what we talk about when we talk about love
and what four fashion substackers wore when they fell hard
I’m obsessed with how people meet. It’s one of my favorite dinner party questions. Even when people answer with a generic “we met through friends” or “we met on Hinge,” a follow up question illuminates what we all know: that the act of falling in love, and the journey of staying in love, requires both personal bravery and luck, and any story with a healthy dose of either of those is worth listening to. Even if the initial meeting feels kismet enough that there is only flirty banter, and no subsequent anxiety, obstacles ensue. Location, jobs, money, old flames.
Which is why I’m fascinated by Hinge’s new Substack, No Ordinary Love, a “Modern Love” for the digital generation. Similar to many others on this platform, and potentially heightened because of my brand marketing background, CEO and CMO friends are constantly asking me if they should start a branded Substack. The answer is consistent: 1) you should do it if you can be additive and create something worth reading 2) you have the time and resources to invest in it without needing to justify the ROI for six to nine months 3) you have a founder or someone (it can be hired help) with a strong editorial voice. At its core, the mission of Substack is to support writers, and while it may seem like an obvious throughline, there are few brands using this platform to actually do that.
Hinge kicked off their Substack with a foreword by none other than Roxane Gay (what a power move) and each story revolves around love: finding it, losing it, keeping it. I found myself drawn to William Rayfet Hunter’s’ “There You Are,” a story about two men, one visiting from Los Angeles, who meet eyes in a New York City bar and reconnect years later on the dating app.
It’s not because this happened to me. I was raised in the Sex and the City era, which led me to believe that living in New York City meant I would be asked out by men multiple times a day, in coffee shops, on the subway, walking a dog that wasn’t mine. In actuality, life in New York City is more nuanced. You have the beautiful shared experience of being New Yorkers, banded together by possibility and grit and sticky, summer nights, living in the city can have the effect of moving dream-like through life, surrounded by people and yet isolated from connection. Which is why, when it happens, it haunts you.
I never locked eyes with a man at a West Village bar that led to anything good. But I did meet my husband in a rare stroke of luck, on a trip I almost didn’t take to Los Angeles, when I lived three thousand miles away. And for reasons that are still somewhat unknown to me, he decided that we should date long distance, without having any foundation for a relationship. He has ADHD, which in his case translates to deep rooted obsessions, typically with work, but there was also lobster diving, a roll up laundromat business, becoming a master som, and for the first few years of our relationship, me. Our relationship is a beautiful byproduct of his condition. We may have fallen in love on our own, but to stay together in your twenties over two years of long distance, means one of you, if not both, have to have some level of obsessiveness.
A decade of marriage later, we’re in a different relationship (Esther Perel says you can have seven different relationships with the same person; we are firmly in our third or fourth one); one that is still full of laughter but perhaps devoid of fireworks. The “work” is less stumbling over our own insecurities and logistical hurdles, and instead is done bimonthly on Zoom with a very nice man who we pay an exorbitant amount of money to listen to us complain.
But the rarity of us being here at all, the vulnerability and fear and magic of the early days, and the softening into a comfortable, deliberate entanglement, isn’t lost on me. Reading William Rayfet Hunter’s story brought me back to those tender moments, when the possibility of what lay ahead was just as terrifying as the thought of walking away. Their writing let me fall into the intensity of those early days alongside the protagonists, as I watched them question, stumble and bravely carve out the type of love that can only be compared to that particular moment at dusk, where the golden light envelops you in a surreal, jolting gratitude.
When I saw my husband the same evening, I didn’t bring up the laundry (not done) or our daughter’s fourth birthday (barely planned), and instead we did what my parents have done for the last fifty years. We took a walk through our neighborhood, held hands and talked about nothing of significance.
You can buy William Rayfet Hunter’s debut novel here.
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WHAT WE WORE WHEN WE FELL IN LOVE
I have two primary ways of remembering events: what I wore and what I ate. So I asked a few well-dressed fashion Substackers to recall the outfits they wore when they fell in love.
“I know exactly what I was wearing when I fell in love as I have a visual record of everything I've worn for the past fifteen years. I was wearing a Farm Rio mini dress, Loeffler Randall heels, and a Palmgrens rattan bag. (I still have the bag). My boyfriend and I had been dating for a few months and were in the most magical place: Cuatro Cuatros in Val de Guadalupe. He had just finished a sailing race in Ensenada and I flew down to meet him at the finish line. From there, we drove up to the mountains for a few nights of luxury camping (think yurts, but with amenities and plumbing). I remember the outfit, but I remember the place even more. Such a special getaway. ” -
, Scratchpad by the Stripe“The first time I met my now-husband, he was interviewing me for a job! In 2005, I was a law student interviewing for an articling position at a Toronto law firm and he was one of the handful of lawyers I met that day. I was wearing a navy subtly pinstriped suit and silky silver shirt from Canadian brand, Femme de la Carriere. I came back the next day for a second round of interviews wearing another FDC suit – it was navy in a gorgeous weave and the jacket was crewneck, belted and fell to mid-thigh. To this day, it ranks as one of my favourite suits I’ve ever owned (sadly, it stopped fitting a decade ago). My shoes were probably Nine West! As for my husband, we started dating in 2008, but the spark was there from the start ;).” -
, In Moda Veritas“I remember exactly what Alex was wearing when we met — mustard denim and a black-and-white striped shirt. I could tell right away he’d just moved to L.A. from Brooklyn. It was written all over him. That day, I was in my bathroom in my Mid-City/West Hollywood apartment, getting ready while talking to my little sister on the phone. I told her I thought I might finally be open to meeting someone — it had been 11 months since I ended a six-year relationship. She got so excited and said, “Omg yay! Send me a pic of your outfit! I was wearing this short, long-sleeved cocktail dress — kind of bohemian, pieced-together like a silk quilt. Off-white with dark blues and hints of plaid. I think it may have been Theory haha! And my favorite sky-high suede YSL Mary Janes platform heels. I wore them constantly back then. It was October 2011 — a surprisingly cold one for L.A. I’ll always remember how cozy it felt when we first started dating.” -
, Hope Actually“I wore a denim dress and I honestly don’t remember the brand, maybe Madewell! And Converse!” -
, Loose ThreadsThis post is in collaboration with Hinge. All opinions are entirely my own and Objects of Desire is not affiliated with any of the other mentioned parties. #HingePartner
FROM THE ARCHIVES
who do you want to be this summer?
At some point over the last few weeks, it became summer. Small talk shifted from school benefits to kids camps and family trips, and a look at my unplanned, impromptu summer and my closet made me realize I am woefully unprepared for both.
My husband and I met on Hinge!! 🩵
My husband and I on the Starbucks waiting line. I had the flu and a pink eye, sandals and dark maroon nail polish. Was wearing a goh-geous silvery damask silk and wool scarf which I wore on our wedding 1year to that day.