Unpacking My Obsessions

Have you ever tried explaining your quirks to someone you’re just getting to know, only to watch their eyes glaze over halfway through your passionate monologue? I have. Often. It’s usually right around the moment I start comparing Claude Monet’s loose brushstrokes to the way coffee stains bloom on overpriced linen napkins. “It’s textural but restrained,” I’ll say, as if that explains anything at all. This, I’ve come to learn, is just part of being me—a woman hopelessly compelled by the trivial, deeply enamored with the niche, and permanently invested in the outré. But isn’t that the fun part of life? Our obsessions make us who we are. So, I thought I’d share a few of mine and the lessons they’ve taught me about connections, love, and (yes) holding someone’s attention at dinner.

Obsession #1: Café Culture (or “Why I Will Absolutely Judge Your Latte Order”)

I used to think love was a croissant—warm, flaky, and with just the right amount of mess to keep things interesting. And then I spent a summer in Paris, where I was disabused of this romantic notion by underwhelming espresso and existential waitstaff. What truly caught my attention, though, was the ritual of it all: the slow sipping, the people-watching, the quiet negotiation between public solitude and communal energy. Café culture became my metaphor for relationships—a place where sustenance meets story.

I often find myself sorting potential connections into coffee styles. Someone who orders a black coffee? Probably direct, no-nonsense, but could they warm to the sweetness of intimacy? A triple-shot caramel macchiato drinker? Sure, the energy’s fun, but are they compensating for something? (Spoiler: They usually are.) My personal order? A cortado. Balanced, compact, unassuming—proof that you can be serious about something without taking yourself too seriously.

Lesson Learned: Like coffee, people are layered. Don’t equate “instant connection” with quality; sometimes, the best blends need time to brew.

Obsession #2: Lost Gloves (or “How I Turn Mundane Artifacts Into Romantic Fantasies”)

If you've ever spotted a single glove abandoned on the street and thought nothing of it, congratulations—you’re emotionally well-adjusted. Meanwhile, I’m over here convincing myself that it’s a relic of an epic love story. In my mind, the glove belongs to some impossibly chic individual (decked out in tailored camel coats and meaningful silences), and it’s been dropped as a breadcrumb for their soulmate to find.

This odd fixation likely stems from my art historian brain and the way it’s conditioned me to imbue objects with narrative potential. I’m forever in search of meaning and metaphor, even when it’s ridiculous. I’ve been known to weave elaborate backstories for objects as banal as a half-read paperback at a café or a pair of sunglasses perched atop a baguette in someone’s bike basket. My English major friends from Columbia like to joke that I’m not a romantic—I’m a runaway Victorian novelist trapped in the 21st century.

Lesson Learned: Pay attention to the little things—it’s where the romantic potential of life resides. And for the love of all things charming, return the glove if it’s yours. You never know who might be constructing your backstory.

Obsession #3: My Life As a Soundtrack

I firmly believe the right music can transform even the most mundane task into a moment worthy of cinema. Case in point: folding laundry while blasting Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good”? Iconic. Organizing your spice drawer to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Blue Skies”? Transcendent. And don’t even get me started on the weekly tradition I call “Opera and Vacuuming.” La Traviata is particularly effective for dusting.

I approach dating in much the same way—pairing people I meet to their unwitting “soundtracks.” I once convinced a friend that her new crush gave off serious Fleetwood Mac energy (all turbulent romance and questionable emotional stability), only for her to discover weeks later that he did, in fact, play bass in a cover band. She’s since banned me from musical matchmaking, but I stand by my instincts.

Lesson Learned: If you’re stuck between what your heart says and what your gut fears, consult your Spotify favorites. If their vibe leans more “Rihanna's discography” and less “every sad alt-boy who insists you listen to Bon Iver,” they might just be worth a shot.

Obsession #4: Art as Foreplay

Look, I didn’t spend years studying art history just to swipe through digital replicas of human faces without analyzing their composition. I once dated someone entirely because they bore an uncanny resemblance to John Singer Sargent’s Madame X. Was it healthy? Maybe not. Did it make for scintillating dinner-table conversation? Absolutely.

There’s something supremely satisfying about connecting emotions with aesthetics—turning fleeting attraction into something tangible and storied. Sometimes I’ll visit a museum solo, wandering until I find the one painting or sculpture that perfectly encapsulates my mood. (If you’ve never stared down an Isamu Noguchi sculpture while grappling with existential longing, you’re missing out.) Similarly, I’ve taken to “profiling” potential dates via their relationship to visual culture. Someone who claims to “not get art” triggers an immediate mental note to proceed with caution. I may relish the abstract, but I’m no fixer-upper.

Lesson Learned: A shared appreciation for beauty—whether in a sunset, a sculpture, or a passed appetizer—is key. Relationships without curiosity can only survive so long in monochrome.

Obsession #5: The Power of a Good Exit

Growing up in Manhattan’s notoriously insular art world, I learned early the importance of making a memorable exit. It’s a principle I apply to almost everything, from dinner parties to failed relationships. As Virginia Woolf might say (if she were less prone to melancholy and more partial to sparkling exits), always leave them wanting more.

But here’s the thing: good exits aren’t just about grand gestures or speaking your truth in a tear-soaked monologue; sometimes, they’re about quiet grace. I once ended a date by quoting a line from Degas—“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” He laughed, I smiled, and we parted ways with mutual respect instead of recrimination. Was it the end I wanted? No. But it was the ending that felt true.

Lesson Learned: Whether it’s an awkward situation or a mismatched relationship, there’s always an art to the farewell. Be gracious, be kind, and leave your ego at the door.

Sure, my life might occasionally look like a Wes Anderson film dedicated to overthinking, but I like to think my obsessions make me better at love—or at least better at appreciating its quirks. The truth is, we’re all drawn to something a little offbeat, a little idiosyncratic, and mine just happen to live at the colorful intersection of culture, narrative, and romance. And isn’t that what love is at its core? One person’s willingness to unpack another person’s weird little world, obsessions and all.

So go ahead—ask me about the most interesting glove I’ve ever found. I promise, I’ll keep it under three minutes… maybe.