Secrets From a Girl Who's Seen it all Before: DATE YOURSELF INSTEAD

“For a while, I wished away my singleness, praying for life, love and happiness to be some sort of package deal all wrapped up with a pink ribbon, and delivered by a man with good hair and a french accent” (Makayla Wrigley).

January 13, 2025

Makayla Wrigley, Editor

Sometimes on this journey on a rock through space, a gal will find herself lost, alone and dreaming of a tall, handsome, brunette hunk to order two glasses of chardonnay and whisk her away to Paris to shop Chanel. The thing about fairytales is that sometimes the hunk doesn’t show up. Or worse, he does… but he’s the devil wearing Ferragamo and a promise ring from another woman. 

For a while, I wished away my singleness, praying for life, love and happiness to be some sort of package deal all wrapped up with a pink ribbon, and delivered by a man with good hair and a french accent. After one too many “situationships,” and a therapist who reminded me that the world didn’t stop and start with guys who only wanted casual, I had an epiphany. If I know how I deserve to be treated, then why haven’t I made it happen yet? 

If I know what I deserve,romance, respect, the occasional trip to France,why am I still waiting around, reading self help books and waiting for someone else to deliver it? The black and white romance film I needed all along was actually the one written by me, and directed by the ungodly amounts of caffeine I could consume when no one was around to tell me it’s bad for me. 

It hit me like a Juicy Couture bag falling off the shelf at Farmington Marshalls. I needed to book the table, plan the date, put on the dress I’d been dying to wear and make it happen. So I started. 

First, I took myself to get sushi. Spoiler alert: my date knew my order without having to ask, and there was zero confusion about the bill. There were no distractions; no books, no boys, nothing to get between my sanity and I. The harsh reality was that it was pretty cool to sit down and enjoy my own company. 

Then came the movies. I sat in the theatre by myself, probably for the best because I tend to get emotional during films and whomever got dragged with me would find themselves incredibly jealous of Timothee Chalamet. There was no mandatory “did you like it” conversation after the credits rolled, and I left with a grin on my face. It was incredibly liberating. 

When you start dating yourself, you learn a lesson that no fairytale can prepare you for: you don’t have to compromise. You can choose the rom-com and no one will complain about it, tacos at midnight were a non-negotiable and if you wanted to wake up at 5am to a Taylor Swift alarm clock, who’s to say you can’t? (unless you, like myself, have a very expressive cat who prefers Lana Del Rey). 

By the end of the night, I found that I wasn’t just dating myself–I was falling for myself. My Fridays for the month were booked by yoga, cooking new recipes, shows to binge and no one to oppose.  Not worrying about if anyone else was having a good time was making me feel as light as a feather, but not enough to feel like something, or someone, was missing. 

Alone time is sacred, realizing that you’re not someone's “other half” is really what you need to change to make yourself whole. 

Here’s what dating myself taught me: you don’t need someone else to turn your life into a rom-com. They should really make more movies where the damsel is not in distress, and she’s actually pretty content being alone in the big city. Sure, a dashing brunette might show up someday, with a couple tickets to Paris and a six month plan to fall deeply in love. Until then, I’ve got a fabulous closet full of fabulous outfit potential, girlfriends to put them together for me, an occupied planner of things to do and places to see and a cool love story I’m directing–one shaken espresso at a time. 

So if you find yourself a little lost on this big rock we call home, dreaming of a knight in Ferragamo, remember this: you do not need any rescuing. You’re already there. Buy the flowers, book the flight, pick up the bill. If your cat judges your Taylor Swift alarm clock, remind them who’s feeding them. 

Simply, date yourself instead.