The Woman Sending Her Friend’s Feet Pics to a Guy

Alyssa Shelasky · 2026-03-27T23:00:21.965Z

This week, a newsletter editor socializes with online dates, old friends, potential flings, and a trumpet player on the sidewalk: 26, single, Brooklyn

8:40 a.m. I want to sleep in. My cat doesn’t. Meowwww, good morning!

1:30 p.m. Making chili for March Madness tonight. Invited both of my crushes to watch the game with my roomies, despite my belief that you should invite one romantic interest per gathering. I used to work with Peter, and I met Lucy at a concert.

I prefer people I’ve met in real life. I can’t take apps seriously. On Hinge, I’m just addicted to swiping. On Feeld, I’m always entertaining zany scenarios. Recent examples: sexting a 55-year-old history professor who suggested student-teacher role-play. Someone else wanted me to lock his penis in a chastity cage. Last night, I chatted with a married Hasidic guy and another guy with an adult nursing fetish.

3:30 p.m. My friend is giving a talk at a bookstore downtown, so I leave the chili simmering and take the subway into Manhattan. The crowd is cute.

3:50 p.m. Text from Casey, a musician from Hinge, asking what’s up. “I’m at a talk!” I respond. Hope this makes me seem smart.

4:15 p.m. Running late for the game. Shoot a text to both Peter and Lucy to let them know. Peter responds that he’ll be there around the same time. Lucy says she won’t make it but asks if I want to come over Wednesday. Yes.

5 p.m. Run into Peter at the deli on my block. He’s tall and blond with an earring and a gentle vibe. He tells me he did coke for the first time last night, and now gets why people say it’s fun. I’m surprised. Peter’s probably 28 and goes to the club a lot. He grew up in a small town in the South, so maybe it wasn’t a thing there? I like that he’s down to have fun but doesn’t totally rely on drugs and alcohol.

8 p.m. Peter’s dogsitting and has to go after halftime. I walk him out wondering whether he can tell I have a crush. Upstairs, I talk to my roommate’s friend Kyle. We have a mutual, this German girl Anna, whom I kissed before she got back together with her ex-girlfriend. Kyle says that Anna has not only broken up with her ex again but she’s been hitting on him. I tell him it’s hard not to hit on gay guys because they’re so much better groomed. Kyle informs me he’s bisexual.

9:30 a.m. I’m a newsletter editor at a PR firm, a newish job after three years of freelance. Still adjusting to office mornings. Gossip with a colleague about a cute co-worker who has a girlfriend. I’ve been single for two years and have started to resent people in relationships. After things ended with my college boyfriend, I was emotionally unavailable. Now, it’s hard to take anything seriously when I’m young, a flirt, and amused by life’s possibilities. Life’s possibilities have not yet included falling madly in love, but I’m hopeful.

10:30 a.m. Zach, a Hinge match getting his masters in “applied poetics,” texts to confirm our date. Tell him to meet me at a jazz bar around 8.

12:47 p.m. Leftover chili. Feeld message from the Hasidic guy. We matched on Saturday and I teased him about texting on Shabbat. He says he mostly dates within “the community” because secular people aren’t attracted to his peyot. I say growing up Jewish makes it kind of a forbidden thing. He replies, “Anything forbidden is hot,” then asks to meet at a Sunset Park sports bar. I don’t think I’m super-serious about linking up, which I feel less bad about when I remember he’s married.

3:57 p.m. Alert about an unpaid CityMD bill. Fuck.

7:40 p.m. Peter texts a link to a Lot Radio mix. Nice to know he’s thinking about me, but I can’t listen because I’m on my way to meet Zach. We’re the first people in the bar, and the music doesn’t start until 9. I’m still not used to how stiff app dates can feel — how weird it is not to have reference points for somebody.

We order Guinnesses. Conversation loosens. Zach’s from Florida, and the winter isn’t agreeing with him. He describes what he actually does in his applied poetics classes. Can’t tell if he’s nerdy, pretentious, or both. He has a charming, impish smile. Maybe pretentiousness isn’t the worst thing.

9:45 p.m. Another round. I run into a girl I went to middle school with, who’s on a second date, and a girl whose apartment I toured a year ago. Zach asks if I planned this. It might come across like I invited friends in case he was boring. He isn’t, but he’s not terribly entertaining, either.

11:09 p.m. Around the third Guinness, we go out for a cigarette. I’m talking to a trumpet player outside the bar. He’s older than us, mid-30s. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s very handsome. He can tell I’m on a date, but we’re making eyes. Tell him about a jazz show in Bushwick next week. He asks if I can send the flyer. “I’ll text it to you,” I say, and get his number right under Zach’s nose. Don’t hate the player!

12:37 a.m. Zach and I part at the M train. We hug, which feels more friendly than sexy.

I’m pretty drunk. As the train clanks over the Williamsburg Bridge, I text the trumpet player that I thought he was cute, but I was on a date. “I was trying not to stare at you too much,” he replies.

1:33 a.m. Home. Scarf down a bowl of noodles with pickled onions. The trumpet player is still texting. He’s too old, and I tell him so. “I guess you won’t be too young for me when you’re a little older,” he replies. Gross.

9:17 a.m. A couple holds hands on the Dekalb Avenue platform. Disgusting!!!

10:12 a.m. Hungover and exhausted at work. Peter’s Lot Radio set helps. I text him back to tell him so.

2:30 p.m. I’m too new to my job to have a work crush. This one guy a few desks over could be a passable option, but he’s not looking my way.

It’s so slow that I remember I never texted back Casey, the musician from Hinge whom I told I was at the talk. I ask them to coffee. “Friday’s great!” they reply instantly.

4 p.m. My friend Em asks me to come have a drink after work — they’re bartending in Brooklyn Heights, and it’s slow on Tuesdays. I’m going to trivia with my college friends, and it’s on the way.

5 p.m. Stop at Books Are Magic for a copy of American Pastoral.

6:04 p.m. Em is on shift with Polina, a playwright with bright blue hair and a self-professed addiction to rich faux artists.

Em heard from a friend that I matched on Hinge with a German girl in the same expat friend group as Anna, the girl I kissed who flirted with bisexual Kyle. The city is like two people wide. Finish my beer, tip Polina, and get on the G.

8:45 p.m. My friends and I arrive too late to get a table and go to a different bar. Mira has a boyfriend, Liam has a girlfriend, and Thomas talks about two girls he’s seeing — both pleasant, but he doesn’t feel anything.

9:47 p.m. Zach sends a John Ashbery poem. Read it on the subway.

11:39 p.m. I have a new Feeld like from an account where a man in a mask is getting his nipples rubbed by a girl’s feet while another tattooed girl drinks wine nearby. It would be fun to be in a femdom friend group.

8:30 a.m. Seeing Lucy, my crush, tonight. It’s sometimes hard to tell if women are looking for a friend or more, and I haven’t hacked asking without sacrificing mystique. My office outfit doesn’t feel very gay, whatever that means. I bring an extra shirt in case I want to feel more confident. If I end up sleeping over (!), I’ll wear it to work.

11:45 a.m. Really tense meeting. Tension is not resolved by me spilling coffee all over the table.

12:55 p.m. Lucy texts that she’ll be off at seven.

1:30 p.m. Lunch. I like my work friends, but professional boundaries make everything feel like small talk. Our office has a café for several agencies in the building, like a school cafeteria.

5:30 p.m. Office happy hour. I eat 600 shrimp shumai and drink a gimlet. They’re giving out Chinese almanacs: It’s a bad day to fix my stove.

7:08 p.m. Lucy’s from the city and lives at home. Her parents spend most of their time in L.A. It’s a nice place, artsy. I’m figuring out how to sit to convey that I’m hanging out in a gay way. We sit on the floor, drinking tea and talking about past relationships. Take her hand and play with her fingers to break the contact barrier. She lets me.

10:45 p.m. Go for a short, sweet kiss good-bye. I’m comfortable being an open lovergirl, but she’s nonchalant. Wondering if I read the vibe right. She’s about to visit family in Los Angeles and says she’ll text when she’s back.

11:52 p.m. Grant, a guy I’m seeing, texts that he needs to give my necklace back. I left it at his house last week before he went to Miami. “Might start wearing it,” he texts. Cheeky. I wish he meant it.

9:57 a.m. Get a newsletter advertising a DJ set. I went to a party this collective threw last summer and made out with a hot tattooed guy. I text him the link to see if he’s interested. “I saw that!” he replies. “Looks cool!” Strikeout!

10:30 a.m. Someone left a book called Raising Strong Daughters by the coffee station. Send a photo to my sister and mom with the caption, “book club???”

11:15 a.m. Lucy texts a photo of a license plate with my name on it. Cute!

12:45 p.m. Read a literary magazine’s newsletter about authors mentioned in the Epstein Files. Send it to my most literary friend asking for a second opinion on whether it’s dumb (I think so). “Bad writing,” my friend replies.

5:30 p.m. The whole office leaves for a “getting to know you” drink in midtown. I haven’t interacted too much with my co-workers after hours.

7 p.m. Get a Guinness and make small talk. Realize that it’s my fifth Guinness this week and say so. Do I sound like an alcoholic?

9:30 p.m. Scrolling Instagram on the train. My best friend’s old fling posted a photo-booth strip with a new girlfriend. I decide not to break the news.

9:50 p.m. Walking home, I text Grant to ask if he’s around. “Lol,” he replies, “going to be home a little later.” Later won’t cut it! I’m a sleepy girl!

11:45 p.m. Maybe not that sleepy. End up texting Casey about cassette tapes and skiing for two hours before our date tomorrow. “I’m so addicted to staying up even when I’m in bed by 11,” I say. “Girl, you’re not alone,” Casey replies.

10 a.m Ugh. Should not have stayed up. “Good morning” text from Casey. I’m having friends over for dinner and haven’t figured out what to make.

1:35 p.m. This day has felt bonkers. I need to leave to meet Casey for a walk in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Today, I’m remote, so I’m still on the clock.

5:07 p.m. Zero chemistry. Bad dates are the worst. All that lost potential just sits there. One of my friends has arrived early by the time I get home. We go to get ingredients for meatballs.

9 p.m. Dinner and wine with more friends. We eat great: spaghetti, meatballs, pastries from that one delicious Italian bakery in Carroll Gardens. We consider going dancing, but stay in and watch the world’s shittiest Greta Gerwig movie.

3:30 a.m My friend Sarah sleeps over. We stay up pulling tarot cards and talking about if we’re ready for love.

11:45 a.m. My cat meowed all night. We sleep in.

2:20 p.m. We get delicious Italian sandwiches. It’s bright, a perfect day for being with your bestie, looking at everyone else’s boyfriend posts.

5:30 p.m. Lying around in bed. Sarah checks my Feeld and sees the femdom feet guy. She suggests we send a picture of her feet for him to appraise. He responds “Gorgeous!” We ask for a photo, but it isn’t that cute. We unmatch and take a nap.

9:30 p.m. Sarah and I are groggy. We’re trying to drag ourselves to a DJ set but end up at the bar with three gay guy friends, plus a redhead who doesn’t seem to like us.

11:30 p.m. Find out two gin-and-tonics later it’s because she thought I was fucking her ex, an even funnier mistake when I find out her best friend is fucking mine. A little shaken by the news — hearing about this ex always hits a nerve. We were very close but drifted very far after it didn’t work out.

1 a.m. After this bombshell, I’m determined to redeem my night. We go to the DJ set. It’s pretty thin. I’m dreading the inevitable $50 Uber home when lo and behold, my old manager shows up. He’s bored because his girlfriend is in Spain and offers me a lift back to our neighborhood. Score.

2:35 a.m. Against my better judgement, look at old pictures of my ex. Hope there’s romantic luck ahead for me.

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