As a Hot Woman, I'm Heartbroken

Image via Pressmaster/Shutterstock.
Image via Pressmaster/Shutterstock.

I am a hot woman. I don’t have a name because I never needed one because I’m so hot. (Like a lot of hot women, I don’t even have a social security number. Just a card that says “HOT” followed by a series of 10s.) Earlier today, I read (or had someone read to me, because remember, I am hot) the New York Post article about the average-looking, uninteresting man who is no longer dating hot women because we are too boring and now I can’t stop crying hot tears from my hot hot eyes.


When 40-year-old Dan Rochkind, an “Upper West Sider with a muscular build and a full head of hair,” told the Post that “beautiful women who get a fair amount of attention get full of themselves,” I was like, Oh, my God. He is so right. How have I been disappointing Rochkind with my ego for so long? What will I do now?

When he added,“Eventually, I was dreading getting dinner with them because they couldn’t carry a conversation,” it was the killing blow. It’s true. Because I am hot, I am also very stupid and have nothing to say because all I can think about is your money and how much I want it. Either that or I get distracted by my own reflection and think Wow, she’s hot. Oh, wait. That’s just me. And then I think about that for a little while. To be fair, I also have a hard time forming words with my very hot mouth and when I try I only make orgasm sounds, so it’s not all my fault.

Dan, I am so sorry that I, a hot model in my early 20s, have been boring you, a man two decades older than me. As an executive in private equity (so rare in New York!), you are inherently interesting and I should have been more engaged as you talked to me about NOT boring things like your definition of the term “umami,” the great time you and your bros had at the LCD Soundsystem reunion show, and how you just don’t “get” Melissa McCarthy.

It says more about me, Hot Woman, than you, Dan Rochkind, and I really hope you’ll consider dating me and my hot 20-something friends again. Really, we’re all so broken up over you taking yourself off the market to date a 30-year-old who you merely describe as “a softer beauty.” I have a similar plea for Benedict Beckeld, the Brooklyn writer in his late 30s (again, such a rare gem!) who told the Post that in his experience, “people who are better looking are less likely to pursue advanced degrees, or play an instrument or learn other languages.” I actually have the same degree from Harvard Business School that Tyra Banks got (literally the same one, she gave it to me because, as two hot women, we really get along). I also, like a lot of 20-something models, speak multiple languages, a necessary skill because a lot of us emigrate and it’s also a necessity of our trade.

But anyway, yes, these older men have me and my hot young friends pegged. We are too hot for college and too hot for “learning,” unlike Beckeld, a man with a philosophy degree and “body of an Adonis” who quotes Nietzsche in his Instagram thirst pics. How could we ever be good enough for that?


Honestly, it is admirable that you are willing to date women who are only very decent looking and 10-12 years younger than you, but at the same time... come back? We’ve experienced what the world is like with you two hunks off the market and frankly, it’s horrible. Just stroll down Elizabeth Street or visit the Soho Whole Foods and tell me what you see! You’ll barely be able to take a step without stumbling over 6 foot tall, blonde 23-year-old Dutch model—drawn to America by the promise of your penis—collapsed in the Kombucha aisle in a heap of grief. Cross the river into Brooklyn, take the elevator to the top of the Wythe Hotel and hear the high pitch wails that echo from the surrounding Williamsburg penthouses. It’s deafening.

Please, Dan. Please, Benedict. We’re so, so hot, so, so boring, and so, so lost without you.


Adrastra, patron saint of not giving a fuck

Whenever anyone says “I could have anyone I wanted” you know they are delusional and you should very very quickly run very far away.

I don’t care who you are, there will always be at least one person who unconditionally hates your guts, and ten more who wouldn’t hand you a glass of water if you were on fire, and none of those people will ever fuck you.

ETA: How is the Post real and also I kind of want to be best friends with whoever the fuck wrote that, like there is a person who has been driven to the place of Zero Fucks Given.