I Went to a Mixer for Millionaire Bachelors and All I Got Was This Real Estate Brochure
Here's what happened...
I Went to a Mixer for Millionaire Bachelors — Here's What Happened
BY SABLE YONGAugust 30, 2017
THE BACHELOR, DeAnna Pappas, Estefania, Jenni, Michele, Jade, Brad Womack, Mallory, Kristy, Erin, Hillary, Sheena, Sarah, (Season 11, episode 1101, aired September 24, 2007), 2002-,. Photo: Karen Neal / © ABC / courtesy everett collectionEverett Collection
Since I was a wee lass, my mom had always encouraged me to marry rich — didn't say he had to be a doctor or a lawyer, just wealthy. I mean, don't all parents want their babies to be taken care of in adulthood, and subsequently take care of them in return? I had grown up thinking that finding a husband with fat stacks of cash was the epitome of success, never mind my own self-made stacks. (I also insisted as a kid that when I grew up I wanted to doodle on napkins for a living, so I think my parents were mostly concerned that their daughter was destined headlong for the lifelong struggles of a napkin artist).
I'd dated a rich dude or two in the wanton youth of my early 20s, and let me tell you — along with having all your meals paid for, fancy things at your beck and call, and never having to take a subway, rich dudes have so many uniquely strange and tedious issues that can only come from an extremely privileged upbringing with little to no actual character-building conflict (unless you count the extreme pressure from their wealthy families to be some sort of business mogul) or sense of reality. Look, they're fun and all, but they're a fussy bunch and after a while, I get really bored of being constantly reminded of how "cute" my career/life choices are "for now."
Ya, I'm being judge-y, but that's been my experience of close encounters with the one percent.
Anyway, fast forward to the present, where I, a successful career woman, am invited to a singles mixer in the Hamptons where the premise is that all the dudes are of elite millionaire status. The "exclusive matchmaking soiree" was hosted by Lasting Connections, a professional matchmaking service based in New York City, and teased the tantalizing presence of "NYC’s most eligible bachelors."Now. I have never actually seen an episode of The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, but I really enjoy crashing parties with rich eligible bachelors so that's basically the same thing. I booked an AirBnb in the Hamptons and threw my most carefree rich girl dresses into a weekender for what was bound to be a fruitful reaping of wealthy digits.
Pre-soiree, a crumb of self-doubt caught in my throat. What is literally the point of me doing this? Did I really think I was actually going to meet a man who could share my love for dingy punk basement shows, late night tacos, and B horror films? (Prob not.) Would he also love or even appreciate my pet Ranchu goldfish, Popcorn? (Doubtful.) Did I really just want to attend a fancy party in the Hamptons and watch a bunch of rich freaks while double-fisting shrimp cocktail? (Mostly that.)
I entertained the idea of creating a fictional persona: some sort of Tennessee Williams damsel — a fallen heiress determined to reenter society on the arm of a hedge fund manager or venture capitalist. Someone worldly and finishing-schooled with a spaced-out surname, like Van Der Kneelsön, and a first name that was pronounced in some frou-frou way like Clow-dia, but spelled the normal way with maybe a gratuitous accent grave to imply that I'm no mere pleb. Claudià Van Der Kneelsön would have some sort of vague ambiguous accent — like mid-Atlantic but also with a peppering of British colloquialisms like "queue" or tom-ah-to so you just knew that she's spent at least a good chunk of her formative years someplace where they speak the queen's English.
I decided against that because I can't keep a poker face worth a damn and I'm not even sure what a mid-Atlantic accent is. I donned a modestly sexy ruffled long-sleeve low-cut wrap dress and went with a neutral shimmery dewy makeup lewk.
The idea was to appear inviting but also completely disinterested:
As I was getting ready in my AirBnb's house, my host (let's call her J) popped in to offer me a lift to the event, tentatively asking, "Hey... would it be cool if we came along?" She was a woman around my age and her elegant European friend was also staying at the house for the weekend with no plans for a Saturday night.
"OK, sure!"
I will say, that was the smartest decision I've made all night. Both of them seemed game to people-watch with an open bar and honestly, a trio of beautiful women make for a fabulous entrance to any event. You should try it sometime.
There was a huge Open House sign on the lawn of the sprawling house where the party was being hosted, located in a fairly secluded development in a ritzy part of town. Brochures for the property and several issues of a local lifestyle magazine were spread over nearly every surface inside. We made straight for the bar and the food on the back patio where cater-waiters made rounds with hors d'oeuvres.
All the women in attendance appeared way more dressed up than us, the majority of which appeared in their early 30s or late 20s, while the men mostly appeared to be in their mid-40s and older, fulfilling the expectations of my cynicism. The two youngest men in the room who appeared to maybe be mid-late 20s immediately plunked down on a sofa in front of the pool, hands and eyes glued to their phones.
My plus-ones and I huddled in the kitchen near to where new trays of snacks would come out, surveying how we all chose to spend our evening.
"Yeah, no one here is cute," J said, in between bites of a skewered gyoza.
Every dude seemed to have been in a uniform of ill-fitting boot-cut jeans and an untucked button-down shirt in varying pastel shades. I noticed that the older the gentleman, the more likely they were to be that guy wearing sunglasses indoors. There was one older gentleman in a tiny red blazer who throughout the evening would regale any open ear of his flush finances, which to me is either the perfect red herring to a lifetime of debt OR a man who really commits to party themes.
I stood calmy by the wayside, swirling my shrimp cocktail, wondering astutely what Marissa Cooper and Summer Roberts would be doing in this situation.
The answer is probably tequila shooters and a fair amount of coke, neither of which is really my style. J and her pal were in friendly spirits, which made socializing thankfully much less weird.
"So, who do you wanna talk to?" J asked me, going above and beyond as wing-woman and host. My answer would be no one but that defeats the purpose of this romantic death march so she pointed out two men in matching belts (notable because there were tiny whales and sharks on said belts) to approach for some social toe-dipping.
I don't actually remember how the bulk of that conversation went because I couldn't help but think of that guy in Futurama who was too busy being an '80s guy. I asked the obvious "So what brings you here?" question, the answer to which I'd come to realize would be the same for nearly every dude there — "oh my buddy so-and-so knows the guy who's repping this house listing/works for the magazine sponsoring this event, who invited me." Either most of them are lying or this wasn't as exclusive an event as it was purported to be. I guess it's good then that I did not lead with my original ice breaker, which was "Hello, how much money do you have, please?"
Anyway, J and shark-belt dude seemed to be chatting it up, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom and bumped into the event host and CEO of Lasting Connections, Sameera Sullivan. I mostly wanted to pick her brain about her job because, damn, how do you get to a point in your life when alleged millionaires pay you to set them up on dates with your friends? Consensus is still unclear, but Sameera explained how her operation works — she interviews women who apply to be in her database and figures out if they're able to be matched with her clients. Only men seem to pay for this service, and she works with other matchmakers to cross-pollinate databases. If you're a straight woman, this is probably a much lower-lift than online dating, especially if your main concern is that a suitor isn't interested in a serious relationship or might potentially murder you (to my understanding background checks are done on all participating parties).
Sameera was constantly glancing around the room, hawk-eyeing her party guests, before abruptly turning to me and asking me if I liked outdoorsy activities (I do not), before we were interrupted by other guests inquiring about certain gentlemen. I let her talk shop and returned to find my new friends.
J waved me over, still chatting with Shark Belt. "You should come over here and hear about this guy's skincare line!"
Reader, there is little I enjoy more than talking beauty with mostly anyone, but especially dudes.
I tend to grill them the way bro-dudes grill women who claim to be into sports because I am a joy to behold.
Unfortunately Shark Belt cared less about product development than the actual ROI of how easy it apparently is to launch a skin-care product let alone a skin-care line, much to my deflated expectations.
"I just write checks," Shark Belt remarked, after explaining that all it takes is lining up the right people who work in the right places and giving them money to make you money. I decided that Shark Belt probably knows more about business than beauty so I pivoted the conversation to business because how often do I have the opportunity to pick the brains of hypothetically self-made business moguls? Mid-conversation, a touch on my arm or the small of my back indicated that perhaps I was not being completely charmless, but also — good gravy! I forgot that I was technically at a white collar singles mixer, mixing.
Time flies when you're being underwhelmed, standing in heels for three hours.
Sameera swanned by us, exclaiming, "Oh that's so funny that you two are talking — I was going to introduce you two. He's the one who's into outdoors things!"
Look, if there's one thing no one was swag-bagging tonight, it's LUV — I knew that from the start. And OK, yeah I gave Shark Belt my digits because Shark Belt made the very disarmingly astute observation in praise of my glowing and flawless complexion, and I am a human woman who is not immune to compliments! But I fear that a romance between us would be ill-fated due to my aversion to recreational physical exertion and also glowering vexation with such a dispassionate attitude towards one's own extreme privilege. To be fair, Sameera did mention that most of her clients did not attend the event due to their "discreet" nature, which doesn't surprise me. Real millionaires are very busy and time conscious, are they not? They're probably spending time with their kids from their first marriages on the weekends, I imagine. It's plebs like me that crash novelty parties at open houses.
Mostly, what I'm saying is the the moral of this story is: don't look for love in open house.
Last edited:
