Here at OC, we are struck by how often we end up in everyday conundrums. The ones that land you in the thick of semi (or full-blown) awkwardness, or maybe, the doghouse.
So, we turned to Simon Collins, the dean of the School of Fashion at Parsons, who after six years in his plum perch, just announced plans to step down at the end of this year. Translation: More time to divulge lessons from a lifetime of people watching.
Q: When they say that someone is "marriage material"—what are they getting at, really?
Well, one person’s idea of “marriage material” is, of course, another person’s idea of “over my dead body.” So, like beauty, it is entirely in the eye of the beholder. Imagine, if you will, a young chap meets a beautiful, demure, smart, single woman—just the type to take home to Mother. A perfect example of marriage material? Not so fast. On date number two, she snaps at the waiter, picks her nose, and kicks a puppy.
How about that 20-something beefy model type, exquisite to behold, dazzling smile, with the tan and six-pack? Résumé highlights include standing outside jeans stores with his shirt off, but struggles with tipping at 20 percent because his math skills are slightly rusty, at best. Perfect “marriage material” for someone (presumably).
And then there’re those who look for “marriage material” as though it were rough-hewn clay, to be fashioned into what they require. “You can’t meet my boyfriend. I haven’t finished him.” For them, the title might herald a steady income, dim wit, and lack of resistance.
Finally, there are those who look for “marriage material” based on what’s inside. And if they happen to be gorgeous, it’s a happy coincidence but not a requirement. For them, it is how they feel about their mate when the lights are off, or when they’re old and grey.
I recently walked behind a couple in their 80s, holding hands like a pair of teenagers.
Now they were both “marriage material,” and bless ‘em for finding each other.
Q: How do you salvage yourself from a slew of drunk texting?
Oh, come on. I mean we’ve all left the occasional over-affectionate voicemail or mildly salacious text. In vino veritas and all that. I mean, if they hadn’t invented booze then how many of us would have ever actually met. No, the problem here is what to do after a night of drunk tweets or Instagrams. if you’re going to look like a fool, you might as well do it in front of everyone you know!
Now this is a lot harder to wriggle out of. You could try the, “My phone got nicked and I just got it back…” ploy, but no one will believe you, and they’ll resent your lack of imagination. You could try the, “I’ve just got over a sudden bout of Tourettes…” gambit, but that’s a bit mean to people who’ve actually got Tourettes. Finally there’s the, “Yeah, that’s right. I said it. You want some more?” ploy. It’s ballsy—and it might work. (Except it won’t.)
What we need is for Siri to analyze your dexterity, spelling, syntax, and breath, then when you hit send, she would instead file the offending billet doux safely in the trash. In the m
So, we turned to Simon Collins, the dean of the School of Fashion at Parsons, who after six years in his plum perch, just announced plans to step down at the end of this year. Translation: More time to divulge lessons from a lifetime of people watching.
Q: When they say that someone is "marriage material"—what are they getting at, really?
Well, one person’s idea of “marriage material” is, of course, another person’s idea of “over my dead body.” So, like beauty, it is entirely in the eye of the beholder. Imagine, if you will, a young chap meets a beautiful, demure, smart, single woman—just the type to take home to Mother. A perfect example of marriage material? Not so fast. On date number two, she snaps at the waiter, picks her nose, and kicks a puppy.
How about that 20-something beefy model type, exquisite to behold, dazzling smile, with the tan and six-pack? Résumé highlights include standing outside jeans stores with his shirt off, but struggles with tipping at 20 percent because his math skills are slightly rusty, at best. Perfect “marriage material” for someone (presumably).
And then there’re those who look for “marriage material” as though it were rough-hewn clay, to be fashioned into what they require. “You can’t meet my boyfriend. I haven’t finished him.” For them, the title might herald a steady income, dim wit, and lack of resistance.
Finally, there are those who look for “marriage material” based on what’s inside. And if they happen to be gorgeous, it’s a happy coincidence but not a requirement. For them, it is how they feel about their mate when the lights are off, or when they’re old and grey.
I recently walked behind a couple in their 80s, holding hands like a pair of teenagers.
Now they were both “marriage material,” and bless ‘em for finding each other.
Q: How do you salvage yourself from a slew of drunk texting?
Oh, come on. I mean we’ve all left the occasional over-affectionate voicemail or mildly salacious text. In vino veritas and all that. I mean, if they hadn’t invented booze then how many of us would have ever actually met. No, the problem here is what to do after a night of drunk tweets or Instagrams. if you’re going to look like a fool, you might as well do it in front of everyone you know!
Now this is a lot harder to wriggle out of. You could try the, “My phone got nicked and I just got it back…” ploy, but no one will believe you, and they’ll resent your lack of imagination. You could try the, “I’ve just got over a sudden bout of Tourettes…” gambit, but that’s a bit mean to people who’ve actually got Tourettes. Finally there’s the, “Yeah, that’s right. I said it. You want some more?” ploy. It’s ballsy—and it might work. (Except it won’t.)
What we need is for Siri to analyze your dexterity, spelling, syntax, and breath, then when you hit send, she would instead file the offending billet doux safely in the trash. In the m