My English mother used to always say, “Don’t be one of those high maintenance American girls, darling. It’s not attractive” as she twisted her mega-carat diamond ring around her finger. I’m one of those girls who thinks her mother is God so I fiercely hang on to every word she says.
OK, then. If mum says being high maintenance is “bad,” well then, surely it’s BAD.
However, my mother is also a woman who, for my entire childhood, would only get her hair done by “Today Show” celebrity hairstylist Louis Licari in his Fifth Avenue flagship salon.
Even when we moved to another state, she would trek into Manhattan to get her hair done by the notorious “King of Color” himself, drinking champagne with foils on her head, rubbing elbows with a European duchess to her left and a supermodel to her right.
She only drinks champagne and only goes to full-service gas stations. She sleeps in $200 silk nightgowns, instructed me to only ever grace my legs in Wolford tights and only uses Creme de la Mer on her skin. The casual day bag she wears when “sightseeing” is a tiny black quilted $2,400 Chanel crossbody purse with a chunky gold chain. She considers the Bowery Hotel a dive bar.
So I guess her definition of high maintenance is a little skewed, huh? And I guess mine is too. Because it only occurred to me recently I might be cut from the same high maintenance cloth as Mummy dearest.
Let me backtrack to a few weeks ago: It’s a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon in the lovely Hamptons, where I happen to be from (see, I didn’t stand a chance at being chill!).
I’m wearing a blue tribal print bikini from my recent trip to the south of France and I’m sitting at a posh beach club, clutching a $17 glass of Whispering Angel ros with freshly polished Christian Louboutin red nails gazing at the sparkling Atlantic ocean through massive two-toned sunnies:
My feet are in the sand. There is a plate of oysters glistening in the beautiful sunshine. Music is playing. The booze is flowing. And I think, shit I’m so happy right now, there is nowhere in the world I would rather be. I open my eyes and blissfully smile sweetly at my crush, who happens to be sitting to my left.
“You know it really doesn’t take much to make me happy,” I say to her, feeling really bohemian, eating my raw seafood lunch in nothing but a bikini top.
“Really?” she says, grinning, knowing I’m entirely full of shit.
“It really doesn’t. Just like a beach club in the Hamptons with wine and fresh oysters and…” and as the words come tumbling out of my mouth, I realize how amazingly ridiculous I sound. I realize how delusional I really am.
Oh no it doesn’t take much to make me happy just being at an exclusive club in one of the most expensive elitist summer spots in the world with $20 drinks and $300 bikinis and a tower of fresh shellfish.
In that moment I realized. Holy shit, I’m super high maintenance.
Suddenly a flash flood of dating moments wash over me. All of them point in ONE direction: I’m a high maintenance bitch when I’m in a relationship.
Don’t act smug! You clicked into this article, which means, babe, you probably are too. Here are some telltale signs:
1. Your idea of a chill night is pretty skewed.
Your idea of a quiet, chill night with bae consists of getting a room with a view of the High Line at the Standard Hotel, soaking in a claw-foot tub with bubbles to the very tippy top.
You’re ordering truffled cheese burgers (what! burgers are sooo chill) from the Michelin Star restaurant downstairs, drinking a bottle of champagne out crystal stem glasses, cuddling up in Egyptian cotton sheets and having loads of sex in your Agent Provocateur lingerie.
Oh, and definitely using your $500 sex toy.
2. When you’re asked “what restaurant you want to go to?” you always have an opinion.
When your sweet SO asks where you want to go to dinner, you might say “I don’t care” in your best chill girl drawl, but it will always be followed with:
“As long as they have burrata cheese because it’s burrata season, they have Kim Crawford sauvignon blanc (of course), they have oysters on the half shell because I’m REALLY CRAVING THAT RIGHT NOW,their staff has more than three years of experience, I personally know the chef, they’ll bring a separate chair for my new Balenciaga bag, they throw out a red carpet for me when I walk through the door, they have someone who can air me down with a fan for the entire dinner and they have strawberry shortcake. I don’t really care where we go, babe. You know me. I’m easy.”
3. You always slow your partner down because, well, HEELS, babe.
There are so many things you can’t do because your feet always hurt from your massive high heels that you insist on wearing everywhere, whether it’s the streets of Manhattan or Fire Island beach or yoga, honey.
4. You love having your hair pulled during sex, except for when it’s not your actual hair.
And we all know a woman is only as good as her hair (I SAID IT AND I DEFEND IT). So when our hair is not going through its best life phase, we weave, baby. And by weave, I mean, we get extensions. Every high maintenance girl I know has had extensions at some point in her life.
In fact there is nothing more high maintenance than maintaining hair extensions. And we’re not going to let you muck up our $2000 Great Length extensions when we’re getting down and dirty in bed.
You can pull my hair anytime, babe, I’m a total freak. But don’t you dare pull my hair when fresh fake hair has just been applied. HELL NO!
5. You will never take public transportation to dinner.
Or anywhere for that matter. High maintenance girls will make you suffer through hour-long taxi rides rather than a 10-minute train ride. We just don’t like to be tossed into a sweaty cesspool of normal people (ew). We want air conditioning and we want privacy.
But don’t complain; taxi sex is the best sex. No one has sex in a subway, that’s just savage. But sex in the back of a taxi is totally bougie. And don’t give me this UberPool bullshit. UberPool is for the weak.
6. Your partner knows to never take you on a date to the following things.
1. A music festival (unless you have VIP seats. We don’t do general population).
2. Camping (unless it’s glamping and a luxury RV has been arranged).
3. A yoga retreat (unless there is loads of wine and a black tie dinner at the end).
4. The zoo (Not only are zoos TERRIBLE, EVIL places, but how can you expect us to enjoy a zoo when we’ve been on safari in Kenya?).
5. A baseball game (there is nothing chic about a baseball game. Not even if it’s VIP or catered).