Good morning beautiful people. I’m writing this with my legs hanging out of my window on a beautiful morning. Very picture-esque. I’m reminded of that scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s where Holly sings and plays the ukulele while the man obsessed with her listens. Except, Holly is somber and sad, because she was written by a man.
I refuse to be somber and sad.
I’m in the middle of a properly wild weekend, as per usual. Had a crazy date last night. Went to The Mulberry — love — after going to the wrong Mulberry Bar at first. I sat on the stool and the bartender took one look at me in my vintage strapless striped dress with a scarf over my hair for the rain and said “You’re looking for The Mulberry.”
I woke up still tipsy, which is my favorite flavor of hungover (not endorsing, just being honest) and went on a run with giant sunglasses. Try it sometime. Everything is brighter and funnier and cardio feels like a game. I smiled at everyone’s dogs. Got a coffee. Walked to WSP and pet some dude’s doberman while telling him about mine in Kansas. A man on a bike blew me a kiss. I scowled. He couldn’t see my eyes. The sunglasses are huge.
“Good morning princess” a man yelled at me. I walked faster.
I walked to another cafe and got another coffee. As I turned to leave, I realized that I was in the cafe of the date of the first time I went out with someone much older. I’ve written about this one before, and called my father immediately after publishing to tell him not to read it. But this morning was one of those full circle moments where your New York starts to connect and the context between everything begins overlapping.
[[[I’m adding this in the next day — I also ran into him with a woman who looks eerily like me hours later. Mr. White Fragility I think I called him, asked me a bunch of times if I’d do yoga with him. He and his new girl were in yoga clothes. I’m not proud that I ghosted him, but I’m happy that that’s not me today. I’m really wary of absorbing someone else’s interests, tastes, preferences. I refuse to be worn and brought around like an accessory. I’d rather be alone.
Also, last month, I saw the director who gave me a copy of the drift, as mentioned in the Joan Didion vid, with a young Black woman. My friend noted how hard the man was looking. I told my friend that there was more context.]]]
It’s a small world. Context makes it much smaller.
But God has a funny sense of humor and I love to laugh with him.
I also will say this one, single thing about dating older (not endorsing, just being honest):
I think that dating you — someone who refuses to be somber and sad — should be like trying to go a very, very, very nice restaurant. They should thank you for your time and schedule a next date immediately. I’d much rather hear “I’d love to see you next week” than “I feel like I’m never going to see you again.” I’ve heard both in the last 72 hours. Maybe it’s confidence, maybe it’s confidence that comes with age. I do not know.
Now, I’ll get out of my window and onto the rest of my day (whitney! solo dining! date! also seeing Mr. White Fragility otw to the Whitney LOL) Life is fun. When God throws you a punchline, laugh with the man.
I’d much rather be sitting in my window playing Rico Nasty hits, writing this, and giggling than strumming Moon River and trying to flee the country because I let a man make me an accessory to anything.
LITTLE DEATHS
Married men who look visibly literary and read in dark rooms in lower manhattan - what is a “thirst trap” called in the real world? Maybe the internet has been useful for naming certain things
Overthinking - just don’t
The person in my IG comment section who asked if I was ovulating - … insane
LITTLE DELIGHTS
Hot Literati interns - I’m obsessed with them all and you will meet them all next week xo
FROM THE HOT LITERATI UNIVERSE
- and I will be doing either a TikTok or IG live to make the recipe from this piece together. Join us! 9:30 pm ET this tuesday
A little bit ago, I asked what made you happy as a child. We got this entry from a Literati:
“The email prompt time for this is probably long gone, but I felt like having a mail moment (it’s a dying art, imo)
When I was younger, about 8-9, I lived near a park. The park had about 6 or 8 giant swings in a circle me and the other kids would take turns to see who could go the highest in a group. It had a roundabout, a climbing activity I rarely touched because I couldn’t climb for the life of me and what looked like a forest next to it. I was always a little wary of that forest area: my mum already didn’t like me going to the park on my own and so she tried to avoid me going to that weird green shady area. I was already set that the park had to be some sort of magic because one time, when I was with a babysitter, we had to leave the park because of rain, only to look back and see a rain cloud situated only at the park, where everywhere else was sunny. Ridiculously sunny, now that I think about it. Although I was afraid, it made me happy to think of that park as magical. I never went to the bushes area, telling myself it was part of some realm I wasn’t meant to go to, and watched as my braver friends ran into it. I imagined that they ate berries together and wore flower crowns whilst there and I was nobly remembering to watch over them, in case they spent too long there and became supernatural beings. There is something so sweet about being a child and seeing the world in a magical realist lens.”
You can send anything in the future to dear@hotliterati.com. Tips, requests, messages from beyond. <3
some exciting stuff coming up soon for (re)cognition summer also <3
have a good week.
xo
hailo
deaths: hinge, men on the train
delights: banh mi, running, drinking
Arintintin >>>> such good taste! 🥹👏🏾