TOO. Just because they don’t have clinical anxiety or depression (and maybe they do, you don’t know their life), that doesn’t mean that they can act as your neurotypical punching bag until you finally decide you’re well enough to act like a decent person again. If you ignore them, cancel on them frequently, snap at them, take out your stress or anger on them, or simply not pull your emotional weight in the relationship, they have every right to drop your ass as a friend. Maybe they will be kind and deal with some of your episodes because they love you, but if they are not getting more out of that relationship than they’re putting in, they should walk away. Do you know why? Because anxiety is very capable of making you a Toxic Person, and indulging your worst impulses only makes you more of one. When a very close friend told me, honestly, “I don’t know if I can be your friend anymore. You’re so angry and stressed all the time,” she was absolutely right. She was GRACIOUS not to drop me as a friend. I didn’t deserve her, because I was being selfish, and taking everyone in my life for granted.

Your anxiety is not an excuse to be an asshole. It’s not an excuse to not follow through on things, or be caring, or be dependable. If you break the social contract and decide to be the full asshole your anxiety-riddled self wants to be, fine. But you don’t deserve close friends, because no one deserves that. No one has to put up with your bullshit, and if you don’t actively work on making yourself a better and more rewarding person to be around, no one should wait around for you. Only in making conscious, proactive decisions towards better-ness did some of my closest people start warming back up to me after a serious low point, and I am forever lucky and grateful that they did. Because I could very well be alone right now, after a long stretch of believing that I was a Special Anxiety Snowflake who was entitled to being a selfish, irritable, flaky jerk. I got through to the other side, and maybe you will, too. But not by being an asshole.

1. You enjoy romcoms deeply, yet know they will never be your life. Despite knowing that you will never have (or want) the fairytale ending, you have a deep appreciation for romcoms and shows like Sex and the City, kind of like your love for fantasy and sci fi. It’s a totally different version of reality that you kind of turn off your mind and enjoy for a while. (And yes, you cried deeply at The Notebook, and hated yourself for every minute of it.)

2. When you sleep alone, you cuddle a pillow, but when you’re forced to sleep next to someone, you end up sleeping diagonally and kicking them the entire night. Yes, you do love the idea of having someone to cuddle next to all night, but in reality, your real love is for the cool side of the pillow, clean sheets, and rolling yourself into a little selfish burrito in the middle of the bed.

3. You feel genuinely mystified when you see grandiose displays of affection on social media, as though you’re missing a fundamental part of your brain. Like everyone is ooh-ing and like-ing over the 80-deep photo album of the beach proposal that someone was photographing from the bushes, with the happy couple surrounded by tea candles written in the shape of Marry Me Becky And Make Me The Happiest Man Alive, and all you can think is… ummm?? Am I not understanding something here? Why does no one else find this horrifying?

4. Everyone is sure that, when the ~right thing~ comes along, you’ll change. And nothing is more condescending than having people tell you that essentially your entire worldview and romantic preferences are going to magically transform when you meet your Hugh Grant or Colin Firth. (Also, if you’re actually IN a relationship, it’s kind of a messed up idea – like this person just isn’t enough to kick in your “romance” gene? No, thank you.)

5. Your family does not get why you don’t want the fairytale. No matter how much you try to explain to them that some crazy, elaborate wedding and magical engagement period is not your thing, you cannot quite get them to understand. And everyone takes it personally that you don’t want some shower where you get covered in paper swans and sprinkled with glitter, or whatever happesn at those. And they also feel attacked that even the word “centerpiece” kind of makes you break out in hives.

6. You constantly think you want to engage in a little PDA, yet it always squicks you out within the first 10 seconds. Sometimes you get that little desire to have a cute public kiss or cuddle with your significant other, and maybe it even feels sweet and romantic for the first few seconds, but you immediately become how aware of a) everyone else and b) how much you hate it when it’s someone else, so you’re like “Thatsenoughpleasegetoffofmethankyou,” and they’re left confused as to what you actually want, just like you are.

7. Your significant other thinks you’re being sarcastic when you think something banal is super adorable. They don’t understand that sharing their fries, cleaning up for no reason, or letting you sleep in while they run errands makes you swoon, because they’re primed to think of the “romantic” things as big gestures. But the truth is, you really would take them showing up with takeout over showing up with roses any day, and you don’t think you’re “missing out” on the “truly” romantic stuff at all.

8. Spending crazy amounts of money on “romance” is hard not to judge. Yes, everyone has to live their own life, walk their own path, etc, but you hear about mid-to-high-five-figures or more on weddings/honeymoons/engagements, and you just cringe into another dimension. (And think of all the things you could buy with that money, like real estate, or a new international vacation every year for at least a decade.)

9. While you would absolutely murder a friend for trying to help set you up with a crush, you’ll be damned if you’re gonna do anything about it yourself. You basically ice yourself out by acting way too casual and joke-y with anyone you like, and the idea of someone trying to set up a meet cute makes you nauseous. You just want to play it cool, which usually means playing it not at all.

10. First dates stress you out immensely, not because you’re nervous, but because there’s so much pressure on them to be “cute.” You simply don’t know how to behave when there is so much pressure to be the Manic Pixie Dream Couple, and the fakeness of it all gives you anxiety. You just want to skip the whole cutesy nonsense and skip right into being real with each other.

12. Fancy lingerie makes you feel like a total fool, no matter how “sexy” it’s supposed to feel. Yes, you feel sexy in certain things – maybe it’s an oversized button-down, maybe it’s yoga pants, maybe it’s naked – but the overly-sexy “romantic” lingerie makes you feel like an idiot. Because, first of all, when and how are you supposed to put it on before the action starts? And second of all, some lacy pink number with garters and embroidered roses over the nips is just so profoundly not you. It’s like putting on a KC & Jo Jo song before sex, just way too much.

12. Few things make you feel more “romantic” than seeing long-term couples who are super in love. The simple joy of love and commitment day-in, day-out makes your heart swoon like nothing else, and one of your favorite genres of movies is “featuring a love story that doesn’t stop three days after the magical wedding and honeymoon phase.” Old(er) couples who are clearly deeply in love and infatuated is Your. Shit.

13. You have trouble thinking of “you” versions of romantic life events. When it comes down to it, you know that you believe deeply in love and either have the person you want to be with forever, or hope that you will be able to meet them. And while you want to find celebrations that demonstrate this profound level of joy and commitment, you have trouble finding a version of it that feels true to yourself, and not infected by what it’s “supposed” to look like. Do you even want a “wedding”? Do you need a ring? A dress? A honeymoon? Sometimes you just want to run down to city hall and then hit a bar with your closest friends and family after, and you’re not sure if that would be a big disappointment to everyone. But you’re also not sure that you care.

When it comes to sexuality and gender roles, no one’s idea of what is and isn’t “okay” to enjoy is more fragile than that of a straight bro. While not all hetero guys are so sensitive about not appearing “girly” – and if you’re one of those, please feel free to disregard this article, as it doesn’t apply to you – it’s pretty undeniable that a lot of men hesitate doing things that they might otherwise enjoy because of its feminine connotations.

But the biggest crime in all of this might be that so many of the things the bros avoid doing for fear of seeming “girly” are actually things that are really attractive to many straight women – the same women who would otherwise be interested in them. Guys need to get over this aversion to all things feminine and realize that some things are universally attractive, such as being clean and presentable, and showing the full range of emotions.

Here, the 13 things straight guys think are “girly” but which are actually very sexy.

1. Knowing the basics of home décor. No one is saying that you need to have the quirky-chic apartment that looks like something out of a sitcom, but a little effort here and there never hurt. So many bachelors feel like it’s expected of them to have a TV with video game console sitting on a box, three mismatched plates, a couch dotted with mysterious stains, and totally bare walls save for one poster they’ve kept since college. But this is Not. Sexy. And the wonders that a simple accent wall or rug can do to a space are unquantifiable. Maybe even have a candle somewhere, to light for when you want to make things more ~moody. Just because you’re a straight guy doesn’t mean you have to live like a serial killer.

2. Displaying emotion at movies. No one is going to think it’s gross if you shed a tear during Pixar movies. In fact, it’s more likely that she will question your humanity if you don’t. The incinerator scene in Toy Story 3 was life-ruining, and only emotionally-stunted monsters hold themselves back from being human at moments like that.

3. Putting effort into grooming, especially the feet. Straight men have this weird assumption that they can have the grossest, hairiest, snaggle-nailed, gnarliest feet in the world and we are not gonna mind in the least, and that if they put any effort into actually maintaining them, we’re gonna think they’re effeminate. News flash: Just like you guys don’t want to snuggle with the Rock Biter from The Neverending Story in bed, neither do we. Take a pumice stone to those bad boys, because they are GrOsS.

4. Giving thoughtful gifts. There is nothing feminine about putting effort in when it comes to gifts, or showing that you care about someone enough to actually remember what someone likes. Yes, 1800 Flowers will do in a pinch, but it’s not supposed to be your go-to gift to express every emotion or mark every occasion. That should be a last resort, or in addition to the “real” gift that took more consideration than “Yeah I guess chicks like flowers or whatever.”

5. Enjoying fancy cocktails. You know what, fragile, gender-role-obsessed straight bros, if you want to miss out on all the incredible cocktails that life has to offer – some of which may happen to be in shades of pink or have a fruit-based flavor profile – that’s your choice. But don’t think that any woman is going to be impressed by that shit, because we’re not. Because we want a sip of those cocktails, and if you’re not getting one, that means we can only try ours.

6. Using basic hair products. Do guys understand that the laws of physics and basic attractiveness apply to them, too, and that putting a tiny bit of product into their otherwise-limp or frizzed-out hair will make them infinitely more put-together and hot? I guess they must not, because they treat any beauty regimen that takes more than 10 seconds and a towel as being beneath them.

7. Taking care of their face. The same basic beauty rules apply to your face. Yes, these guys might shave, but it’s a real stretch to assume that most of them know even the basics of moisturizing or sun protection. Do they know that their skin also benefits from being soft, protected, and even vaguely glowy? Look at Zayn Malik. That man is never not moisturized, and he looks like a demigod from ancient mythology. That man looks like he has a beautiful golden light glowing within him at all times. And that’s in part his bone structure, yes, but it’s also from his flawless skincare. Get on Zayn’s level.

8. Being able to appreciate shopping. This doesn’t mean that you need to LOVE shopping, or even enjoy it on your own time. But if, from time to time, you aren’t able to appreciate the (objectively cool) act of going out with the person you love and helping them pick something that makes them look great and feel amazing, and being a part of that experience, that is just sad. The best guys (and most sexy) are the ones who actively participate in the actual shopping experience now and then, and give genuine input, instead of just sitting sadly on the Man Chairs by the entrance and looking like they’d rather be literally anywhere else. Be the guy all the salesgirls are jealous of.

9. Wearing nice underwear. Nice underwear is not a feminine thing. It’s a sexy thing, period. Invest in something other than stained, baggy boxers.

10. Enjoying pop music. If you can’t sing along at the top of your lungs to a cheesy, fun pop song with everyone else, I just feel bad for you. It’s not protecting your masculinity to pretend not to enjoy Carly Rae Jepsen every now and then – every human being loves her audible heroin.

11. Having close friendships. A lot of the straight bro type are weirdly distant emotionally, even when it comes to their closest friends. Not being able to share real, profound emotion with your fellow brows is just sad, and not anything that makes you more attractive or seem more manly.  Men only suffer from feeling like sharing close emotional bonds is “not masculine,” and feeling like your romantic partner is the only person you can really be yourself with isn’t sexy, it’s something that should be discussed with a therapist.

12. Cooking. A guy who can make you something delicious – even if he only has a few go-to, signature dishes – is incredibly sexy. A guy who enjoys spending time with you in the kitchen and making something together is even sexier. Avoiding the kitchen like the plague because it’s “the woman’s domain” makes you a Neanderthal, not a “real man.”

13. Communicating how you feel, instead of retreating into anxious silence. The ultimate Sad Straight Bro move has to be avoiding talking about anything because talking shit out is “girly,” and instead just ignoring the situation for years on end, I guess until you devolve into the “nagging wife and defeated husband” trope. It’s actually sexy to be with a guy who is willing to discuss and be frank with you (and by this I don’t mean being emotionally unstable or unloading on you constantly, but just being a full-fledged human being with nuance). “Talking about it” is not a phrase that should make you run the other way, because having open, thoughtful communication isn’t effeminate. It’s smart.

Fair warning: This article is about weight loss specifically, and about weight being tied to health, because mine definitely was. I fully accept that some people can be healthy at a higher weight, but I was not one of those people. At 5’6″, 152, I was doughy, sedentary, depressed, and in no way taking care of myself. This article is about my personal journey and no one else’s, and my desire to get to a smaller body weight to feel better (and make exercise easier). My journey is not an indictment on any one else’s body, or their ability to be my former weight (or higher) and be at peak physical health. Anyone else’s weight is none of my business, and I’d like to keep it that way.

Now that that’s out of the way, these are the things I learned from (finally) losing 20 pounds and getting down to – depending on the day – a weight of about 130lb at 5’6. I’d failed at the task for years and didn’t know why, but now, after about 3.5 months of concerted effort, I’ve reached my goals. This is everything I know now.

1. Until you accept calories in, calories out, no diet for weight loss will make sense.

If your diet is specifically to change your eating habits and be more well-rounded nutritionally, and weight loss is not a part of it, that’s totally different. But if you are specifically trying to shed weight, you need to know your TDEE (total daily energy expenditure, in calories), and balance it against what you’re eating. (Sometimes this is very low, yes, but even with a TDEE of 1250 you are still victim to the laws of thermodynamics.)

Anyway, I used to do stuff like Vegan til 6 (without counting the calories), and wouldn’t lose a thing, and get so frustrated. But despite me potentially getting more leafy greans, I was still overeating, this time just in things like hummus, avocados, and nuts (which is very easy to do, by the way). Any diet you are doing for weight loss needs to be balanced clearly against your energy needs, or it’s going to be a frustrating battle. Once you accept CICO, however, it becomes a simple question of math, and you can predict your losses nearly down to the ounce.

2. You have to separate fitness from weight loss.

In my experience – and the experience of many people I’ve met who have also met their goals – your weight specifically is going to be about 80 percent diet, and 20 percent activity. It’s extremely easy to cancel out your calories burned while exercising in just a small amount of overeating, and in fact, many studies indicate that increasing exercise without carefully watching food intake can actually lead to weight gain. And I know that, for me personally, it’s very easy to justify excessive calories when I’ve just worked out, because I feel like I’ve “earned it” and am ravenously hungry.

So, now that I’ve reached my pure weight loss goals, I’ve moved to fitness goals (I’m in week two of a C25k program), and now that my eating habits have successfully adjusted to my new lifestyle, it’s no longer as difficult to balance increased activity against increased calories. I’ve raised my daily intake by about 300 calories to be at “maintenance” instead of “active loss,” and if/when my physical activity is raised to burning a significant amount of calories (right now it’s not more than a few hundred a few days a week), I will adjust accordingly. But my eating habits are very lucid and manageable now, so I feel comfortable slowly working in increased activity without overcompensating in my diet.

3. If you let yourself, you can delude yourself into anything.

In order to truly embrace CICO and fitness, you need to be honest with yourself at every turn, because your brain will want at every turn to delude itself into thinking it’s doing something other than what it is. Calories you consume mindlessly, or that you don’t account for, aren’t going to trick your body – they count, too. Same for the workouts you don’t finish, or do at all. For me, at the beginning, it was essential to account for everything meticulously so that I could really see the results of manipulations to my lifestyle. Now, I’m more comfortable eyeballing things (always erring on the side of too much), and I’m not as concerned with every little detail of what I do. But it’s been important, in achieving this, to always overestimate what I’m eating and underestimate what I’m burning, because the brain’s tendency is to grossly do the opposite – this is a fact of human nature. Once I accepted that my brain was not to be trusted, and that it was up to me to combat my delusions, I finally gained control over my results.

4. You have to let yourself live, too.

I have at least one day a week where I don’t give a shit what I eat, and I don’t count. This is also true for short vacations, special dinners or celebrations, and other events where it’s not worth it to count for every little thing. I practice intermittent fasting – no, it’s not an eating disorder, so please don’t write me in “concern” – so it’s easy for me to “reset” after a particularly indulgent day or so. But even with just pure calorie counting, everything is something we can measure and account for. I have learned to balance my days of plenty with my days of less, and to never feel deprived for it. If a big weekend means that Monday and Tuesday will consist of one small and one large, concentrated meal each, that’s fine by me. I don’t mind going veggie crazy so I can enjoy the shit out of my celebrations.

5. We have to shed the idea of the American lifestyle as “normal.”

So much of the American perception of food and eating is so unhealthy, and the more we separate our “normal” or “average” from “healthy,” the better. Our culture is one that eats out nearly every meal, overeats on a near-daily basis, doesn’t eat in season, and treats the mere implication of hunger as a mortal sin. Many other cultures practice fasting – in many different forms – on a regular basis, and find enormous value in the feeling of hunger. (Which is, scientifically, not wrong.) They eat in season, eat meat relatively rarely, and eat drastically smaller portions. There is so much we could learn from nearly every culture other than ours, and there is a reason why we are seen as a cautionary tale for many other countries (countries with, often, much healthier and more sustainable relationships to food). Just the degree to which we eat meat, one could easily argue, is reason enough to consider our “normal” as an objective “dangerous.” It’s not just about how much we weigh, it’s about how we view and consume food as a people.

6. Accepting that you can control your body is liberating, not destructive.

Nothing has been more life-changing to me than realizing that I am in total control of how much I weigh, how fit I am, and what I look like. I can totally change my perceptions about food and fitness – and I have – and none of it has to be a guessing game. Since I’ve accepted CICO and begun treating my body as the beautiful machine that it is, I’ve never again felt the pang of emotion about something as silly as eating too much food or not working out enough. It’s simply a balance, and I can find it again. Knowing that you can’t trick the bottom line of physics is liberating, because it means that it doesn’t have to be a personal indictment when you don’t do something perfectly, it’s simply something that you can address in a productive and healthy way tomorrow. Counting calories, for me, has been the opposite of obsessive or unhealthy – it’s meant that I’m finally in control of every aspect of my physical self, just as I am with my social or professional self. It’s not a guessing game, and everything – from a bag of carrot sticks to a big slice of cake or pizza – has its place in my new diet.

Treating your health like a bank account means that there is always a way to balance the ledger, and you don’t have to beat yourself up for every little splurge. Changing your attitude about what food needs to be (and the difference between overindulgence and living well) means that you can appreciate the treats more, and have a more sustainable relationship with your own well-being. I have reached my goals by giving up nothing, but rather accepting moderation, embracing the food wisdoms of cultures other than my own, and learning that I can’t trick myself if I want to see results.

She gets on wait lists for the new “It” bag, which she knows is the “It” bag because it has been declared so by the magazines and editors she follows religiously. Yes, it is a lot of money, and she knows this, but the expense is less a deterrent than a perk. Without a vulgar logo stamped all over the fine leather, only those who recognize the most exclusive brands and most of-the-moment styles will know that this is the “It” bag, and those people’s knowing (or envious) glances will mean more to her than a thousand compliments. This bag will put her in a caste, one of both financial and aesthetic importance. She doesn’t just have money, she knows exactly where one is supposed to spend it.

She works late hours, getting a contact high from the feeling of being in the office – from fulfilling the very specific image of Professional Woman she’s had in her head since she was young. She posts photos of her tailored work outfits, with their bold splashes of color and statement jewelry. She posts photos of her late-night desk, with the perfect wall accessories and her little plastic container of takeout. She posts photos of the city view from the window nearest her. She secretly gets a thrill from telling people “sorry, I can’t, things are crazy at work right now.” Nothing makes her feel better than being busy.

She drinks Diet Coke and iced coffee, and often forgets to eat. It’s not a problem she has with food, you see, it’s just that she’s so busy she often doesn’t notice that she’s hungry until she is trembling at her keyboard and has trouble steadying her line of vision. She has gone an entire day with nothing but a small bag of Swedish Fish to nibble on, and quarts of caffeinated drinks to delay the feeling of emptiness. When she notices her clothes getting looser, she suppresses the feeling of excitement. It’s not that she doesn’t want to eat, after all. It’s that she doesn’t have time. And if her collarbones become more pronounced as a result, and she looks more elegant in a shift dress – well, that’s just a side effect she’ll have to live with.

She spends money on a gym, a good gym, one with rich, dark walls and modern fixtures and steam rooms on nearly every floor. She wants her body to be crafted and toned, not just thin. She wants to feel strong, wants to run a marathon someday. She’s been talking about the marathon she hopes to run for several years, but each year, her work schedule absorbs the time she would have been using to train. Work takes priority, after all. She tries different workout classes and stays with them for at least a few sessions, but can’t help noticing how she feels worse after each – after seeing the other women in the class, how their workout clothes fit nicer, how they move with less effort, how they seem to never sweat. They probably don’t have a good job. They have the time to work out.

She meets up with her friend after working out, making sure to specify that she just “hit the gym” after work, and making a note that she “got out of work early, thank God.” They spend most of the time talking about work, too – what’s not going well, what they’re working on, who they can’t stand. The catharsis of shit-talking slowly transforms into more anxiety, as neither party is offering any tangible solutions. Complaining feels good, though. They have two drinks and two appetizers each, and the bill comes to 34 dollars per person, with tip. She briefly flinches over the check, but reminds herself that she hasn’t been out to drinks in over a week and a half, and therefore she can allow herself this treat. She walks home slightly drunk and checks her bank statement in bed, promising herself that she won’t waste money on a pointless Tuesday-night buzz again. (She will.)

She goes home to her apartment, clean and put together and tastefully decorated. She grabs cold noodles out of the refrigerator, feeds her cat, waters the plants on her windowsill, and opens her laptop. She alternates between her work email and an episode of a show she’s been half-watching on Netflix. She invests in neither, really, but can’t enjoy one if she knows she’s also doing the other. She feels tired, so she moves to the bed, where she opens up her phone, and finishes the evening by scrolling through social media until she falls asleep with the phone on the pillow next to her. “You up?” a man she doesn’t want to see anymore texts her.

“Guess not,” he texts, fifteen minutes later.

1. People get overjoyed about the most objectively garbage living spaces. I’ve seen people brag about their $3,000/month, rat-infested East Village one bedroom, where the kitchen has the approximate dimensions of an airplane bathroom, and faces an air shaft. People have Stockholm syndrome about the real estate here, and have learned to reduce their expectations from ‘comfortable living situation’ to ‘dumpster with outlets.’

2. People who have no business living here choose to suffer for the cause. Nothing makes me cringe more than people who are living their NeW yOrK DrEaM at the expense of basic ability to maintain their life and feed themselves, and are working four jobs (including one creative one) to fund their windowless basement room in Bushwick. There are theatres in Chicago and LA, and basically everywhere else. Go live in a place that will enable you to survive with more dignity than a raccoon.

3. Nearly everything people brag about getting here, you can get in most major cities. Sometimes when you’re talking to a New Yorker, it feels like they think no restaurants, bars, or museums exist outside of a ten-mile radius from the Empire State Building. Like I don’t know if you realize, but you can go to a restaurant in Minneapolis, or a bar in Rome. And you’ll probably pay way less for a beer.

4. People act like junkies when it comes to new and exciting food. I am so tired of seeing fusions-of-fusions-of-avant-garde-reimagining of food. It’s like we’re all addicted to New and Interesting Ways Of Eating, and kept raising our tolerance until every bar in Williamsburg served cured-shark gravlax over pine crisps with a kimchi reduction.

5. People treat dating the way they treat ordering food. I’m not saying that this is unique to New York – I know that people do app dating everywhere – but good lord is it pronounced here, where people have as many options for their next date as they do their next order of Kung Pao chicken. I can’t count the number of conversations I’ve had with bored, vaguely despondent New Yorkers as they recall the dozen-or-so dating options they’re keeping simmering on the stove, none with any actual interest. And I met my boyfriend of nearly five years online, so I’m not averse to digital romance. But come on, at least put in more effort into the potential love of your life than you do the drunken Amazon cart you fill up after coming home from the bar.

6. $10 – $15 is considered an acceptable price range for cocktails. Unless it is made from top shelf liquor and champagne, and comes with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies, no drink should be at that price point. And yet, that’s what people here are comfortable paying for a cocktail that is mostly fancy mixers, and takes approximately 10 minutes to put together. (I admit that the giant, fancy, square ice cubes do have a certain allure, but not a 14-dollar allure.)

7. 80 percent of the year is spent complaining about the weather. And don’t get me wrong – I don’t think these complaints are unnecessary, or unreasonable. I totally agree that New York City seems to get the absolute worst of the extreme seasons, punctuated by an admittedly gorgeous four-week period in spring and fall. It’s either summer, and the whole city feels like a concrete-lined sweat lodge, full of molten garbage and a humidity level of “beef stew.” Or it’s winter, and each row of skyscrapers forms its own little wind tunnel, where your eyelashes have the pleasure of freezing off within five minutes of leaving work. But damn Rockefeller Center looks pretty come Christmastime!

8. Everyone is super hyped up about all the amazing shit they can’t afford here. Yes, 90 percent of normal people in New York City can’t afford to go shopping in the West Village, or try any of the twenty-something Michelin-starred restaurants, or stay in any of the magnificent, storied hotels. No one can enjoy a Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle, or even a Miranda Hobbes one. Pretty much everything the media teaches you is ~fabulous~ about NYC is out of everyone’s price range. But people are totally content to get a contact high off of all the great stuff around them without ever being able to participate. Just walking past that amazing brunch spot with the four-hour wait is enough to motivate the New Yorker for their eight-hour shift at an Aldo.

9. The stuff they can afford – and brag about – New Yorkers never actually do. People will tell you all the time how much the ~art and culture~ here is so incredible and irreplaceable (which, okay, but you can go to most cities for that, as seen in point three), in the same breath that they tell you they have not been to the Met in five years, and have never seen an opera or ballet. They just like to know that all of this art and culture is available, waiting for the moment they will eventually choose to engage with it. They don’t have to actually enjoy it to feel smug about it.

10. Meanness becomes a default setting for everyone who lives here. Now, I should specify that I’ve only lived in two other major cities, so I am not an expert on how much city life hardens you to the world, and to your fellow human. But I can say with confidence that pretty much everyone I know who has lived in NYC and elsewhere agrees with me that this place is significant in how much of an asshole you become living here. You just live your life in a constant, simmering state of being pissed off at people, because they are getting in your way on the subway, in a coffee shop, or on the escalator at a department store because they’ve chosen to eat their entire Wetzel’s Pretzel between the sixth and seventh floor. Everyone knows that they’re in a masochistic relationship with NYC, but I would argue that they’re in an openly abusive relationship with the other ten million people who call this place home.

They say you’re not a New Yorker until you’ve lived here for 10 years, but I would argue that you’re not a New Yorker until you’ve learned to quietly resent every single person you cross on your daily commute.

1. Carrie And Big.

Let’s start with the big (ahahaha) couple here, because they are obviously the tedious and vaguely-emotionally-abusive stars of the show. So, we are supposed to believe that Big, after years of essentially treating Carrie as something between a side piece and a beloved dog, swooped in to rescue her from her scary, cold Russian boyfriend in Paris?

Setting aside the fact that Carrie and The Russian would never have been together in the first place – Carrie was much too lowbrow to be his gallery hoe – it seems pretty bullshit that Big would suddenly come to his senses about her.

Frankly, Big and Carrie never seemed to be well-matched, and a guy who looks like Chris Noth, and gets chauffeured around Manhattan by a driver, is probably not gonna leave it all behind to chase a 38-year-old woman who had to pawn her friend’s wedding ring to compensate for her shoe addiction. Sure, you can argue that she made him laugh, but the choice is not “do I marry a Natasha, aka the human embodiment of a beige Eames chair,” or “do I choose Carrie, the human embodiment of a sample sale where someone gets a patch of hair ripped out over a skirt.”

I’m calling bullshit on this relationship, because in real life, he would have ended up with a woman who was a little closer in age than Natasha, capable of making him laugh, and more capable of managing her life than your average 14-year-old. Not Carrie.

2. Miranda and Steve.

I’m definitely part of the camp that never bought Miranda and Steve in the first place – and who still has scars from that horrifying scene where Steve tried to pay for the expensive suit on two cards, cash, and a couple bus tokens – but fine. We’ll go with it. And I do appreciate that Steve added a certain levity to Miranda’s life, as well as (apparently) a healthy dose of orgasms, and I definitely buy their relationship more in the later seasons, when he owned his own bar with short-hair-era Aidan.

But I would argue that the bullshit part of the whole scenario is that Miranda, in the year 2004, would move her ass to Brooklyn. This is pre-trend pieces about man buns and whiskey bars, and we’re talking about a woman who was so hardened-New Yorker that she only visited her (irritating, but not evil) mother on her deathbed. To me, Miranda was never the type of gal who was gonna move to a brownstone in Carroll Gardens and slog it out with all the yoga stroller moms. She had a law firm to bust balls in, and $16 martinis to sip in downtown lounge/restaurants. She would have sooner made Steve and Brady live in a walk-in closet in the Financial District than leave the island of Manhattan.

So the relationship itself might have been legit, but not the circumstances of their new life together.

3. Charlotte and Harry.

This relationship always seemed, from its first moments, the most legit of any of the main love stories. The fact that Harry didn’t look like Kyle MacLachlan made perfect sense in the context of him being warm, funny, unpretentious, and great in bed. He was the husband that Charlotte needed, in just the right doses. And the circumstances under which she nearly lost him—by being a terrifying human Pinterest engagement board—made total sense as well.

The fact that he was willing to walk out on someone like Charlotte (particularly after she had the gall to point out that people think he’s lucky to have her), made their eventual ending all the more satisfying. If he had just ridden that relationship through to a wedding at the nine-month mark, as she wanted, I would have honestly just had pity for Harry. Yes, Charlotte is beautiful and a Barbie Dream Wife, but at least play a little hard-to-get. But he did, and he made Charlotte realize that she needed to earn his love, no matter how many times he put his bare balls down on her silk-upholstered chaise lounges.

I fully admit that I cry to this day during the scene where he proposes to her at that tragic temple mixer. Their relationship was great, and for Sex and the City standards, a harrowing drug documentary in terms of realism. Charlotte needed to get broken out of her “sexually deviant, strong-chinned WASP” routine, and Harry was the only one who was going to do it (while, let’s be honest, keeping Charlotte in Park Avenue apartments and Diane Von Furstenburg dresses, because Charlotte wasn’t going to marry a middle school teacher).

For her, he was perfect. And not bullshit.

4. Samantha and Smith.

I’m sort of the fence about this one, because on the one hand, Smith had some truly heart-wrenching moments with Sam. Without even discussing the head-shaving scene (which may be the most Kleenex-worthy scene in SATC history), Smith was there at the bottom of the elevator when Samantha emerged from her self-loathing tryst with Richard. She melted into his arms, saying “I don’t know why I do this to you,” and we melted with her. Why couldn’t she just be good to Smith the way his tender, washboard-abbed self needs?

And that’s the issue right there. I buy that Smith would have been head over heels for Sam, in an early Ashton/Demi sort of way. I get that she was almost a mythical goddess to him, and he was sort of the Rocky to her Dr Frank N Furter. But I’m just not certain that Samantha would give up her problematic (lest we forget her tryst with a black man) life of hedonism for him. I feel like she would have gotten bored of him right around the time his Absolut ad was getting graffiti’d. But perhaps I’m wrong, and given the life-changing things he was by her side for, I believe that they might have made it work for the long term.

I’ll say this one was not bullshit, if only because she created Smith, and Samantha loved nothing if not her own work.

1. Make your hot drink of choice in the morning. Yes, it’s always nice to have someone bring you a little coffee or tea, but nothing can compare to the feeling of having a guy make you your morning drink while leaves are rustling outside and you get to stay under the comforter you just took out of storage.

2. Read/work in a coffee shop in a hot fall outfit. Most seasons, the Dude In The Coffee Shop is kind of exhausting, but put him in some knits and turn down the temperature outside a cool 20 degrees, and all of a sudden he’s sexy and mysterious. It’s that grown-up back-to-school vibe. And speaking of which,

3. Wear a college sweater. What is it with guys in college sweaters? They don’t even have to be current students, it’s just the perfect fall look.

4. Drape their jacket over your shoulders. In winter, it is way too cold to pull the dainty, over-the-shoulder jacket crap. And in summer, who the hell is wearing a jacket in the first place? But during the first chill of fall, conditions are ripe for wearing a guy’s jacket over your shoulders, and having him remain perfectly toasty in just his sweater. It’s a magical, seasonal moment.

5. Drink red wine. Nothing like grabbing drinks in fall and enjoying the rich sexiness of a glass (or two) of red wine at an intimate little bar table or even a terrace. Rosé and cocktails are great in the summer months, but there’s something undeniably sultry about enjoying some red wine for two, ideally with crusty bread/cheese/meat.

6. Wear a shawl-collar sweater. It’s the ultimate Hot Dad Vibe sweater, and oddly gives off the same effect as a suit, only in cozy sweater form.

7. Pick sexy his and hers Halloween costumes. Sure, it’s always fun to go as things like a plug and an outlet, or Teletubbies, or other unsexy, foam-based things. But it’s also nice to go in costumes that both of you are even more attracted to than normal. No reason not to use the excuse of the holiday to go as Roger and Joan, or Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

8. Draw you a warm bath. The absolute hottest thing a guy could do on an evening when you’re staying home while he goes out is draw you a hot bath with some nice candles around the tub so you can relax while he’s gone. A guy that knows his way around bath salts (and remembers to give the tub a cleaning before he fills it) is a true autumn keeper.

9. Decorate for Halloween with you. Why is there something so sexy and wonderful about setting up decorations with your guy? Last year, my boyfriend I each carved a little wonky pumpkin for our apartment and lit candles in them, and it is to this day one of my favorite memories – it’s simple, hands-on, and both childish and mature at the same time.

10. Sit side-by-side with you at a bistro table. The in-front-of-the-restaurant little bistro tables that demand couples sit side-by-side are the perfect fall date spot. In summer, it’s weird and sweaty to sit that close to each other, and in winter, it’s way too fuckin cold to be out there. In fall, though, people-watching with a cappuccino or hot toddy in hand is an ideal way to spend a weekend afternoon.

11. Go to a fall farmer’s market. Browse the baked goods while your lady browses your goods.

12. Make some comfort food. Look, I know that a lot of guys are allergic to the idea of preparing things in the kitchen, but the utter sexiness of a guy who can whip up a good meal is so underrated. And no moment is better than the first really cool moments of fall, when we’ve been deprived of hot, slow-cooked comfort food for months on end. All you need is a crock pot and you can put something perfect for a dinner night at home with minimal effort.

13. Put up string lights over your bed. Nothing makes fall more romantic, or bedtime more sexy, than having soft string lights over/on the head of your board.

14. Grow an autumn beard. Some people might be into a year-round beard, but honestly to me that just seems like a recipe for face sweat in the summer months. The elusive autumn beard, though, is basically like a scarf for your face. It may not be my thing totally, but I definitely recognize its seasonal hotness.

15. Spend the entire day curled up under a blanket on the couch watching movies/binging on TV. Okay, yeah, this is pretty sexy year-round, but it’s never more so than when the leaves are falling and it’s starting to get nippy outside. When you’re in love, there’s nothing better than a quiet weekend day spent not leaving the comfort of your couch, and autumn is the season that turns the thermostat down to bring us all closer together. Enjoy it.

Spend time apart. Like, a lot of time. Don’t do that weird, awful thing where you extend the breakup into 17 mini-breakups and keep cutting each other in the exact same places, just because you like to see it bleed. Mute them on your social media and take them out of your phone, cut yourself off from every chance you have to see them and feel jealousy, or resentment, or nostalgia, or anything at all. Don’t leave yourself open to those things, because they only end up in the exact same place: their apartment. Resist the temptation to keep some curse-like hold over their life just because you can, because you don’t actually want them but don’t want to let anyone else have them, either. Let them go.

Accept that the only time it’s truly safe to bring them back into your digital life is when you no longer have any urge to reach out to them, when their name is just one of many that used to mean something to you, but which now elicits no pang in your heart. No matter how long this takes, wait for it. You never need to bring them back in, if you don’t want to.

Don’t worry about what they’re doing — don’t ask, don’t take news every time you see a mutual friend, cushioned by innocent questions about exactly three other people so as to not seem desperate. Learn to tell the difference between actually caring about someone and feeling some weird, lingering ownership of them, because this is definitely the latter. Let news actually surprise you for once, months after it happened, because you were way too busy living your own life to notice. “Oh, they got engaged? That’s so great.” Really mean it. Really be pleased for them in a light way, as you would be for a distant family member.

Fall in love, too. With a new person, with a job, with a new city. Do things just for you, and grow without any thought as to who might be jealous or how it might look on your social media. Don’t do things for the spectacle, or to prove that you’re the one who “won” the breakup. (Realize that “winning” a breakup is a pretty dumb concept, anyway, and feel a little embarrassed that it was ever important to you.) Just enjoy things, and realize that you don’t have to define every big change in your life as “Before Them” and “After Them,” because you’re plenty important by yourself. Know that you don’t owe them your consideration, and that the feeling you got from appearing to have moved on is not nearly as satisfying as the feeling you get from actually having moved on.

Be in the same town as them, years later. Maybe two, maybe ten, it depends on how long you needed it to be (first, because you had to remove them from your emotional life, and then, because it took a while to be in the same place at the same time). Reach out to them, or let them reach out to you. It doesn’t matter who starts it, only that this bridge has finally been crossed and you no longer have to worry if it’s “weird” to say something. Exchange messages like, “Do you want to grab a drink or something?” and “It’s been forever! I’m so excited to hear about [their new spouse, their new job, their new life entirely without you]!” Be genuinely excited to meet up with them because, freed from your torturous need to control what they do and to not allow them to be a single percentage point happier or more successful, you actually really like them. Remember why you loved them in the first place, but in an entirely platonic way. They make you laugh, and that’s a great quality for a friend. They’re a good listener, and that’s a friend you want in your life. They have a lot of the same memories as you, which is great for when you want to catch up and reminisce. Realize that loving someone for objectively great qualities doesn’t mean they have to be the person for you, or that it disqualifies all of the things that didn’t work between you. It doesn’t have to be one or the other – you can love them as a friend.

Spend an evening or afternoon with them, catching up, laughing, having a drink. Maybe invite mutual friends, maybe don’t. But most importantly, leave at the end of it with a warm hug and no desire for anything more than that, and no need from them to hold onto you just a little too long. Release the last bits of their ghost that lingered with you, and be happy knowing that there is now someone in the world who holds a piece of your history with them, but who doesn’t need to be a part of your future in the same way. Look at them as a new kind of friend, the kind you will always be able to catch up with when you’re both in town. Realize that you really like this new kind of friend, maybe even more than you liked being with them in the first place.

“Umm,” started a recent anonymous message I received on Tumblr, which is never a good beginning for anything. “It’s kind of obnoxious that you alternate between skinny outfit pictures and fat food pictures on Instagram. We get it, you can eat whatever you want.”

Whoa.

I always knew that the phenomenon of thinking someone could eat anything they want, in any quantity, with no consequence was something people held onto. But I’d never had it directed at me. You see, as I’ve talked about before here, I only recently slimmed down by about 22 pounds, going from the top of my “normal” BMI – which read as a little doughy, and not anyone’s definition of “skinny” – to the middle of my BMI, which puts me at 5’6, 130, and about a size six. It might not seem like a huge difference, but it’s apparently enough of a chasm that people will go from never remarking on your body to actively referring to it as skinny. And it also means I’m now being lumped in with the size-00 models who, to maintain a severely underweight BMI, are very likely Not Eating That. But the truth is that, yes, I did very much eat that pie or that fried chicken.

For the longest time, like many people, my weight and food choices were hugely tied up in my emotions, and I regarded a day that I ate a sleeve of those delicious supermarket frosted sugar cookies as a “bad day,” one where I felt – besides just physically gross – incredibly guilty. I was wracked with this sense of self-sabotage, and felt the need to atone over the next few days in an unsustainable way. (Or, worse, I would just consider the entire week shot and eat whatever I wanted, in an effort to double down on my “badness.”) Being constantly emotionally caught up in my eating habits, and using them to render some kind of judgment on who I was as a person, was more than just exhausting. It was, mentally, extremely unhealthy, and despite its constant presence in my life, it never resulted in me actually losing weight. I just got doughier, more lethargic, and hated myself more in the process.

When I started counting calories – learning exactly how many I was expending, on average, and how many I needed to consume to either lose or maintain my weight – all of the emotion suddenly slipped away. I realized that, no matter how much I wanted to berate myself for having a “bad” day, it wasn’t going to override the laws of thermodynamics, and guilt tripping doesn’t burn calories. I got used to actually being aware of portion sizes, understanding how calorie-dense little meals and snacks could be, and deciding where I wanted to “spend” vs. “save” in my day-to-day diet. For the first six months or so, I counted calories and measured my food pretty seriously to get a clear picture of how I needed to eat, but it’s since loosened up to the point where I can pretty much eyeball it. I have learned that, if I want to weigh a certain amount, it’s literally a math equation to get me there – the hard part is learning how to deal with cravings, impulse, and the (very frequent) desire to eat out of boredom.

I no longer tie up my emotions in these things, and I understand that the body (and heightened sense of energy and healthfulness) that I desire are totally within my reach. One “bad” day doesn’t break me, just as one “good” day is not enough to justify a junk food binge afterward. It’s all a simple equation, and it doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. All it takes is being honest with myself, and understanding that treating certain foods as special treats isn’t punishment, it’s a sane and healthy way to live. I no longer need to oscillate between the extremes, because there is room for everything in a balanced diet.

Which is why comments like that anonymous message annoy me so profoundly. The thing is, all of the food we eat can fit within our goals. If I wanted to, tomorrow, I could eat two Big Macs and a side of fries with Diet Coke and still, after a moderate walk, come in within my “maintenance” calories. Of course, I wouldn’t probably do that, because I’d feel like crap and be hungry as hell for the rest of the day. But I could, if I wanted to. And so could the person who left me that message, and so could any of the rest of us. While some people might associate “counting calories” with “being unnecessarily obsessed with your food,” I’ve found that it’s been the exact opposite.

Counting calories has made so much room in my mental health to just live, without worrying about what my dinner says about me as a person – and that, to me, is worth way more than any dress size.

1. A lot of city dog owners are… weird as shit.

Now, I know that I currently live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (but moving soon!), which is the unofficial capital of assholes who take their French bulldogs way too seriously, but I think this applies universally. I have found that not only will people be extremely strange and territorial over their dogs at dog parks/pet stores/other places of animal gathering, but they will also try and form these really uncomfortable friendships based on the fact that we both own a dog. Like yeah, sure, it’s cool that we both own pets and live in the same neighborhood, but you literally just spent 30 minutes talking to me about your pomsky as I nodded silently, and now you want to exchange numbers for puppy playdates. These aren’t children, and we’re not in any way connected or engaged outside of our animals. Let’s not force this because you’re weirdly into your dog-based social life.

2. Dog food is either really bad, or really expensive.

Basically, as a pet owner, you are constantly being shocked into paying tons of extra money for food and pet supplies because apparently everything under a certain price point contains mercury and will slowly kill your beloved animal. Which, fine, I get that and I have made the choice to always feed my dog high-quality, USA-produced, organic food. But what’s pretty striking is that the difference in price point is not even just a 30 or 50 percent increase – it’s essentially five times the price. And when you’re in a big city, your options are usually “bad stuff they sell at the grocery store for a couple bucks,” or “really good stuff that will boost your dog’s immune system but costs $20 for a small bag.” So, essentially, your strategy needs to be “find an online source for these products that don’t involve going into Fido’s Retreat or some other luxury urban pet store to pay a 900% markup on kibbles.”

3. If you work out of the house, you probably shouldn’t get a dog.

4. Dog theft is basically a sport in big cities.

I honestly don’t know if it’s done for the ransom, or to resell the animal, or just because they want a purebred and don’t want to pay that premium, but either way, there is essentially a dog lifted every few hours in big cities. There are constantly signs plastering phone poles and public transport with a new animal that was stolen in broad daylight while the owner was making a coffee run. I actually recently had a random citizen accuse me of stealing my dog because it looked so much like one recently seen on “MISSING” signs. Obviously I was able to prove that she was mine, but still, that is how high tensions are running on the stolen pet front. So although you might think bringing a dog on your errands in the city is NBD, it’s important to consider that even a five-minute tie-up outside the store might not be a good idea if you can’t keep an eye on it through the window – even in the middle of the day.

5.Dog people will claim you as one of your own.

I like to think of dog owners in two primary categories: people who love their pet but understand that it’s a dog, and not a human child, and people who seem to conflate owning an animal with having birthed another human being they are now raising. I’m frankly a little put off by people who get way too into their dogs, and don’t really want to blur the lines between the love I have for Mona and the understanding that she doesn’t know how to communicate beyond unconditional love and food times. And this isn’t a bad thing, of course! It just means that I don’t have a whole lot to contribute to conversations that are really, really about the dog. So when someone starts talking to me about the emotional issues their corgi is currently experiencing, and how they’re considering doggie yoga, I don’t really know what to say. And it’s important to keep in mind, when surrounded by Incredibly Intense Urban Dog People, that you’re not weird for not getting this emotionally involved with Coco. You’re just keeping a little perspective, and that’s a good thing.

Lori Greiner

You love three things in this world: voluminous hair extensions, pushing product, and good, old-fashioned Midwestern niceness. You give off light sorority girl vibes from a lower-tier school, but not because you’re stupid, but rather because you have the vapid salesmanship of someone who is capable of moving several hundred thousand Magic Bullets. (It’s a good thing!) You’re nice because it comes naturally to you, but not because you’re a pushover – and you’re capable of pulling off slick moves when no one else is expecting it, because everyone generally underestimates you. You’re good at one thing, really, and that’s selling some goddamn knick knacks, and you’re not interested in all of the conniving, morally unsound nonsense that other people might include in their business practices. You either move some numbers or you don’t, and that simplicity allows you to sleep at night better than any of them.

Robert Herjavec

You’re an old soul, a softy, and appreciate the romantic things in life. Maybe you don’t always make the best decisions, but you’re a sucker for a good story and believe in fairy tale endings. You’re not going to be mean to anyone just for the fun of it, but that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of landing a good burn when the occasion calls for it. And while you might fade into the background of things from time to time, you’re also capable of human empathy, which totally makes up for a slightly more discreet personality. Also, you really, really fucking love Croatia.

Kevin O’Leary

You’re literally a monster, but it’s honestly kind of charming. You love one thing – raw, pure, undulating, Randian capitalism, and it runs through your veins like auto coolant. Nothing makes you happier than delivering a sick, sick burn to someone who is already struggling, and you would turn down a blind orphan running a soup kitchen if the numbers weren’t exactly where they needed to be for you to turn a profit in the next six months. You see nothing wrong with the dog-eat-dog nature of the business world, and if crippling a startup’s cash flow by siphoning off hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties is the best possible move, you’re going to make it. You love the Fox Business channel, fine wines, and feeling disdainful of homeless people.

Daymond John

Your biggest hobby is being cooler than whatever is going on around you, and not deigning to get involved with 90 percent of things because they don’t fit your elite personal brand. You’re not the type to get in the mud and try something crazy during a product demonstration – you’re no affable Robert in that regard – but you do crack a smile every once in a while when something tickles your fancy. And because you dole the out so sparingly, your half-smiles sometimes feel more rewarding than a Robert-type’s giddy laughter. You’re kind of like Kevin, in your single-minded obsession, but instead of pure money, you’re looking for things that advance your weirdly specific set of brand ideals.

Barbara Corcoran

You’re not here to take anyone’s shit, and you appreciate someone who has all of their facts together before they get in your face with their dumb ideas. You ask the right questions and, while not afraid of confrontation, are never gratuitously mean. People might try to cut you down because of your gender/age/petite stature/niceness, but you’re not anyone’s wallflower. You’re all about the business, and don’t stand for anyone’s shit talking.

Mark Cuban

In general, you’re probably the most well-rounded of any of your friends, because you’re capable of being nice, critical, smart, funny, and self-effacing in pretty equal measure. You’re the bro-y type who just likes to hang out, kick back with a beer and watch whatever game happens to be on. You get excited about things in a very childlike way, and also have an extremely convincing patch of black hair for someone coming in at a cool 57 years old. You may not be perfect, but you’re the closest most of us will get to it, and somehow you don’t let your successes go to your head. Never change, Mark Cuban lover. Never change.

The other day, a girlfriend and I were talking about her old college friend and soon-to-be bridesmaid who is four months into dating, objectively, a very lame guy. “When they first started going out,” she told me, “I assumed it would last a few weeks, tops. But they’re still together, which means a) he’s coming to my wedding, in addition to being around all the time, and b) they’re probably in love. Ugh.” Ugh, indeed.

Who hasn’t been there, though? Who hasn’t had a friend who, despite being a smart, funny, beautiful woman (because I’m being heteronormative here), chooses to date a guy who is just an utter bummer? Women – because of how consistently devalued they are, in pretty much every regard outside their physical beauty – often settle for things that are objectively not something they should have to put up with. We’ve all seen the stunning, Lilly-clad woman clinging to the beer-bellied, red-nosed angry bro in the polo shirt. These are real dynamics, even if we don’t want to admit them. (And you only have to turn on the TV once to see the dynamic of “smart, put-together wife rolling her eyes at nearly-non-functional husband.) But what does one do when put in this position?

As someone who has the luxury of being surrounded by ladies (and guys) who have, for the most part, chosen great dudes, I admit that this isn’t a big question in my life these days. But it’s happened to me before – and it can happen to anyone, in any combination of genders — and I dealt with it accordingly. I ensured that our friendship would not suffer, but that I would also not have to suffer too much of the guy while he was in her life. For me, there is a perfect six-step strategy to dealing with this, and this is exactly what you have to do.

Define “lame.”

We first have to separate “guy that you really don’t like, and wouldn’t date yourself” with “guy who is objectively destructive to her life in some way, eroding her self-esteem, abusive, or holding her back from prospering.” This difference is essential, because while it’s great when we love our friends’ SOs, it’s not the end of the world if we don’t. We can all be polite when we need to, and make the best of group hangouts, and at the end of the day, only the people dating have to really love each other. A friend marrying a guy who is “meh” in your eyes is part of your life. The rest of these steps only apply to guys who are capital-B Bad.

Identify the specifics of the lameness.

I’ll use an example – I know a girl whose guy will constantly crap on her while she’s making a point, interrupting her and correcting her and generally looking at her like he’s embarrassed of what’s coming out of her mouth. Basically, he treats her like an idiot, and as a result her own self-esteem has markedly suffered. The more time she spends around him, the worse she gets, and often by the end of an evening with him she’ll stop talking entirely so as not to get embarrassed in front of her friends anymore. This is just one possible manifestation of lameness, and the guy you know might be totally different (my friend’s story included an anecdote about the guy messaging her 20 times in one night to make sure she wasn’t out dancing with other guys), but the point is that you can clearly identify the fucked-up nonsense he’s doing.

Don’t pretend to like him.

There is a difference between being civil out of respect for your friend, and pretending to like someone who is clearly bad news. You don’t have to go out of your way to pretend to like this guy, or behave in a way with him that makes you feel a little icky from how false it is. You can be up-front about not wanting to spend tons of time with him, and you don’t have to do things like add him on social media or communicate with him outside of your friends. A lot of people – myself formally included – feel like it’s an asshole move to not immediately embrace the people your friends choose, but ultimately, if they are a super negative influence on things and someone you would otherwise not associate with, you can be civil without being fake.

If asked, explain why you’re not a fan of him.

If your friend says something like “Do you not like [insert name here, but let’s call him Brad]?” you owe it to them as a friend and someone who respects them to tell them the truth. You can say, “I don’t like the way he treats you sometimes,” and give specific examples so they will have the benefit of understanding. Maybe it won’t lead them to reconsider the relationship, but they will at least have a clear understanding of why you feel the way you do, and they won’t be paranoid every time you seem a little chillier around him than you do around your other friends. If you genuinely take issue with this person, you owe it to your friend to explain why, instead of just being that passive-aggressive person who talks endless shit behind his back but doesn’t do anything to make the situation better.

Point out specific instances when they happen.

My girlfriend was dating this guy who would call her names when he was angry at her to degrade/embarrass her in front of her friends, but then would always play it off like he was joking. He wasn’t joking. And it really devastated her, and we all knew this, but when I mentioned it to her once in private she did what most people do when they’re in love with a Brad – she denied it. She said she didn’t know what I was talking about, that she’d never seen this before, and that I was paranoid (or didn’t like him for personal reasons). So a few weeks later when we were all out at a bar and he “jokingly” called her fat when she went for another buffalo wing – in front of her friends – I pointed it out in the bathroom to her. Tears started welling up and she said “I know, I hate when he says stuff like that.” It didn’t end the relationship there, but they broke up a few months later, in part because she was acknowledging the truth of what he was doing to her. I’m happy to say that now, a few years later, she’s with an absolutely great guy who treats her like gold.

If nothing is stopping, remove yourself from the situation.

If you feel that the behavior is getting unacceptable, and none of the above methods have led to a solution, you can say “Hey, I can’t be around this person anymore,” and just don’t. You have the right to do that, and you don’t owe anyone your time or respect if they’re not earning it. Your friend might be upset, but if the guy is a true loser who is really damaging her life/self-esteem, it’s honestly enabling more than anything to continue to pretend to like the guy. You can say, simply, “I love you and want to be in your life, but I don’t want to be around this person.” And that is a fair thing to say, once you’ve already clearly and specifically explained the unacceptable/abusive behavior. It’s up to you to decide where your lines in the sand are, but it’s also not expected that we can watch our friends get hurt indefinitely and not say anything about it.

Use your judgment, but don’t give your tacit endorsement to a Brad. He doesn’t deserve it.

Dear Chrissy,

How are you? I’ll assume you’re reading this on an airplane, as it’s hard to imagine a day in your average week in which you’re not traveling to your various jobs, homes, and promotional events, so I hope your flight is going well. Are you and John mostly on private jets these days? Somehow I feel like your brand would be more commercial flights – first class, of course, but still flying with the people. Plus, from what I’ve seen while filing, sadly, into coach, a lot of the first-class accommodations on international or cross-country flights are pretty luxurious. Are you in one of the laying-down seats? I hope so.

Anyway, I just wanted to drop in for a minute to chat because I admit, despite my love for you that is (and always will be) unconditional and unerring, I have my reservations. And honestly, part of this deep love I have for your celebrity brand necessitates me telling you when something is wrong. We are only honest with those we respect, and I respect nothing if not your social media hustle. So with that said, let’s talk about my specific concerns for both your celebrity brand and that most #personal of #content, your life.

You see, I’ve been following you for a few years now, long enough that I can remember when you were (not very widely) known as the kooky wife of singer John Legend, prone to hilarious bouts of social media honesty and writer of a food blog that was endearingly struggly, considering your near-unlimited resources. Yes, there was an error in the subtitle of your blog for a long time, but that was honestly one of its most charming features! Your recipes were delicious, your humor biting, and your openness about loving food, yet being contractually obligated to be skinny, was refreshing. I fell in love with you like so many young women, and like you, even went on to do some modest food blogging of my own. And as someone in a long-term relationship with a more reserved guy who looks at my antics with a healthy mix of love and exasperation, I identified with you and John. (And coveted your stunning Italian wedding.)

But perhaps it was that very wedding that set things off into another, slightly scarier and more branded era. You see, I know essentially every detail of that wedding (as do millions of other people), because John used it for the video of his corny-yet-sweet superhit “All Of Me.” Both this song’s enormous success (followed shortly by an Oscar win, no less!), and your being increasingly embraced by the media, created a shift in things that was imperceptible at the time, but has grown enough that I find myself writing you this very letter.

Between the frequent sponsored Instagrams, the constant talk-show and reality gigs, the unfortunate karaoke show, and the news that you and John are doing an upcoming couple’s reality show (no!!!), it seems that your once-golden personality and genuine set of interests have been co-opted into a product, a patented and marketed Chrissy Tiegen ™, where there was once actually someone named Chrissy. And I worry that soon, I will no longer be a fan, because there won’t be much left worthy of fawning over. I’m not one of those geeks who demands all of her beloved pop culture treasures remain obscure to be worthy of admiration, but I feel there must be a grey area between “running a little blog and clowning around on Twitter” and “participating in 2308325 promotional events and shows per week.”

Where is the old Chrissy who humored the masses with pictures of John’s butt, or hilarious smackdowns of wayward Instagram commenters? Where is the old Chrissy who mostly posted pictures of her mother hanging out in the kitchen and prepping food? Where is the old Chrissy who would see that Samsung commercial and be like “Ugh, come on.” You are in that Samsung commercial now – what’s become of all this?

But I believe that it’s not too late. I hold out great hope for the future of your blogging career, and will almost certainly buy your cookbook. I ask only that you scale back a tiny bit on all of your many (hard-earned!) media projects to, if nothing else, spend more time getting sleep and seeing loved ones. And, if you promise one thing, let it be that you will not go the way of the couples’ reality show. There is almost no greater sign of the immediate demise of a relationship than agreeing to do one of those dreadful shows, and the mystery of your goings-on is why everyone loves you! You’ve remained demure about the personal while still divulging little, funny tidbits – inarguably the perfect celebrity brand, and something you are very close to squandering!

Anyway, give my love to John and the pups. And I look forward to making your spicy beef stew as soon as the weather gets colder.

Be well
Chelsea

Sometimes I picture myself throwing my phone out the window, or dunking it in a bathtub full of water, or letting it get run over by a subway train. I think of how often it becomes a vessel for my neediness, my insistence on checking in, my tendency to initiate even in the face of silence. I’ve kept so many conversations going on days, weeks, years after they should have ended, because I can never stop my phantom fingers from picking up the phone and sending one of those light-yet-incredibly-heavy “hey”s. I wish that I knew how to be the girl who was detached and effortless, who responds after the appropriate time frame to let you know she has other shit going on, but I don’t. I text first, and I text back right away.

There’s never any question of whether or not I’m busy. I might be, but if you’re one of the handful of people my brain has settled on as Very Important, my busyness has no bearing on how long I will take to respond. I’m always available, always ready to roll over in bed and type a “Yeah, I’m up” from behind bleary, red eyes. I’ve been two minutes from bed, makeup off and pajamas on, when the right person has texted me and sent me out into the city again looking for something. They’ll never know that I was ready to call it a night, because for them, I’m always on.

Sometimes I wish my addiction to communication stopped at my romantic relationships. Sure, everyone gets pressed over a crush every now and then and can’t stop themselves from sending four messages in a row (in an ever-more-panicky attempt to seem chill), that’s normal. Some of us even go so far as to delete their numbers in our phones to prevent ourselves from being that person, from revealing the true extent of our need to say something, to fill the space. If you remove that temptation, you have to wait until they deem it the right time to reach out – and then that will be precisely the right time. You don’t have that judgment, so you let someone else make the call.

But my texting doesn’t stop at crushes. I’ll get a friend-crush, as obsessive and antsy as any romantic relationship I’ve ever had. I’ll want to see them, to share funny things, to show them everything that reminds me of them. I’ll want to know where they are, and feel the pull of envy when I hear it’s with some other friend I’ve never heard of. I fall in love with friends the way I do with partners, and they’re used to my name popping up over and over with some new, funny thing I’ve found that they just have to see. Maybe if I’d waited another few minutes, they would have reached out to me, but I’ll never let it go that far. When I’m in the rush of things, constant communication is like a drug, and I never want the conversation to end.

The only way it ends is if the pull of the connection softens, if we slip from friend to acquaintance and no longer need to be writing our own private story. Acquaintances are great, we have a million of them. But love is something so wonderful and rare, and for some of us, the only excuse we need to let our neediness bleed in full. I suppose I show love by annoying, by being just a little too present and never keeping up that attractive screen of mystery on my life. I always text first, because I have no shame. Passion, to me, is something that must be burned like a slip of paper – I can never take it in small doses, or let the anticipation build. If I want you, I want you now, now, now.

A friend was telling me recently about a date that went badly, that seemed promising at first but was squandered by the guy’s insistence on texting her twice in the next two days, and always initiating the conversation. She laughed at his openness, his frank expression of need and interest. I laughed along because that’s what you do, but I felt the criticism as much for myself as I did for him. I am that person, in another body. I am that need to reach out, that burning desire to say hello, and to start another conversation – to get more of you. I don’t think my friend will ever see that guy again, and I briefly wondered how many people I’ve lost out on because they couldn’t take the beep-beep of my presence in their lives.

Oh, well, I thought, and pressed send on another message.

1. Wearing things that are totally “unfeminine,” because you feel like experimenting with an interesting look you saw and being perceived as conventionally attractive is not the top thing on your priority list.

2. Choosing to wear a bandage dress to the club, even if you’re absolutely not interested in meeting anyone, because feeling sexy for yourself is more than enough of a reason to dress up.

3. Not texting creepy guys back who don’t take no for an answer.

4. Not responding to clearly copied + pasted opening lines on dating sites (that quickly turn into insults when you don’t respond).

5. Not laughing at sexist jokes.

6. Not laughing at unfunny jokes period, even if a hot guy is making them.

7. Changing friends over the years, and falling out of touch with former besties because life happened to take you that way.

8. Ordering another round, even though you should be in bed by now.

9. Reaching for another buffalo wing, another French fry, another plate of seconds. Eating until you’re full, and enjoying every second of it.

10. Not having a perfectly-organized closet or bedroom, and not having everything look Pinterest-perfect when you invite over guests.

11. Not wanting to invite guests over at all.

12. Changing clothing sizes, changing body shape, changing the space you occupy in a world that punishes women for daring to not remain 19 years old.

13. Having scars, or cellulite, or visible veins. Not being photoshopped in real life.

14. Being the kind of woman who enjoys both her career AND what she wears, because we are capable of enjoying and pursuing more than one thing at a time.

15. Prioritizing your career for a year, for a decade, or for a whole life.

16. Not wanting to get married.

17. Not wanting to have children.

18. Wanting all of those things, but not in the package we are told we need to have it. Not wanting the fairy tale wedding or the monogrammed baby room or the thousands of dollars spent on parties.

19. Swearing like a sailor, and making dirty jokes.

20. Having three dates in one week, because you want to keep your options open.

21. Not being a domestic goddess, but being a goddess of exactly what you deem important, because you know what you want to be good at – and the only person that needs to be happy in your life is you.

Meet her at the bar 15 minutes late, and make sure to emphasize three times in your explanation how busy you are right now, because things are slammed at work. Let that be a prelude to the three and a half hours you’re going to spend talking mostly about your work. Take off your jacket, and roll up the sleeves on your gingham button-down, because it’s pretty hot in this bar and you’re not afraid of looking a little casual.

Order something whiskey-based, or beer, and ask her what she wants – suggest the most typically feminine cocktail you see on the menu, and only be impressed with her order if she also orders something whiskey-based, or beer. If she does, make sure to comment on the fact that she can “drink like a man,” or “doesn’t like chick drinks,” alluding to how gross those fruity cocktails are. Secretly think that those cocktails look pretty damn delicious.

(They are pretty damn delicious.)

Make sure she’s ready to be seated, and offer to get her another drink before you move to the table (making it her third one before the menus even hit the table). When she declines, order another one anyway, because you like to get a good buzz going when you’re on a first date – it takes the edge off. Take a quick look at the menu and then set it down, and tell the waiter you need some time in the driest, most uninterested way you possibly can. Watch her meekly order a glass of water as he’s walking away.

Tell her about what you do, making an effort to explain the nuances of your industry and how exactly your job works. Tell her it’s not a big deal that she doesn’t know a lot about finance – most people don’t. Explain to her your average day, and outline why exactly it’s so busy right now. Every time you mention the busyness, follow it up with a little aside about how you love your work, and wouldn’t do anything else, even if it didn’t pay so well. Briefly wonder if it’s weird to allude to how much you make, but go ahead and give her a very narrow range of salaries to indicate yours. Get a little thrill from knowing that she knows how well you’re doing for a 28-year-old.

Ask her a few perfunctory questions about her line of work. Assume, based on its liberal-arts nature and the fact that she lives in a neighborhood you’ve never been to, that she doesn’t make that much. Steer the conversation back to the menu.

Make fun of a few of the more difficult-to-pronounce menu items on the upscale, non-Western menu. Say it a few times until you think you finally got it right, then ask her to try her hand – congratulate her on what seems like a def pronunciation. Remark that “girls are always better with foreign languages.” Mention the time you went to Thailand for a friend’s bachelor party, and all of the crazy shit you did there. Tell her you really don’t like spicy food, and reiterate that to the water. Confirm twice that the thing you ordered is, indeed, not served spicy. Order another drink.

Over your chicken-based dish, make a vaguely sexist joke. If she laughs along, immediately like her more. If she seems apathetic, start backpedaling to pass the joke off as ironic. If she makes a serious comment about sexist jokes reinforcing damaging real-life dynamics, fight her back on that because you’re just drunk enough to do so. Argue that real sexism doesn’t exist anymore, citing several of your female coworkers (who are, themselves, outnumbered 1:15 by men).

Insist on getting the check, but make a comment about how this place must be trendy because it’s very expensive. Let her reach for her wallet twice, but turn her down each time. Tell her she looks pretty, and start getting more complimentary as you walk closer to the door. When you’re outside, ask if she wants to take a cab with you. When she insists that she’s taking the metro, tell her that it’s your treat. As she declines, heading towards the nearest metro entrance, grab her arm to pull her in for a goodnight kiss. When she dodges it and kisses your cheek, immediately lose interest in that evening.

Text her three times over the next four days just in case, and when she doesn’t respond, call her a bitch.

1. “My ex-husband and I did the thing you are never supposed to do: start a business together. We both quit our jobs and used our savings to go full-time on a startup we had together in graphic and web design. As you can probably tell by the term EX-husband, it did not work out very well. Basically he was extremely lazy when it came to work, and didn’t respect the fact that the money we were using was out of our own pockets (primarily because it came from me, from a sizable inheritance I received from a deceased family member).

At the end of 18 months, we were barely profitable, and I realized that this was because I was essentially carrying a dead weight of a business partner. I had a serious talk with him where I showed him very specific instances of him not pulling his weight, and that I thought we needed to discuss the prospect of him leaving the company and me reabsorbing his shares, which I would then give to another partner who could really take our company to the next level.

Long story short, he did not take that well and threatened me with all kinds of legal action if I kicked him out of the company. There had been a lot of tensions in the relationship to that point, and I knew that I wanted to separate as a couple, at least for a while. And since I owned the majority of the company (as the person providing most of the startup capital), I had the right to essentially fire him. When I did, it became a protracted battle wherein I had to get a loan to pay him for what he owned, and our relationship turned very sour. We almost never speak now, except for a few legal things (part of our deal was that I owe him royalties on certain things). But I have a new partner for almost two years now and the business is going extremely well.

In some ways I do regret this, because I should have known that my husband was never meant to be an entrepreneur. He’s a great artist and a caring person but was in over his head, and it in many ways destroyed our relationship. But I knew that if he disrespected me to the point that he would threaten our business which he knew I had worked so hard and given so much for, we couldn’t be together. Starting a business probably just revealed flaws that were there to begin with, but it hurts nonetheless.” –Sarah, 32

2. “My ex was in undergrad when I moved to LA to pursue a career as a full-time writer, and he was in a northern California town doing pre-med. Because of starting my new career and getting settled, I had to focus a lot on LA stuff, and couldn’t go see him often so it became really complicated. And he would get exasperated and act like writing was frivolous, or that it somehow wasn’t a ‘real’ job by his definition, even though I was earning a full-time living doing it. So eventually I had to be like ‘You need to respect my times of working, even if it is at home,’ and he just was mad disrespectful and so I broke up with him. And NO I do not regret it.” –Jessie, 24

3. “I was working in auditing for a big firm in New York and, at the same time, dating my then-boyfriend of two years. We were very happy and considering moving in together, and it seemed like the relationship was definitely going to lead to marriage – in fact, I hoped it would. But shortly after a promotion, I got an offer to live in London for two years and join the firm’s England branch. I hadn’t particularly dreamed of living in London, but I’d always wanted to live abroad and I loved travelling Europe, which is extremely easy to do when you’re based in London instead of the States.

So I got the offer and I told my boyfriend about it and right away his reaction was very negative. Looking back I feel now like he might have felt jealous or threatened by my career, because he was working as a counselor in a high school and earning a lot less than me at the time, and didn’t really love what he was doing. I asked him if he would consider coming with me (which would have meant getting married), or if he felt we could do long-distance for a while with lots of visits in-between. He didn’t really want to do either, and it was pretty clear that he wanted me to choose between him and the job. He assumed I would choose him.

My mother was the only person who really dissuaded me from taking the job, because she’s very traditional and really liked my boyfriend and felt like it was “time” for me to settle down with someone (late 20s). I felt like I was disappointing her more than I was disappointing myself, honestly, but I knew that I wanted to take the job and I would always regret it if I didn’t give myself that chance and that experience. I sent my boyfriend a long email explaining the situation, and basically said ‘I want to make this work with you long-distance, but I need to take this opportunity or I will always regret it, and resent you for that.’ It was harsh but it was honest.

He sent me back a really nasty email essentially telling me it was over, and saying he hoped I would enjoy ‘skanking it up in London,’ which he later apologized for. But he’d shown his true colors, and I’ve never regretted the decision once. I’m still single but dating, and love my life and job in London.” –Allison, 29

4. “My story is actually about my parents. My mom divorced my dad when I was really young, and I never knew the story, but now I know as an adult: She wanted to go back to school to have a career, and my father, who was a very traditional Indian man, did not want her to work with three children. So she divorced him (which she could only do because she was in America, but most of her family shunned her), and spent several years struggling through grad school as a single mother.

Now I am proud to say that she is a psychologist with her own practice, no more student debt, and three college-educated or current-student children. She is also remarried, to a man she met in grad school. She never regretted it for a second, and has always instilled in me that anyone who wouldn’t want you to have your career is not the right person for you.” –Nat, 23

5. “I used to be one of those cliché New York 20-somethings who was obsessed with her career, and I absolutely loved it. I took real pride in being the first one at my office, and the last one to leave, even though I had a 45-minute train ride from Washington Heights to SoHo. I loved my job, I loved getting ready for work every day, and I loved the experience of being at the office. I was working for a small PR firm that was in its infancy and demanded of us 70+ hour weeks in exchange for a mediocre salary, lots of really cool events with free booze, and free stuff from brands and clients. Looking back I can see now that it was one of those startup jobs that took advantage of its employees, but no one could have convinced me to leave it.

At the time, I was on-again, off-again with the same guy I had been seeing since college, who at the time was living in New Jersey and working there, as well. I knew that he wanted me to move out there, or at least compromise in Hoboken/Jersey City, and start moving towards marriage. But I couldn’t. I wanted to marry him, but I also knew that he was more interested in a slow-paced lifestyle than I was, and I didn’t want to sacrifice my glamorous “New York Life” for what he could offer me. One night over dinner, he bluntly asked me when I planned on slowing up on my office hours, as I had been promising to do for over a year. I told him, partially because I was already a little drunk at this point, that I was “never going to choose him over my career.” I could tell he was really heartbroken, and we stopped seeing each other pretty quickly after that.

I do regret it, when I think about it, because I’ve never met a guy nearly as good for me as him since, and I’ve also cut back on my work hours significantly and changed jobs (almost four years later), for my own sanity. Ultimately he was right, and though I’m not living in Jersey, I definitely live a more slow lifestyle than I did before. I don’t know if we would have lived happily ever after, but I’m sad that I will never know.” –Maya, 28

1. Someone is going to be the “creeper,” whose stuff is always overflowing into the common spaces or taking up entire shelves/counters. You might assume it’s always the woman, but creeping with your belongings is a genderless phenomenon. Men are just capable of letting their shit spill everywhere.

2. Navigating bathroom use is an awkward and inevitable thing. Eventually they will be aware of the fact that you’re doing a number two, and it’s up to you to decide how far you’re willing to go in the interest of preserving the mystery. Usually you’ll settle into a level of privacy you’re both comfortable with by the end of the first year. (My dad wouldn’t go to the bathroom when my mother was home for the first five years of their cohabitation, so it’s not universal.)

3. Unless you set expectations up-front for dish duty, they will often fall to the person who is okay with doing them. This will lead to a feeling of resentment, and a need to re-establish everyone’s dish duties. Establish who washes what as soon as possible.

4. Same with laundry, especially if you live in a city and have to drop it off/do it at a separate location.

5. Find music that you both like early on, so you have several go-to artists/albums/genres for when you want to put something on in the background without offending anyone.

6. Everyone needs their space on a regular basis, and that doesn’t mean you don’t love each other or you’re wrong for each other or whatever. It’s not normal or healthy to want to be in each other’s shit 24/7, so if someone wants to have the living room to themselves to zone out and watch their shows for an evening, don’t take offense. And when you need to do the same, don’t be afraid to ask.

7. If you work/sleep/chill on differing schedules, make sure to let the person who is sleeping sleep. If this means you have to take your laptop into the dining room at 11 PM to not disturb them, that’s just courtesy.

8. There are going to be some nights where you want to go all-out and cook an elaborate meal, but there are also going to be nights where you want to eat popcorn and watch bad TV for dinner. Both are great, and not living up to the domestic ideal every night isn’t a bad thing.

9. Everyone gets one or two incredibly irritating habits that they just aren’t going to drop, such as leaving used tea bags in the sink or forgetting to use a coaster. Pick your battles, and accept that you have those irritating habits, too. Be generous with each other’s flaws, and respectful of each other’s human-ness.

10. If one of you has a pet already or absolutely wants to get one, the other one better be damn sure they’re okay with pets, too.

11. Making nights in feel like special “date nights” is a) a huge money saver and b) allows cohabitation to feel like the awesome adult sleepover it should feel like in its best moments. Make yummy finger foods, mix nice cocktails, pick a movie you both really want to see, and light some candles. Always candles.

12. If one of you is cleaner than the other (and it’s always the case), you have to set specific tasks for the less-clean one, or it’ll never get done and the cleaner person will end up shouldering every burden. The clearer it is from the get-go, the fewer fights it will lead to.

13. Alternatively, the cleaner person will have to learn a few things they can chill about, such as not putting away laundry right away or not always having the bed made.

14. Investing in organizational products right away will save a ton of headaches. Avoid random piles forming around the house/apartment at all costs.

15. Sometimes the two of you are going to need to sleep separately, for example when one person is working all night on something, sick, or just not feeling great. Someone going to sleep on the couch for a night or two is nothing to worry about, and not a sign that anyone is in the “dog house.”

16. Learn how to compromise when it comes to things like bed firmness and comforter thickness. You both have to be as happy as possible without it being totally perfect.

17. Both parties need to feel comfortable having company over, whether or not they’re doing it “as a couple.” If one or both of you doesn’t feel okay just bringing over friends every now and again, you might as well be living with your parents.

18. Surprise each other with nice gestures. Flowers, big meals, a favorite movie.

19. You will never truly agree 100% on home décor, but that’s okay. The person who is dominant/gives more of a shit in that arena is obviously going to take the lead and make most of the decisions, but you have to give the other person at least the opportunity to veto things. No matter how much less interested the other person is, they should still always have a say, and be able to feel like the home is theirs, instead of just yours.

20. Don’t let each other get into Seamless ruts. It’s too easy to enable one another, especially in winter. Stay strong.

21. Sweatpants, hair tied, chillin with no makeup on should be totally comfortable and not something you’re “afraid to be seen in.” But dressing up for each other or wearing sexy stuff to bed now and then has its place, too. Just because you’re living together doesn’t mean you can’t still be dating.

Macaroni Salad

Macaroni salad is gross. It is always weirdly sweet, the celery never has the intended effect, and it’s always served in pillowcase-sized quantities at summer barbecues. Not to mention that macaroni is distinctly the worst pasta shape to hold its structural integrity while bathing in a soupy, mayonnaise-y bath. If you’re going to make a pasta salad, the least you can do is put a denser, more shapely noodle in the recipe. (And also make the whole thing with olive oil because, come on, we’re adults here.)

Other Pasta Salad

It’s clearly better than macaroni because you can opt for a firmer noodle, but that doesn’t mean that it’s good. Honestly, pasta salad that is mayonnaise-based is just juvenile, and can’t hold a candle to its olivey, herby, tomato-y counterparts.

Chicken Salad

This is going to get me in a lot of trouble, because I know that a lot of people are intensely #TeamChickenSalad. But I’ll never understand why, and the reason is this: the reason that, for example, tuna salad is so delicious (aside from flavor), is because the shredded-ness of the meat lends itself well to being a spread consistency (sort of like a pulled-pork texture, but not smothered in barbecue sauce. Chicken is usually cut into chunks for salad, which is just unpleasant, and not well-suited to sandwich form. (Also I am a firm believer that white meat is the ideal meat for salads, and yet people are always out here flagrantly using dark.) Sue me, but I’m not a fan of chicken salad.

Potato Salad

Potato salad is, undeniably, pasta salad’s sexier cousin. Potatoes just melt so seamlessly into their mustard-y, mayonnaise-y cradle, and with the right seasonings and add-ons, there is nothing more pleasant. It’s the perfect antidote to a big plate of ribs, and it never feels as heavy as it obviously is. A fluffy potato can be mayonnaise’s best friend.

Egg Salad

Some people are disgusted by egg salad, and those people are wrong. Its sulfury goodness is half the appeal. Egg salad is wonderful, and it is one of the few foods that can claim the privilege of being both the filling of a sandwich and its own condiment. All that bad boy needs is some lettuce and it is the perfect sammie. What other filling can say that? Your fave could never.

Tuna Salad

The crown jewel of all mayonnaise-based salads, tuna salad stands above the rest, whether made with celery, onions, shredded carrots, grapes/apples, or all of the above. The salty, fishy goodness – with ample salt and pepper, of course – cut through mayonnaise in a way no other food can, and form the perfect sandwich with a little lettuce and tomato (or melted cheese, of course, if you’re throwing caution to the wind). Tuna salad is probably in the top-10 underrated sandwiches of all time, and never gets the menu presence it deserves, which is a mystery to me. Because there is no more perfect a comfort food to put on two slices of bread, except maybe a BLT. But even then, I don’t know that it could take tuna. Probably not.