When Your Obsessions Make You: A Journey Through My Quirks and the Lessons They Taught Me

There’s a moment in every new relationship that I lovingly call “the reveal.” It’s the point where you look your new partner in the eye and say something like: “I own four succulents I’ve named after characters from The Great Gatsby,” or “Actually, I do play the accordion. Badly.” For me? My “reveal” involves the unapologetic admission that I have, among many quirks, a lifelong obsession with vintage Hollywood musicals and doubly so with Frank Sinatra.

Here’s the thing about obsessions: they don’t just define who we are—they’re often how we show up in love and life. Every spotlight, every swoon-worthy Sinatra lyric, every glitter-lined fixation has given me something. So today, I’m unpacking my personal obsessions and the love lessons they’ve left on my doorstep—like an overly enthusiastic Scorpio delivering karmic mail.

1. I’ve Been Romanced by Hollywood Musicals (Hold the Cheesiness, Please)

Growing up in Las Vegas, I had an up-close view of sequins, spotlights, and drama. If you’ve ever seen the Casino Showroom version of the backstage chaos in Moulin Rouge, you can picture something close to my family dinner conversations. Naturally, old-school musicals became my gospel. While other kids played sports, I was busy memorizing Gene Kelly’s choreography from Singin’ in the Rain. By junior high, I had moved on from innocent dance numbers to something deeper: the way a swirling gown, twinkling marquee lights, and soft focus could be the perfect stand-in for cinematic romance.

But here’s what those dazzling musicals taught me beyond aching for love-at-first-sight moments under streetlamps. Romanticized as they are, they’re chock-full of lessons about vulnerability and courage. Take My Fair Lady, for instance. Underneath all of Eliza Doolittle’s sass is a story about transformation—not for the sake of someone else, but because change can be empowering when it’s YOUR decision.

Translation for dating: If someone doesn’t appreciate the metaphorical (or literal) tap-dance routine you bring to the table, they’re probably not the Fred Astaire to your Ginger Rogers. And that’s perfectly fine.

Takeaway: You deserve someone who doesn’t just admire your sparkle but gets out of your way so you can shine it even brighter—dance routines, quirks, and all.

2. “Luck Be a Lady,” or Why Frank Sinatra Is My Love Guru

Frank Sinatra didn’t just sing about love; he embodied it. “Fly Me to the Moon,” “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” “The Way You Look Tonight”—every lyric croons its way into your chest and finds a nice place between your left lung and your aorta. It’s impossible to spend your formative years in a city that worships Rat Pack nostalgia and not fall a little in love with the crooner himself.

And while my middle school friends were crushing on pop-punk boys, I was binging Sinatra records, swooning over romantic relics like chivalry, grand gestures, and taking someone dancing without expecting anything but a slow sway under a dimmed chandelier.

However, Sinatra’s smooth exterior has another message for modern love: charm without substance doesn’t last. Cool confidence is intoxicating, sure. But if there’s no depth below those conversations over candlelight, the tune starts to feel shallow. Frank’s songs remind me of the magic of connection but also the importance of balancing charisma with intentionality.

Takeaway: Be a Sinatra when it comes to love—not afraid to charm, but equally willing to listen long after the music fades.

3. Glitter Can’t Fix Everything (But Self-Awareness Just Might)

Growing up in a city where rhinestones are currency and the motto is “the show must go on,” I’ve learned that glitter—even metaphorical glitter—doesn’t fix the big stuff. Relationships (and ourselves) can only sparkle when we peel back the sequins and get to the good, honest truth underneath.

For me, that epiphany arrived sometime between being ghosted by a guy who swore he’d “never been to a brunch he didn’t love” (a bald-faced lie—he hated brunch; I ran into him at IHOP months later) and watching Cabaret. Bear with me on this leap, but no one does calculated, brutal self-awareness quite like Liza Minnelli’s Sally Bowles. She knows when the glitter is her defense, and she knows when it’s time to stop hiding behind choreography.

In love, much like in musicals, there’s a temptation to always bring the razzle-dazzle—the “I’m fun, playful, uncomplicated!” bits of ourselves that we think someone wants. It’s harder to introduce someone to the quieter “I’m also occasionally messy, human, and still figuring it out” parts. But no one builds a deep connection on neon facades alone.

Takeaway: A little glitter is delightful—just make sure it’s an accent, not your entire self. And when the time comes, share the unpolished version of yourself that’s you without the spotlight. That’s real intimacy.

4. My Obsession with Desert Sunsets Is Code for “I Want the Real Stuff”

Living in Vegas, there’s this cosmic kind of magic that rolls into the city every few nights. Once the neon starts buzzing, and the sun dips low enough to spill orange and pink streaks across the mountains, it’s as if even all the glamour sits still for a second. I live for these sunsets where every cliché becomes real—time seems slower, skies feel alive, and thoughts you’ve buried for months somehow climb their way back to the surface.

It’s no surprise that my love for a horizon set aflame mirrors what I value most in relationships. I want connection that feels unhurried yet electrifying. Someone willing to sit still with me and watch the colors blur—no phone, no filters, no distractions. Watching those sunsets reminds me to crave what’s natural, not staged.

Takeaway: Look for moments and relationships that make you pause in awe, even just for a beat. When you find someone whose company gives you that same kind of stillness, hold onto them a little longer.

5. Why My Quirks Are My Greatest Wingmen

Let’s circle back to the beginning—we all have our “reveals.” Years ago, I deferred mine, thinking it’d scare off potential interests. In fact, I spent my twenties curating a version of myself that could only be described as Relatably Bland. It wasn’t until I met someone who loved that I based my first big heartbreak playlist entirely on Tom Jones covers that I realized: quirks equal connection.

When I share my less-conventional loves now (yes, I did see Singin’ in the Rain forty times, no, I won’t apologize), they become a filter of sorts. The people who stay or lean in are the ones who aren’t just tolerating me. They’re delighted.

Takeaway: Your quirks aren’t burdens or weird sidenotes—they’re the signals your people are looking for. Be bold. Speak fluent Sinatra or quote Fred Astaire, or bake cupcakes that look like a Las Vegas skyline. The right ones won’t just “put up" with your quirks; they’ll join the fan club.

Closing Night: Let the Specs of You Sparkle

As ridiculous as it sounds, I’ve found my obsessions to be my greatest teachers. The sequins taught me self-awareness. The swoony tunes taught me that grand gestures are lovely, but depth is everything. And the ever-changing Vegas sunsets whispered to me about patience, stillness, and holding out for what feels just right.

So go on: lean into the strange, intense little passions that make you, well, you. They’re the glimmering breadcrumbs that lead your people to you—whether they’re friends, lovers, or someone who will name a cactus Gatsby for you (because of course they get your quirks).

What can I say? The glitz taught me to love, but it’s the grit underneath that made me whole.