Because everyone needs their worldview toppled every now and again, a new study from the University of Toronto just shattered my optimism by isolating the real reasons couples have sex. And trust me – it’s not what you think.

Rather than doing the deed for fun, to relieve sexual tension, or just out of plain old Lusty McPleasureson reasons (how novel), researchers found that couples’ horizontal motivations fell into one of two categories: approach or avoidance.

Holy f**king depressing, Canada. Thanks a lot.

The approach method means that the participants are trying to feel connected to their partner, and the avoidance motive “aims to evade a negative outcome,” i.e. to avoid conflict or to avoid feeling guilty. And speaking as a female who (earmuffs, mom and dad) genuinely enjoys having sex, I have to say, wow – it just doesn’t get any more romantic than that, gentlemen.

The study included couples who were dating, cohabitating, or married, and further divided the avoidance and approach findings down into self-focused and partner-focused goals.

While the survey found that motivations were generally similar whether the couples were dating, cohabitating, or actually married, regardless of the respondent’s gender, and also didn’t vary greatly depending upon frequency of sexual encounters (ugh, really?), they did learn that a person’s sexual motivation greatly affected his or her partner’s gratification. I mean…duh.

So basically, couples know each other well enough to know when their partner’s heart isn’t in it, or when his or her motivations are off. Which, while still depressing, is at least a good sign. Right? Trying to find a silver lining here, people.

Interestingly enough, researchers placed special focus on whether it really matters to your partner why you want to have sex, so long as they’re getting what they want. The answer, they found, is yes. Additionally, they aimed to find out if it’s better to have sex for negative, or avoidance, reasons than not at all, and found that the answer is…complicated.

“Research shows that on days when we have sex we feel more satisfied in our relationship than on days when we don’t. And yet when people have sex more often for negative motives, the bad outcomes build up over time.” Sigh. So then are we all figuratively, if not literally, screwed?

Not necessarily. The study suggested that for couples feeling like they’d just rather go to sleep most nights, they should try tuning into the emotional connection between his or herself and their partner to help the physical connection fall into place. Communicating more about topics outside of the bedroom not surprisingly helps resolve issues inside the bedroom. So get to talking, everybody. Stat.

And if all else fails, there’s always lingerie, porn, or hitting the gym to try and rev up a stalled sex life. Just don’t resort to the charity f**k. There’s nothing worse than throwing your partner a bone out of sheer obligation. Except, you know, not doing it at all.GEEK WINGMAN

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Miss Wingman spends an unnatural amount of time on social media scouring for ideas and cultivating topics for your leisure reading enjoyment. Thus, it stands to reason that eventually, I’d grow tired of some of the most overused phrases that people spew forth in their status updates and Twitter feeds. (Full disclosure, I’m guilty of some of these, too.)

So forgive the departure from my usual dating advice, but here are the 10 words & phrases that, while once alive and well, should now die a slow and painful Internet death. (Sorry, millenials.)

Sorry not sorry. This sounds like something a 15-year-old girl would say while applying lipgloss in her locker mirror. It’s more infantile than DGAF. In any case, unless you’re telling someone that Wednesdays are for wearing pink, and sweatpants mean you can’t sit with us, maybe let this one die. (“Gretchen, stop trying to make ‘Fetch’ happen. It’s not going to happen.”)

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

You guys… Are all 856 people you just sent that update/Tweet out to on your speed dial? Are they your besties? Because if not, presenting your thoughts like this sounds like we should be braiding each others’ hair and sending out snapchats while we discuss.

That moment when… I’ll admit it. I’ve used this one in a “That moment when you realize you had a sticker stuck to your ass after you’ve walked 20 blocks in public”-kind of way. But still, much like the “Dear (so and so), blah blah blah short revelation. Love, me” status update that people adore so much, for some reason, when this one gets stale, it gets really, really stale.

______ is everything. Paging Rachel Zoe, half of the writers at US Weekly, and, like, every fashion blogger in America. Posting “OMG, this GIF of Jennifer Lawrence in Chanel is everything!” is not only inaccurate, it’s depressing. Because if that shit really is everything, then I’ll be forced to tap out now, thanks.


…said no one, ever. I mean, I’m just spitballing here, but if no one ever said that sarcastic/ironic thing you just pointed out, then maybe you shouldn’t, either?

Epic. The only overused word I despise more than “twerk.” Was that story about your night of drinking/five-tiered cheeseburger/the backflip some guy just did composed like a lengthy Greek narrative? Did it involve someone named Odysseus? No? Then you’re using it wrong, brah. And it probably wasn’t as awesome as you think.

‘Murica, Errrday, or any general misuse of the letter “r.” This may be kind of insensitive, but did you just have a stroke? Is the “r” key on your keyboard stuck? Because those are the only excuses for talking like you’re Lil’ Wayne after too much sizzurp. Also, stay away from that purple drank, kids.

Farm-to-table. Don’t misunderstand, I’m all for the idea of buying fresh, locally grown, not mass produced food. But this phrase, while culinarily accurate, just can’t help but sound… a little douchey. Like, I get it, I just think if you use these words in combination, there better be a man in overalls holding a pitchfork hand delivering me my dinner.

Content anything (creation, strategist, etc), crowdsourcing, or any other media buzzword people use that may or may not sound like a made up job. And no, I will not donate to your Kickstarter. And finally…

Cronut. Because seriously, shut the eff up about cronuts already.ETIQUETTE WINGMAN

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The single most asked about topic Miss Wingman fields on a daily basis is how to approach a woman at a bar. It’s the million dollar question for dudes of all ages. That’s why when a stone cold stranger won me over with his own charming approach this past weekend, I knew I had to share this fail-safe tactic. It’s just that good.

Now, let the record show that said dude’s “method” (if you can call it that, but it sounds too calculated), was neither flawless, nor did it result in any actual after-hours encounter. But it damn near could’ve for a lot of women, and here’s precisely why…

The scene: At a bar watching playoff baseball and college football in the West Village (shocking, I know.)

The players: Miss Wingman, two friends (one female, one male), two randoms, the hero of our story who we’ll refer to as “Tall Dave,” and one of Tall Dave’s buddies from an adjacent table full of bros who we’ll refer to simply as “Wing-friend.”

How it went down: I was standing with my friend (the girl), when two guys walked up and began to chat us up. Maybe it was because I was a few glasses of scotch deep, maybe it was because they were both – forgive me – painfully not my type, or maybe it was because I was disgusted at how unobservant they were (my friend was wearing a hard to miss wedding ring), but I had zero interest in speaking to Random 1 and Random 2. And yes, if that makes them sound like socially awkward Dr. Seuss characters, it’s because basically, they were.

At first I was able to avoid engaging in the conversation, but soon enough I was being forced to make idle chatter as I scanned the bar, waiting for her husband to swoop in and save us. It was at that moment that I made eye contact with a guy at a neighboring table who, watching the social hostage-taking situation unfold, shot me an unmistakeable “Ooof, that’s brutal” look, while smiling in amusement.

I couldn’t help but start laughing (to myself, like a lunatic because I’m the only one who saw his reaction), and I struggled to keep a straight face as Random 1 and Random 2 continued to drone on and I stared down helplessly into my rocks glass.  I glanced back over at my new compatriot and saw that now he was laughing, too, as he made a “cut that shit off” gesture with his hand. By now I was outright laughing, and a few moments later, Tall Dave walked towards me as his friends finished paying their bill and began to leave the bar.

Desperate for an escape, I looked right at him and said loudly, “Hey! Oh my god how are you? It’s so good to see you!” (*Editor’s note: I know, it was shady of me, but whatever. Tall Dave barely skipped a beat and began to play along like a boss.)

So I continued, “(Friend’s name redacted), come here, I want you to meet someone! This is my friend…” and then I waited until he introduced himself, because pshhtt! The hell if I know. I had no idea what the f**k this guy’s name was, only that he was coming to my rescue (and Amen to that, brotha.) But apparently, his name was Tall Dave.

OK fine, I added the tall part. But seriously, he was really, really, tall.


Soon after our feigned impromptu run in, the Random Twins got the hint and exited stage left, and Tall Dave and I clued my friend into the fact that we’d never met before in our lives. She was as amused by this as I was that he’d intervened at all. Then he introduced us to his buddy, Wing-friend (also married), and we all made small talk for a little while.

Eventually, Tall Dave admitted that he was on his way out the door to a nearby bar for a friend’s birthday, which is where the rest of his crew had already disappeared to, and asked if we’d like to join them across the street. We told them we’d love to, but were going to grab some food, then we might make our way over after dinner. I thanked him again for his chivalry, and we all parted ways.

Before you cry foul, arguing that the evening not ending in a pile of discarded clothing on the floor means that it wasn’t a successful pickup, let me assure you – it was a near-perfect execution. He managed to come across as charming, funny, and socially adaptable all in the span of about 10 minutes. And he made me laugh, which is the single most important thing you can do to get a girl’s attention.

He even employed the right Wing-friend in the equation by choosing someone that wouldn’t present himself as competition, since homeboy was wearing a wedding ring himself. Where Tall Dave went wrong, however, was only thing: he should’ve asked to get a phone number before they left the bar.

Because you never know where the night might take you, and sometimes people down a few more shots and end up in a food coma-induced stupor and are too tired to keep the party going. And sometimes friends dip out early, and no girl – at least no girl who’s not borderline desperate – is going to roll into a bar full of strangers all by her lonesome to find some guy she just met for a hot minute. Even if he was pretty cute, in a disarming way.

It should be said, however, that the key to this whole interaction was that it didn’t come off as “game.” Tall Dave neither seemed like a player, nor did this seem like the type of schtick he usually pulls with women. That doesn’t mean this wasn’t his go-to move, I suppose it’s possible that it could be, it just means that it didn’t feel like it at all. It came across as a genuine human reaction, and authenticity’s hard to find in a bar.

So the moral of the story, gentleman, is that the ability to throw a lifeline to a woman in a situation we’ve all encountered (and sometimes dreaded) provides the perfect lane to make your entrance. It sends the message that you’re down to earth, witty, and – most importantly – harmless.

May you all learn something from this feat. It takes a confident man to make the awkward choreography of the cold approach feel endearing. May you all find your inner Tall Dave. And to Tall Dave, wherever you are, I salute you.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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New York Fashion Week’s finally over, which means the women of Manhattan can stop sucking in, everyone can start nursing their event hangovers, and Miss Wingman can once again walk down the street without feeling like an oompa loompa in a sea of beautiful, leggy amazons.

For the guys, some of you may be wondering what men’s trends came out of the model melee (um, in between watching NFL games and postseason baseball, obviously.) So, just in case you gentlemen were thinking of taking some fashion risks with your Spring/Summer 2014 looks, you might want to think twice before you try out these emerging trends.

Not because the designers aren’t all talented in their own rights, but because they’re not creating clothing for straight men looking to attract hetero females.

Or not-so hetero, whatever you’re into.

Thus, here are the 8 worst men’s Fashion Week trends to avoid, if you value your sex life. Because yes, every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man, but this shit is ridiculous.

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Patterned suits. If you believe people like Mark McNairy (who I normally love, sigh..) and designer Libertine, the louder the better. But if you believe the rest of the female population, we wouldn’t be caught dead walking alongside you in this.

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Or this, for that matter. Shorter fabric on the legs doesn’t make it any less visually offensive or vagina repellent, sorry. And while we’re on McNairy, this other runway masterpiece…

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Head to toe camouflage. To be fair, I’m not anti-camo. But I am anti- guys dressing like a Navy SEAL lying in a remote swamp waiting to put down a guerilla insurgency. This is far from acceptable streetwear. On the upside, you won’t get made fun of because no one will be able to see you. But on the downside, women will think you’re an extra from “Tropic Thunder.”



Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Iridescent metallics. Unless you work at a futuristic, sci-fi themed restaurant and are forced to accessorize this with an alien head mask, there is no earthly reason (zing!) to rock this look. On any planet.

Thomas Iannaccone/WWD

Thomas Iannaccone/WWD

Bold pants. Remember the color bars that come on during a network TV outage? Yeah, so does designer Jeremy Scott. But sorry bro, they don’t look so hot wrapped around your glutes. (Or with a mesh shirt and Flock of Seagulls hairdo, for that matter. Scratch that – a Flock of Seagulls hairdo is EXACTLY what you’d be expected to wear along with those pants.)

Sure, we all loved the circus as kids, but no need to bring the Big Top back in your trouser selection. And yes, I just said “trousers.” Because I’m geriatric.

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

The “Pants? Who needs ‘em!” look. But don’t make the mistake of being so worried about ugly pants that you forego them altogether. Because seriously, man. Put some f**king pants on.

Thomas Iannaccone/WWD

Thomas Iannaccone/WWD

But not if they look like this. Sure, dudes can wear pink. If Mark Sanchez can rock a headband, guys can certainly wear pink. What they can’t do, however, is don patent leather pants with a matching patent leather jacket. In any color. In public. Ever.

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

And lastly, whatever the f**k this is.

Maybe it’s because it’s a stenciled tunic. Or possibly, because it resembles pajamas. But whatever Libertine’s calling it, women definitely won’t want to crawl into bed with you if you wear it. But they might want to borrow your necklace.DAPPER WINGMAN

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In a perfect world, we’d all find true love, work at places like this (best. company. ever.), Matsui would be a Yankee again, and Ryan Gosling would have me on speed dial.

But, reality can suck sometimes. Which means our expectations aren’t always met, and on occasion, people behave disingenuously. Case in point, a recent study by the American Sociological Association entitled “Who Pays for Dates? Following vs Challenging Conventional Gender Norms” found that (gasp!) sometimes women do things that they don’t actually mean. Things like fake pulling out their wallet to fake offer to pay on a date even when 39% of them admit they’re hoping the man rejects the overture.

I know – worldview blown. Next thing you know the brain trust at some think tank’s going to tell you that women don’t actually like entitled A-holes, either (despite their fancy banker duds.)

After you stop reeling from the shock of it all, I’d like to call your attention to two noteworthy points in this uber groundbreaking story (you win the Duh Award, Slate.)


Firstly, we’ve been over this before, gentlemen. You know my position on who pays. (“hashtag” #dontbecheap.) Also PLEASE STOP SAYING HASHTAG OUT LOUD.

But just in case you need a refresher…

And secondly: wait, exactly how many PhD’s did it take to determine that gender-based attitudes have evolved on some things (like women in the workplace), but not others (like what a man’s chivalrous responsibility is on a date)?

Bitch please. You don’t need a panel of experts and 17,000 survey applicants to figure that out. Drinks with four of my best girlfriends would’ve told you the same thing.ETIQUETTE WINGMAN

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Because nothing says, “let’s take our friendship to an uncomfortable level” like asking people about their penises, Shawnee Barton, a writer for The Atlantic has taken to polling the people in her life about their, um, junk. Or rather, their son’s junk, in an effort to figure out whether she should have her newborn son circumcised. And what did she find out?

Apparently, everyone’s creeped out by the flesh turtleneck.

To be fair, they’re actually more concerned about uncircumcised men’s ability to procure oral sex than creeped out, but their sympathy smacks a little of disdain. So what’s an uncircumcised guy to do? Is the Foreskin Fo’ Life title dooming dudes into a future of celibacy (or at least, of handy’s)?

Hell if I know, I don’t have a penis (despite what some angry Redditors claim.) But I have heard an anecdote or three about women who’ve had to befriend a foreskin unexpectedly, and here’s what I do know: women aren’t as cool with it as everyone would like to think.

Sorry fellas, but before you point that torch-wielding hate mob in my direction, hear me out. I’m not saying that the author’s sources were right, that women don’t want anything to do with the penis poncho. Many an uncircumcised man has successfully procured a mate and procreated, all without ostracism. I’m just saying that, upon our initial introduction to his…cloaked manhood, lots of women find it jarring. Or need a moment to adjust to the scenario. The first time, at least.

On the flip side, if you suddenly came upon a woman with a vajayjay piercing or giant labia, you might be startled too. And even though you weren’t passing judgment or being squeamish, you’d still need a second to navigate this new landscape, right? It’s the same thing.

We’re not branding unsnipped dudes mutants, we just don’t always know how handle that equipment. And as I’m sure you’ve lamented many times during tedious sexual encounters, it’s not like penises come with an instruction book (let alone uncircumcised ones.) Vaginas, however, should – some of you could use it.

That said, if the woman possesses basic levels of sensitivity (shrieking “ew!” is generally frowned upon), or if the uncircumcised dude helps walk her through the mechanics, the hookup should be fairly seamless and minimally awkward. Until later, when that first time hood-handler recounts the “holy sh*t I was NOT expecting that!” story to her roommates (as was the case with a few of my college friends, who know who they are.)


But being prepped beforehand, educated on the mechanics and being able to Google images of it doesn’t mean women won’t still be thrown. It’s not Europe, where 80% of dudes fall into the frenulum-friendly category and women are seasoned pros at the pull-back. In Europe, it’s also not customary to give your fiancee an engagement ring, but good luck convincing American women that’s a good idea, too. Some things just take getting used to.

But here’s where this story takes an even stranger twist: I was less thrown by the overly optimistic reader comments on uncircumcised peen acceptance in the article than by the amount of people who made the association between their infant sons and blow jobs to begin with. What. The. F**k, people.

Picturing (or prepping for, whatever) the day when your child will be in a sexual situation and how to help them along – or at least, how to not literally C-block them – may sound like forethought to some, but to the rest of us it seems inappropriate.

Baby parts are baby parts, man parts are man parts, and connecting the dots between the two, for anyone who’s spent a lot of time around children, is bizarre. Even in the spirit of trying to protect them from rejection. I don’t even want to think about my nephews having a childhood crush someday, let alone their junk in any situation that doesn’t involve diaper changing. But I digress…

If the author’s friends and family are to be believed, men whose parents shun the high & tight birthright will be relegated to a lifetime of women (who normally hand out blow jobs like candy, presumably) not wanting to go down on them. But if the rest of the male population is to be believed, nbd, bro! It’s not because of your accessorized appendage that women are freezing you out, it’s because us frigid women just hate giving oral sex period. “It’s hard enough for a guy to get a blow job as it is,” was one man’s pro-snipping rationale. Sigh.

So take heart, gentlemen. You might have a “BJ unfriendly” wang, but it sucks to be us, too (or, you know, doesn’t…) Because in the end, you’ll never stop believing we hate giving head anyway.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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If I see one more guy walking around carrying a navy blue canvas duffel bag, I’ll vomit.

Do me a favor, boys, and set down your corporate logo-emblazoned, work-issued, blue and green douche-tastic man purse and back away slowly…That’s it, yeah, just like that. Arms above your head and step away from the object in question. Why?

Because it makes you look like a Grade A, 100%, Certified A**hole, that’s why.

    Image Courtesy of (ugh, yes, that actually exists)

If you’re lucky enough to not know what I’m referring to, you either don’t live in a major metropolitan city like NYC, or you don’t hang out with anyone who works for a private investment firm or a bank. Either way, this carryall of the masses is the ubiquitous uniform of finance dudes everywhere. And it’s an accessory that needs to die.

Now hear this, gentlemen: I’m not saying that if you work in investment banking, private equity, for a hedge fund, what have you, that it automatically makes you an insufferable prick. There are plenty of good ones who get lumped in with the riffraff, it’s true.

I’m just saying that all of the men I’ve come across who fit that description happen to work in those industries. I don’t meet many school teachers, journalists or bartenders who exude a similar sense of entitlement, do you?

So is it a coincidence? Maybe. Am I a jerk for stereotyping? Probably. But I’m a jerk who wouldn’t sleep with you if you were carrying that rubbish, so you might want to listen up.

I know that these bags are work-issued, and that you use them to tote your gym clothes around. But guess what? Just because it’s free, doesn’t mean you should use it. It’s like wearing a sign around your neck that says, “I may or may not be a horrible person, care to play the odds?” Um, no thanks. Vault that sh*t, boys. For real.

It’s statements like this, which I’m saddened to admit that I found on a beloved blog, that only reinforce my contention that people who drink the banker bag Kool-Aid are woefully misguided: “The Goldman Sachs bag is obviously the most coveted and respected of all the investment bank options — not only for its classic navy and green design — but also because of the bank’s prowess in the cutthroat world of finance. That also raises the question of how you are treated when you carry an investment bank duffel? Are the salespeople at Bergdorf more helpful? Are women more interested in you?”

Here’s the answer (in between gagging): Perhaps, sales people might be more attentive to you, God help us all. But any woman who likes you because you carry this classic prepster staple probably isn’t into you for your charming personality (and some of us are straight up repelled by it). So what’s your recourse, boys? Find an alternative.

Hudson Sutler, a company run by a couple of reformed finance-types, has created a more tasteful alternative. Equally disgusted by the poor quality, stigmatized accessories carried by their brethren, they launched their own line of commuter bags and weekenders a few years ago and the rest, as they say, is history.

Their bags, which range from $95-$130, come in a variety of colors and feature stick-proof resin zippers and customized, patterned linings, like plaids, pointer dogs and anchors. The two-tone color palette is still guy-friendly – think grays, reds and browns – but doesn’t scream “I’m a Master of the Universe!” like it’s Wall Street-worn predecessor.

And, for the truly proud alumnus, they’ve even discussed the possibility of incorporating university colors or logos, but only for large orders, so hit up your buddies if you’re into it, bro.

So carry your stuff in a Sutler, carry it in a backpack, hell carry it in a grocery cart if you’d like. But ditch the banker bag if you care to shirk the D-bag stigma, and raise the bar while you’re at it, boys. Chicks will thank you for it, Miss Wingman applauds you for it, and as for upping your style points? Consider it in the bag.DAPPER WINGMAN

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