Dating a banker in nyc

There was the super-successful corporate honcho with a cardboard box for a nightstand. And I can’t forget the “totally eligible” magazine editor who moved to the suburbs while we were dating, convinced me to take a bus to visit him, showed off his two-story brick house with granite kitchen counters and an actual backyard, as if knowing it was exactly what I aspired to—and then promptly married someone else.

The best friend with whom I had zero sexual attraction. There were men who have dropped me on my head, literally and figuratively. At some point, I yelled at almost all of these men for not being “what I wanted,” and, as we all do, turned to my female friends for consolation and support.

There were Peter Pan Syndrome–afflicted man-children, full-fledged adult males with zero desire to grow up, maybe ever. ” If you’re a single, heterosexual woman of a certain age living in New York City, you’ve surely heard some version of the lament more times than you can count: “There are no good single men living in New York City! ” It’s followed by various tales of woe regarding “typical NYC jerks” and the evils they have inflicted upon amazing, upstanding, attractive, intelligent, high-powered New York City women who are so much better than the men they date. Maybe saying and hearing this makes single women feel better. There are more women than men, which everyone loves to bemoan as the cold, hard cornerstone of this city’s relationship difficulties. Census, which, it bears mentioning, does not ask to identify sexual orientation.

There were drunks and drug addicts and maybe once a teetotaler. There was a clammer from Cape Cod—a real, live clammer, with his very own waders. You’ve probably met more than a few aesthetically, shall we say, “uneven” couples, in which the man is short, pudgy, bald—or distractingly hirsute—with one of those pudding faces only a mother (or gold-digger) could love. And you’ve probably heard, and maybe retold, the modern-day relationship folk tale of that friend of a friend who, after “unsuccessfully” dating in New York for years, met her amazing husband while living or vacationing in Austin, or Boston, or Paris, or Rio, and then brought him back—or moved there herself. It enforces the belief that there is such a thing as a “plight” of the single lady, and that women can’t be blamed for our lack of success in the New York City relationship game. According to statistics collected by Richard Florida, author of The Great Reset and director of the Martin Prosperity Institute at the University of Toronto, single women currently outnumber single men in New York by 149,219. The good news: This number has actually decreased from 2008’s woman-surplus of 210,000, a gap that caused Lysandra Ohrstrom, writing for the Observer, to unleash the ominous decree that “savvy, well-educated women hoping to find a mate and settle down are out of luck.” Meanwhile, our fine city was recently ranked the top spot for single men to find a willing lady to smooch, and whatever else, on New Year’s Eve, according to more numbers from Mr. We were named number one of 2010’s top 29 cities for dudes to live in: a/k/a “paradise for men,” according to gratuitous macho website Ask

Which is part of the problem, if you’re going to call it that.

It’s more you-centered soul-searching than about the guy, necessarily.

” But those poor bastards don’t live in New York City, where the banquet is 24 hours a day and everybody wants a piece of everybody else, if just for a little amuse-bouche.

We’re free and “grown up” and independent; we can do what we want, sexually and otherwise.

“People who live in New York are successful in their field or want to be.

We’re not someplace where so much of our time is devoted to relationships.

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