Vol. 1, Post #5 Call Me By My Name: The Pleasure Principal

Dating: How to stand out while not freaking out. The latest in my ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). An odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.

If you follow me on social media, you may notice that I refer to myself in my ABOUT section as a “Sybarite.” It’s from the word, Sybaritic, which means “fond of sensuous luxury or pleasure; self-indulgent.” Likewise, it’s the first word that starts my Bumble online dating profile.

I first heard the word “sybaritic” in the early 1990s, when I was working in the home textiles industry as an editor for one of the trade magazines that covered bed, bath, and, well, beyond.

Trade magazines (from the phrase, “to the trade” for the uninitiated) were both the boon and bane of a young writer’s first few years out of journalism school. They paid well – much better than the glam-o-rama jobs at Condé Nast or Hearst Publications – and a college grad could get hired at one as an editor, not as an editorial assistant, which meant not only a byline, but REAL writing, REAL editing. After a quick stint at GQ as a newbie, I turned down a “promotion” to be Alexandra Penney’s personal assistant at SELF and instead took a full editorship at a housewares trade mag, which turned into a founding editor position for a home improvement/hardware mag, which turned into a fairly long editorial residency at a home textiles magazine with a whole lot of freelancing on the side for interior design/trend publications like Metropolitan Home, Elle Decor, House & Garden, etc. While at one of the home textile trades, I was covering trends in tablewares and met the venerable Joan Kors – MOTHER OF MICHAEL – who was a Lady Character through and through, perfectly dressed and coifed (naturally), a long-time smoker, with an incredible commanding presence and impeccable taste. The name of her company? Sybaritic Industries. It churred out placemats, napkins, etc., all priced for the upper end of the retail market, all fairly unique in design, stylish, surprising, much like Joan herself. I liked her POV in textiles but just as important – I liked that word. I like what it promised.

Jump ahead a million years later to 2016 or so. I found myself twice divorced (16-year and nearly 10-year relationships with my ex-husband and ex-wife behind me – those histories can be summarized like this: he and I are still pals, we still laugh together, and of course we have our son who binds us forever; on the flipside, I haven’t seen my ex-wife since late 2015 and if I did, I’d run in the other direction as fast as possible. I do adore her ex-partner that preceded me and their son and love spending time with them, so there’s the silver lining. We are family).

I was thinking about dating and was probably composing a pithy, flirty online profile when “Sybaritic” popped into my head. I have no idea what prompted me to remember Joan and her tablewares company, but that word…that word…a word that quietly proclaimed PLEASURE. It kept bouncing around my brain. A quick spin through the dictionary led me to lead with “Sybarite” as the beckoning, “come closer” opening of my dating profile, which is basically a slightly longer read than my social media ABOUT blurb, and goes something like this like this:

Sybarite. Publicist. Lipstick Wearer. Music Freak. Art Nerd. Skinny Dipper. Gives GREAT dinner party (A+ cook). A deep lover. Weekly in Hudson Valley & NYC. Grown launched son. Says “Yay!” a lot. Passionate do-gooder. Tall. Direct. Charming (always). Filthy (sometimes). Smart, funny, real, worth it.

I can tell you with unshakable confidence that serving up a word which requires a dictionary or a quick trip to Google as the foundation of your dating profile is a Boss Move. Not only does it instantly give me something to discuss with a potential date when they ask me the origin of the word, or which pleasures I find the most indulgent, etc., but it also most certainly weeds out the duds, who never mention it – either because they are lazy, or stupid, or (the worst) uninterested in what I wrote because they just want to fuck.  

This (this^) is all about curiosity, as I see it. If someone is curious enough about you to wonder why you use a specific word as a way to introduce yourself to the world, that someone is probably worth knowing, at least a little bit. And for me, as a Young Old, curiosity is paramount to sex appeal. Curiosity says, “I’m interested in what makes you tick, what makes you feel good, what makes you smile or sigh with pleasure, whether that’s a book or a film or a perfect meal* or watching you give yourself an orgasm so I can do it justice when it’s my turn to get you off.”

(*This is a recipe for Rick Stein’s Chicken Fricassee With Morel Mushrooms. In my first post, I promised I’d throw in a recipe or two every now and then, and there is no greater loved recipe than this, according to my favorite lover. We have eaten it in bed over buttered noodles. Two late-in-middle-age people, naked and spent, eating chicken in cream sauce in bed. That’s Pleasure with a capital P.)

Dating with pleasure in the forefront of your mind (as opposed to dating “with a plan” or dating to escape pain or fears) is the kind of dating that I think works best at any age, but particularly at THIS age. At nearly 56 (two weeks, Babeeeeee!), I feel like anything or anyone new that I introduce into my life needs to fit into a pretty specific Yes Please list – I have plenty of old friends. I have plenty of newer friends. I have plenty of colleagues and work-related pals. I have those that I know through volunteering at various orgs and those that I know from long-ago days in school who make me smile on my social media, even if we never actually cross paths again. In order for me to make room for you, you need to motivate me to make room. Adding to my pleasure principle gets you a slot – whether you hold on to that slot or not depends on our long-term chemistry.

Basically, my dating MO is this: If we like each other, I’d like us to be lovers and if that works, great, we’ll see what happens next. That’s it. I get asked on a lot of dates. It’s not that I have no standards. What I have, actually, are no preconceived notions.

There’s been a ton – a TON – reported on lately in the media about upticks in polyamory and ENM (ethical non-monogamy) and I’ve done both of those things. I liked being poly. Poly and ENM only truly work if you are a good communicator and I found out that beyond being precisely that, I was also good with working out any budding jealousy or concerns in my larger poly pod. We (my pod, or polycule) practiced “kitchen table polyamory” which means that in theory, everyone should be able to sit around a kitchen table and have a meal or a hang out and shoot the shit. It was pretty great while it lasted and who’s to say that I won’t go back to it someday. That’s what I mean when I say, it’s about the pleasure, not the plan.

But poly/ENM is not for everyone, even though by default, almost every relationship starts off as ethically non-monogamous, and many many many single friends and acquaintances in my larger circle can’t live like that. They want to “seal the deal” for a number of reasons. To me, almost all of those reasons are based on setting limitations or being fearful. I mean, on your first date or even your fifth date, you’re not telling your potential sweetie that you don’t want to see other people, correct? Oh, you are? Then, I’m curious. Have you asked yourself why?

Is the idea of waiting and seeing what happens next too scary because someone else might snap up your potential sweetie or are you feeling like time is ticking/life is short/we’re not getting any younger? Have you spent too much time unattached and now you see an opportunity to build a life around a reliable regular date you can count on for Valentine’s Day and Saturday nights at home, or…let’s be honest, a reliable regular date who can drive you home from your colonoscopy on Valentine’s Day? I get it. Please don’t think I’m judging. I sure as hell don’t think you’re judging me for having a dating/love life that rivals one of Joan Collins (the other day, we forgot the real name of a man I dated a few summers ago and could only remember that another of our friends mistakenly called him Greg, so of course we all started calling him Greg, and now no one remembers his real name. That’s what I mean by Joan Collins.)

Remember when you were young and carefree and dated as a way of trying on other people? Try that now. As the saying goes, “It is not too late, and you are not too old.” That is actually a line from a Rainer Maria Rilke poem, titled “You see, I want a lot.”

“You are not too old
and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out
its own secret.”

Poetry not your thing? Ok, how about Frances McDormand and her character Elaine Miller in “Almost Famous” when she grandly dismisses her son William’s concerns of why she fast-tracked him in school, setting him up to be the youngest in his class. He saw it as a detriment. She saw it as more time for William, the film’s protagonist, to see how to live in the world, “Take a look around. See what you like.”

No matter if it’s poetry or pop culture, the moral of the story is the same. Go ahead, you’ll probably surprise yourself. Isn’t that FANTASTIC?

Listen, my single Sisters and Brothers, I know that most of you know “how” to date. You’re probably doing it pretty well, if you’ve digested the basic guidelines (including this crucial starting point --- and YES, I AM TALKING TO YOU, Ms. “I don’t want anyone I know to see me online.” Dating online is the way most people meet. Walking into a bakery and reaching for the last corn muffin while a handsome stranger does the same, after which you laugh and realize you have dear friends in common and soon, you’re all spending summers together on Cape Cod is Fantasy Island Reboot 2.0).

So, you’re on it. You’ve learned to date outside of your go-to “type;” you’ve learned to accept a second date even if you’re not entirely sure that you’re a match, assuming you had a good time on your first date because chemistry builds; you’ve learned that you don’t need to be shy or coy about expressing enthusiasm if you want to see your date again – “being cool” or playing games with waiting to text or phone is sophomoric bullshit, NOT worthy of those who seek the pleasure principle. You know who waits to text or call? No one you want to go out with again.

You’re on a first date. You look hot. You smell delicious. Own it. You’ve stashed away your phone and are asking as many questions as you are talking about yourself. You’re not bashing your ex(es) and you haven’t dominated the convo with a lot of boring chat about your kids, your aging parents, how being single sucks. You know that sane people split the check on the first date and when I say check, I mean the tab for the coffee or the cocktail that you’ve just enjoyed (or not) before saying “I had a really nice time” and beating a hasty retreat – the dinner date can wait; I mean, do you really want to risk hours of your precious time with someone who doesn’t care to know what Sybaritic means?

Before I wrap this, why that particular photo as the post promo, Abbe? See the white guy on the left? That’s Monte Moir, the keyboardist in Morris Day’s band The Time and a songwriter for many notable American artists. He wrote “The Pleasure Principle” for Mizz Jackson – the only song on Janet’s 1987 “Control” not written by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. 1987…oh Dear Readers…I was 19 years old. Guess what? This is better.