Edited 6/28/23 to include the following two Twitter links. I received a disastrously inappropriate booking request that prompted this brief essay on maintaining appropriate optics when taking a Wonder Woman bodied babe out to dinner.

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One thing you should know about me is that I’m at once highly social and significantly predisposed to ambient human interaction. Yes, I can walk into a room and glad-hand with the best. I can joyously lose myself for hours in the conversational depths of the esoteric as we lounge naked in bed. But I also love spending time in cacophonous spaces where in-depth conversations are not required, and where minimal human interaction is the norm.

And I love to eat. 

So it makes sense that one of my favorite hobbies has become taking myself out on solo dinner dates. While I’m equally at home in a divey barbecue joint as I am a waitlisted hotspot, I’m on a roll with the latter these days. I am proud to be seen with myself. I’m stylish. I find that I am engaging company, and I get a kick out of the attention that comes with playing the role of mysterious beauty dining alone at the bar top.

And I have begun to look at these excursions as part of an experiment. A comparing of culinary notes with the dashing man at my side is tremendous, and I will never tire of the enlightenment or satisfaction of the act. But when I’m alone, my mind can wander in silence as I absorb and process everything I taste, smell, feel, hear and see. To dine alone like this is a positively selfish act because I am afforded the freedom to formulate my own feelings and see personal significances that would otherwise be colored by someone else’s. 

To discern the differences between a shared meal and one by myself is such a fun game, and I find that I love comparing the two types of experiences.

Filling my life with both types of dates nourishes my soul, and over the last few months, my Sacai bag and I have devoured innumerable delicious and meaningful moments. I’ve reveled in the tasting menu from my perch at the bar at Elske days before returning with my favorite Canadian to swap notes and pick his brain about the terrine’s Astroturf aesthetic. I’ve bumped elbows with strangers over the nightcap ham sandwich and cocktail pairing at Oriole, and am diligently working on securing a lover to join me for a redux. A member of my inner sanctum and I once devised a plan to steal and consume all of Sepia’s crispy soft-boiled eggs. 

So tell me: Would you care to be a part of this experiment? Are you adventurous enough? Where will I / we go? I await your thoughts with bated breath and a healthy appetite.

Elske!