Issue 01: Wellington
Frankie Dale | She/Her
Wellington is toxic, but that’s all about to change. Let me introduce myself. I am your new best friend, your sister, your ex, your current lover, your side ting, your main ting, your mother, your cool cousin, your fave lecturer, your very present, very attentive father, your very loving drunk aunt. This year we will talk all things sex, all things relationships, ALL THINGS MENTAL HEALTH, and we will help each other get through this disgusting dating climate we call home—together.
Over the last year, I somehow managed to fuck my toxic ex, fuck someone I probably shouldn’t have, and had unpleasant sex with a guy who’s pendant kept whacking me in the face. Right before leaving, he whispered “one last treat” and kissed me on the cheek. I had sex with someone I thought was 23 but was actually 17, and had relations with a guy who followed his favourite dj to R&V (please stop fucking texting me). Last but definitely not least: I fucked another ex, got back together for 4 days, then broke up again.
You may think I’m trying to flex—please don’t. After all, running through Aro Valley park with no pants, no undies, and nothing but a tea towel covering your vag is nothing to brag about.
Dating in this undomesticated landscape reveals concealed dangers which lurk behind the doors of San Fran on a Wednesday night. After much needed reflection, I wondered: does my dating life reflect poorly on my decisions or is it literally just Wellington’s toxic vibes?
You’re correct—it’s Wellington! This has nothing to do with my need for validation through sex or the fact that my dad had a secret family in New York for 7 years (more on that another time). Dating as a millennial, there is a certain vibe that is somehow intensified in this concentrated city. We’re all in a competition of who can care the least, making sure we don’t come across like we have an inch of feeling for the person who probably doesn’t care about us. At least, not as much as they care about socialising with Wellington’s most elite bands.
We are constantly stuck in this grey area; no one has any fucking clue what is going on at any point in time. Are we official yet or are we just DM pen pals? What comes with this grey area is the absolute worst concept millennial dating has brought our generation—Ghosting (noun); Psychological torture we inflict on others when we are A. no longer interested or B. playing games. In this day and age, if we are no longer interested in someone or want a more exciting chase, we simply stop responding—isn’t that a little bit whack?
Even though Wellington may be one of the scariest places on earth, this is the year of checking in on your mental health, asking your friends if they really are okay, not eating Lucky burger 4 times a week, teaching your soft-boi flatmate to not be a soft-boi anymore, using a condom, growing your pubes out, and waking up 10 minutes earlier so you don’t miss the 18e. Don’t get me wrong, I love Wellington, but it’s tough sometimes, especially since it’s the Ghosting Capital of the world (please, text me back). Now, say it with me! This is going to be the best year for our nuts and our brains, and you’ve got a best friend by your side guiding you through every step of the way.