John Lennon had Yoko Ono. Andy Warhol had Edie Sedgwick. Carly Simon had… well, a bunch ofjerkoffs who sound eerily similar to someone I’d be attracted to — and this, my friend, is where you come in. Over the last year, I’ve relied on my consistently turbulent emotional state to fuel my writing. This worked surprisingly well and for longer than anyone could’ve predicted — who knew that rejection, powerlessness, and a general din of despair could provide twelve months of material? — but unfortunately, the power of transgressions past has puttered out and with it, my ability to tap into that “dark place” so essential to my creative process. While my mental stability no longer suffers, my output hasn’t been quite as lucky. So now I’m calling on you, dysfunctional and marginally attractive men of New York, to royally screw me over. Again.

This isn’t a job for just any decent looking douchebag. In order to effectively fill this position, you must toe the line between charismatic playboy and psychopath with a god complex. You should be attractive by unconventional standards, meaning your aesthetic should confuse my friends, family, and exes. Not a living soul should be able to discern what I see in you — this is crucial to my eventually feeling duped and resentful about our dalliance. 

Stephanie Georgopulos is/was/forever will be from Brooklyn, NY.