WhyDid Wisdom | WhyDid.com

Smart is the New Pretty: Monday Morning Quarterback

By Kirsten|April 8th, 2013|Smart Is the New Pretty|

Typically, I reserve these posts for mid-week brain fodder and date commentary, but why not start off your Monday looking and sounding like you did more than shop, imbibe, and snooze this weekend?

We lost two iconic women: one changed the British economy, the other changed fashion. [ NY Times, The Cut]
Speaking of fashion, here’s a true case of the pot calling the kettle black… [Huffington Post]
Seems men have all kinds of ridiculous things to say as of late. For instance, here’s A$AP Rocky’s take on beauty. [The Coveteur]
And Ray-J made a new song that was definitely not about Kim K (and her gratuitous baby bump shot). [The Cut]
And Chris Brown and Rihanna are over FOR GOOD (for now) after he’s been hanging with a hot waitress and beautiful blonde. [E! Online]
Maybe these fellas should take a cue from this heroic husband. [New York Post]
New iPhone app, Slim, may come in handy searching for Mr. Right and consolidating your social newsfeeds. [TechCrunch]
Or you could pay to message your favorite celeb on Facebook. [Forbes]
As if our apartments weren’t teeny enough… introducing “micro apartments.” [New York Post]
Oh, and here’s how to make a tiny garden for your tiny apartment. [Refinery29]
Since we’re sure to be broke in our tiny apartments, here’s how to preserve your leather and extend its life. [Who What Wear]

Time for lunch.

xx,

WhyDid

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WhyDid Wisdom: Standards, Get Some.

By Kirsten|March 14th, 2013|WhyDid Wisdom|

No matter how old I’ve gotten, where I’ve lived, or what friends have come and gone, there’s one thing that’s never changed: women are always complaining about men. In some cases for good reasons, but after hearing one too many sob stories about our canine counterparts over Saturday brunch, I started to realize that maybe the ones to blame for the malecentric masochism are us. I hear the feminists out there getting antsy already, but hear me out. I’m smarter than I look. Plus, I’ve made enough terrible dating mistakes to provide sufficient data.

Remember that article in the NY Times regarding the end of courtship? Guess whose fault that is? Yours. You see, technology glorious as it may be, has certainly made us all a lot lazier. Like you can’t even spell out the word “you” now? Yeah, I’ll C U never. Using technology and social networking as a scapegoat for shortcut dating is also lazy because truth be told, you didn’t have to answer that text. You didn’t need to geo-tag yourself on Instagram. And you sure as heck didn’t need to Tweet your exact whereabouts. So, the common thread here is still you. I love a happy coincidence of showing up at the same place as someone I’m seeing so long as it doesn’t involve him making out with another girl he’s seeing, but making “the chase” more like a an afternoon nap on the couch may make his life easier, but certainly not yours.

To act as if I, too, am not guilty of these crimes of courtship would be beyond ridiculous, so, please, consider this an open letter to myself.

So you’re wondering why he doesn’t step up to the plate and pull out all the stops for you? Because you didn’t make him. I know, mind blowing. Whether you’d like to believe it or not, men like you to set standards. If you don’t ask them to, they sure as the sunrise aren’t going to do it themselves. And don’t be afraid that asking him to be a gentleman is going to scare him off because if you do ask him to value you (as much as you should value yourself) and he doesn’t want to? Get to stepping cause it’s only going downhill from here. Trust. Some of you think I’m being Prissy Patty here, but wouldn’t you know, I’ve got a few dating anecdotes to drive the point right on home.

I went out with a nice, cute, fun bankery type a few times. We would meet over drinks or make a general plan to meet up on a Sunday afternoon and while I always enjoyed my time with him and his Polo shirts, I was looking for him to make a real date, not just a “casual hang.” So one rainy Sunday evening as he walked me home under an umbrella, I decided to speak up. When I told him to make an actual date, not just another hangout, you better believe I had a detailed email in my inbox first thing the next morning with three different (very creative) date options for me to choose from as well as the weather forecast. All it took was letting him know. He’s also been made well aware that should he ever want to get any closer to my pants than perusing Spring’s latest washes at 7 for All Mankind, he must make a proper dinner plan. He explained that most girls he’s gone out with hadn’t really cared much about courtship nor could they spell it.

Another guy I granted the pleasure of my company was nervous to open my door for me on our first date because the girl he dated before me was apparently offended by the gesture. Well, yes, it’s true I’m physically capable of opening my own door, but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t do it for me. I made it crystal clear that I had no qualms with him being a gentleman and opening my door and so he did open my door every single time until I was no longer getting into his car for a multitude of other reasons. But to the chick who hated having her door opened, come on, sister, stop ruining it for the rest of us.

But for every positive example, there’s always its more entertaining negative complement.

I met a strapping young fellow who seemed to be a bit of a loose cannon (read: probably not a qualified candidate to father my future children), but despite his wild ways, he asked me out to dinner one night over text… at 2:56am. I waited until the next day to answer although I’d been wide awake at the time and played coy with my response. The invitation didn’t come again, but instead he did invite himself over late one night to “hang.” My mistake for obliging him. Because while the hickey on my shoulder endured (sorry, Dad), long gone are the days of him inviting me out to dinner. I don’t count on a dinner at Nobu in my future. I can, however count on past midnight messages and phone calls.

One gentleman (ha!) who’s a true thorn in my side, has turned into a tragic Telemundo soap opera, bad acting and all. When he calls, I run. Not so long ago, his radar alerted him that I’d forgotten all about him and so he dialed my number, and like clockwork I hurried my little behind right on down to the Soho Grand. To be clear, it wasn’t always this way. As a matter of fact, for the first half our our “relationship” it was all fun and games (and dinners and dancing) when I made him chase me all the way over to Avenue B, but the moment I stopped playing precious princess, the tables turned… like Teresa Giudice turned. I made it too easy for him because I was scared that he’d stop calling. Which is totally ridiculous because he clearly enjoys the chase more than the kill and if he didn’t call? Good riddance. I’m seeing him next Thursday.

You see, I’m just as guilty as the gals in the NY Times article though I was appalled when I’d read it the first time. I no longer know how to spell courtship, let alone dinner and the only person I have to blame is myself… well, and the rest of you. Did we not learn anything in Psychology 101? Pavlov’s dogs ring a bell? (I didn’t even mean to do that). We’re just as trainable as dogs and we can very easily train people how to treat us. If I let my dog just pee wherever her wanted he, would. Well, I don’t let him, but he does anyway– but you get the gist. Just be careful you’re not being the one being trained to drool when the bell rings.

The bottom line is quite simple: you get what you settle for. And isn’t being a lady the original form of feminism?

xx,

WhyDid

WhyDid Wisdom: Don’t Worry About It…

By Kirsten|March 7th, 2013|WhyDid Wisdom|

I had a friend tell me she was freaking out as she headed towards her third decade on planet Earth because she wasn’t married and hadn’t even a viable prospect in sight, she went through a serious problem of anxiety, she had to take maeng da kratom in order to recover from it. Another expressed concern that while she was quite content in her marriage and home life, she felt as if she was doing things backwards with her career. While I felt both empathetic and sympathetic, it was terribly frustrating for me to hear. Why? Because it seems unfair that these smart, kind, beautiful women were feeling pressure to be and do the things that they’ve been told are socially acceptable. Why does a woman have to be married by a certain age and why should she feel bad if she isn’t? Why does someone have to be successful in the workplace before she’s successful on the homefront? Who made up all these rules and why do we feel so compelled to follow them? The use of kratom as a stimulant is also worth noting. It certainly makes sense. After all, kratom is a member of the coffee family. Even you could check here more about kratom. When used safely, kratom can provide an individual with a renewed, natural energy boost. To know about various strains of kratom visit the websites.

There have been times I have known people were judging me because my life doesn’t fit into (or come anywhere even close to) a typical mold. I’m certainly not immune to the feelings of guilt and pressure stemming from the heat of discriminating eyeballs. Sometimes I stop for a moment and think to myself, “What the hell am I doing?” and then I take a deep breath and release that feeling because I’m not normal, nor have I ever been. And if we want to be quite honest, no one is normal. There’s just no such thing.

I’m fairly candid about my internal struggles, which is basically an open invitation for others to try their hands at solving my personal puzzles. People often tell me what they think I should be doing and while I appreciate the concern of those genuinely interested in my well-being and am likely to take their suggestions into consideration, I also realize that no one actually knows the answers to all of life’s hard hitting questions. That would be far too simple and besides, what may have worked for one doesn’t necessarily work for another. So why do we even care so much about what everyone else thinks?

Don’t worry about everybody else (they don’t know what the f*ck they’re doing either).

— Kirsten Smith (@KirstenSmith) February 17, 2013

And therein lies the conundrum. Are other people judging us or are we really the ones holding ourselves under a microscope for intensive inspection? Are we afraid of what other people think of us or is this all just Jedi mind trickery wherein we’re all just projecting onto ourselves? For so long, I based many of my decisions on what I thought other people wanted for me. Instead of going with my gut or with what decision most pleased me, I chose the socially acceptable version. I even found myself writing in a manner in which I thought would least offend people and consciously tip toed around controversy. In all honesty, these turned out to be some of the worst decisions I’ve made.

What’s been most useful to me is to stop worrying about what everyone else might think about what I’m doing and to stop beating myself up over those feelings of perceived disapproval. The only person who truly needs to be comfortable in my decision making is me. And so long as I’m not shooting up heroine in the bathroom and wielding weapons to hold up a Circle K for Mad Dog and Twizzlers, I’m alright. Perhaps I’m not doing what you would do… and I’ve done some pretty questionable things, but we are all as different as snowflakes and all of our lives are semi pre-determined “choose your own adventure” stories. Your ideal of the perfect way to spend a Saturday night, let alone life is less than likely going to be the same as everyone else’s. Having differing opinions doesn’t make one wrong or right… just different. You don’t have to be a mom. You don’t have to be a career woman. You can be a circus clown or a bartender, married or perpetually single. We were all placed on this planet to fulfill our own purposes and the only thing you should be concerned about is finding and filling yours.

Don’t worry about everybody else.

xx,

WhyDid

image via

WhyDid Wisdom: Get In Where You Fit In

By Kirsten|December 27th, 2012|WhyDid Wisdom|

Four years (and a month) ago, I sat at my desk in my grey cubicle in my grey carpeted office and stared at an Excel spreadsheet while my eyes began to cross and water. I spun around in my lopsided pleather chair- certainly an original piece of furniture from the early nineties- and nearly toppled over a pile of Hanky Panky holiday samples to see my friend, Stephanie, grinning at the entry of my own personal hell. “Ready for lunch?” she said. I nodded too quickly.

Spending half an hour across the street at Devon and Blakely with her over a cup of lentil soup was basically the highlight of my days. While I had a job that most girls would consider a “dream job,” I found myself struggling to excel. I was disinterested for the most part aside from the actual selection of product and styling of pieces. The entering of orders, tracking of shipments, and balancing of budgets was the majority of my role and I just was not what one might consider a “star employee.” I constantly felt guilty for not feeling giddy about my job and tried my best to be a superstar, but I was just not meant to sit behind a desk and crunch numbers. One day, one of my colleagues actually voiced that. She turned to me in a buyers’ meeting and said, “Kirsten, you’re too funny and pretty to be here. You should go enroll in acting classes or something.” An actress I’m not, but I was made aware at that specific moment that everyone knew I didn’t fit in the corporate world. I hung in for another year and a half before that whole recession thing happened and retail took a beating forcing many offices to eliminate entire departments and completely restructure their corporate offices. Stephanie and I were unluckily, or luckily depending on how you look at it, part of the trimming of the fat. We weren’t alone though. Ever see a bar full of buyers getting hammered before noon? Dive bars have never made so many martinis.

Fortunately, before all of the chaos, I had been on a double date with a girl who informed me she was a “blogger.” She was a very nice girl, but not particularly brilliant or earth shatteringly interesting. I thought to myself, “I can do that.” The next day, I signed up for a Tumblr account and bought the domain WhyDidYouWearThat.com. The idea stemmed from seeing so many girls wearing so many horrific outfits, namely leggings as pants. When I started blogging I hadn’t the slightest clue as to what I was doing. Fortunately, I had a college pal who was instrumental in setting me off in the right direction. Should I ever hit it big time, he’ll be the first person I write a check to. I wrote my posts anonymously. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone was even reading them. I was writing as a creative outlet to balance out all of the arithmetic of my daily tasks. I had totally forgotten how much I enjoyed writing. Instead of having conversations with myself in my head, I started writing all of my thoughts down.

Then something funny happened. I started seeing my hits go up and up and up on Google Analytics. People were reading this? My Facebook page started growing. Strangely enough, people were paying attention. Almost a year or so in, I wrote a post that was quite a bit more personal than my typical WTF?! posts. I even included photos of myself, which I hadn’t really done before. My hits spiked and I realized that I had cracked the code. I realized that I was able to connect with readers on a more personal level. I could communicate with them without polarizing them. We could commiserate. We could laugh. We could cry. We could think. We could be girlfriends… even though I don’t even know most of them. I wanted women to know that there is someone out there dealing with the same problems as they are: whether it be finding the perfect hair product, or clever way to hide bra straps, or heal a broken heart. I wasn’t here to make them feel bad about all the clothes and stuff I have that they didn’t (which I don’t have). I wanted to be a safe place, a fun place, a release from a shitty day at the office with an Excel sheet and bitchy clients.

And while I was kind of forced into figuring out what I loved doing by being fired, it wasn’t easy. I tried to get jobs after being laid off. I got a few, but they weren’t particularly fulfilling or long lasting. The jobs I would have wanted, I couldn’t get. I was either overqualified or didn’t have the “right” experience to get them. So, I realized that I just needed to put my head down and focus on creating something for myself. Sure, I have a long way to go and I’m still learning even now. I had no idea four years ago when I wrote my first post that this was what I was meant to be doing. It was just a silly whim that grew legs and started sprinting. There have been times I’ve wanted to quit, but I believe everyone feels that way at one point or another. I get frustrated that I’ve worked hard for years and still have not made it to where I want to be and some bloggers have just walked onto the scene and been scooped up by agents and brands and critics. When I see that happen, I get discouraged. I start to think maybe I’m no good. However, when I really think about throwing in the towel, I think about my readers. I think about all the kind comments and emails and the friendships that have come from doing what I do. I think about how much I really do enjoy writing and here I am.

So as to not make this all about “me” (you’ve got to be a little narcissistic to be a blogger afterall), I want you to know that sometimes when you are being rejected left and right and nothing seems to be working, it isn’t because you aren’t good enough. Maybe it’s just life’s gentle nudge telling you that there is something else for you. Maybe you just need to dig deep and figure out what you love and what your true calling is. Don’t feel bad because you aren’t fitting into that round hole if you’re a square peg. Know that you are just being pointed in the right direction and always know that there is a safe place for you here.

Thank you for four amazing years.

xx,

WhyDid

WhyDid Wisdom: Don’t Be Desperate, Girl… or Boy.

By Kirsten|December 6th, 2012|WhyDid Wisdom|

About a month ago, I turned into a complete and utter recluse. Not because of the super storms (yes, plural… Hey, Sandy! Hey, Athena!) or because I didn’t have any interesting offers. I’d voluntarily grounded myself and was actually quite content. Turns out I would rather stay home and order in, not wash my hair, watch horrible TV, and rub Smitty’s sweet pink belly than sit through dinner with someone I have no intention of reproducing with and can hardly muster up polite conversation with. Some may call it depression, I call it having standards. Tomato, tomato.

Not so long ago, I would have picked myself up by the boot straps and headed out. I needed stimulation, validation from a male, unauthentic attention. Now? I could care less. I’m not sure exactly what it is. It could be because I know so well what “wrong” feels like or because I’ve realized that hanging out with someone you aren’t that interested in is a form of desperation. It could be because my heart is full of unrequited love. Or it could simply be that I’m asexual.

Funny enough, when I moved into my self inflicted nunnery, the phone calls just started pouring in. Sadly, none of them were calls I really wished to answer. Why is it always the one you “don’t” and never the ones you “do”? Anyway, because I was quite thrilled about staying home to moisturize my cuticles, I was also too busy to join any of said gentlemen callers on evenings out. So, whether I politely declined their invitations, pressed the “ignore” button, or just altogether ignored the fellows wishing for my companionship, I started to notice something. They were undeterred by my disinterest. As a matter of fact, I think it actually caused some of them to become even more interested. A simple case of economics: supply and demand. Ironically, that’s not something I was hoping to happen. However, there are a few take aways:

A good indicator of a man’s character is the way he acts when you tell him, “No.”

Watching these guys beg and pout and be big, desperate babies only shed light on how stupid we must look when we do the exact same things. Does it make me change my mind? No. As a matter of fact, all it does is confirm to me that I’ve made the right decision on staying in my cashmere sweatpants and slippers with the SATC boxed set and a tub of dried apricots.

One particular gentleman just blows up my phone relentlessly. I don’t respond and he just keeps on texting. When I say, “I’m busy,” he follows up with a “It only takes a moment to tell me that.” Come on, ladies, how many times have you said that to a guy. Now, I’ve just taken to sending back unbelievable responses, and better yet surrendered my phone to my friends to answer. We consider it a form of creative writing.

As I laid around one Sunday after another platonic sleepover, my guy friend sighed and snorted at the text messages he was receiving from a young lady he had hung out with that week. Sure they were in Swedish, but I could tell by the length and frequency what these messages were all about. I blushed a little remembering having been that girl. I’d written a digital novel to the object of my affection a time or two.

Being in this new position of female power, has allowed me to see things from a completely opposite perspective. Now I am fully aware of how it looks when we, as ladies, double text, drunk text, continuously call, and basically don’t pick up on the not so subtle hints of ignoring. And it’s not good. Any shot in hell you might have had, has now been shot to hell. For me, the thought of going out with someone so desperate or persistent is utterly exhausting and I haven’t even gotten in the shower yet. I’m not not answering because I’m saving baby kittens (although that’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility) or doing my taxes. I’m not busy… I just don’t want to talk to you and in some cases, I forgot you even called. So think about the last time a fella reached out and you were not even slightly interested. How did you react?

For now, I’m quite alright keeping a low profile in the ol’ dating department and I know two guys (for a fact) that are psyched about this: Smitty and my Dad. However, when I do put myself back on the market, I’ll be sure to remember the secondhand embarrassment I experienced for all of you oh so desperate dudes.

xx,

WhyDid

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