Mathey / Rocky
They’re objectively beautiful. Cultured. Nuanced. The only problem is our age gap.
I really like their history lectures, but I worry our relationship can only exist in les amphithéâtres. They drink their coffee black, they enjoy cold cigarettes, and they are far too knowledgeable about Hegel to limit our small talk to one minute.
Wait, there’s two! They’re like Fred and George Weasley, except they’re actually from The Secret History. They’ve got everything figured out, from tasteful dinner playlists to tweed jackets. When we’re together, I wonder if they are thinking deeper thoughts because they have undergone darker desolations. I don’t know, this age gap makes me insecure. I didn’t get placed in “FRS 101: Navigating Relationships with Seniors” because my problem was harder–no professor could teach a class on navigating relationships with professors.
At the end of the day, we can’t date. I’m too Julia and they’re too Shakespearean. Can’t swipe right on HUM professors.
New College West
Addy hall? More like daddy hall.
They actually kissed me at a party, though they avoided eye contact the next day. Daytime coffee fiend, nighttime party friend. Young inheritor of an entire coffee shop, they truly are serving Dionysian hedonism. Artistic melancholy dies in front of them; who cares about tortured souls? Unable to imagine rooms with no AC, this spoiled trust fund babe has never known the delicious anguish of old carpets. ARGH! I’m obsessed.
But to date or not to date, that is the question. Despite their urban glam and undeniable rizz, there are no wedding bells. I could only ask for a small salty situationship, then pay the emotional price.
Whitman
Always in dark academia fits although they’re literally the younger one. Perhaps it’s for the plot. Of course they didn’t get it when I said “for the plot,” because they’re such a classicist. They keep talking about Cicero, albeit repeating that they don’t want to be the Cicero dude. It’s okay, I still appreciate their comfort-meets-cozy aesthetic, Pinterest-level #oldmoney, niche playlist with music hinting at bisexuality.
Fine, they ghosted me for a week. They just said they went on a mission. W hitman, I guess. Perhaps they’re gaslighting me, but I think they’re just hamletcore (aka suffering clinical depression). How could anyone be mad at someone who isn’t old enough to attend a PUID Eating Club event? Watching Dead Poets Society as a PG-13 evening pastime, they silently sniffled when Neil decided to leave this stupid world behind. Poor kid.
I could fix them. Would totally date.
Butler
A walking brick red flag. I’m intrigued but mama said no.
Forbes
So demure. So cottage core. So nature-loving. I just want to hold them in my hands until they agree to go out for brunch every weekend. But they might spoil me with food, and it’s not compatible with my gym goals. Whenever I mention gym, they just laugh at me and hand me a chocolate-covered strawberry from the fountain. The chocolate one, not the SPIA one.
They don’t get out much–so distant, both physically and emotionally. If I were to date them, the talking stage would last all four years of my Princeton career. It’s not even a slow burn, it’s a continental drift k-drama series. But I can’t quite blame their reserved, introspective side, because they did have a slutty hotel phase. That’s long ago though.
I feel guilty, but I don’t think we can date. They have both high avoidance and high anxiety… and I don’t have the emotional capacity to handle this killer combo.
Yeh
They broke the rules–double majoring in Poe and Pardee fields of study.
Actually, during their freshman fall they were so set on majoring in ORFE they accepted the outrageously high-paying scam internships questionable employers injected into their Princeton gmail account. Turns out, the employers wanted not only their Net ID but also their post-gym arm pics, so now, traumatized, they spend all their free time investing in the stock market. It’s not for the money, it’s for the Rolex. Nobody will notice that they’ve been wearing the same pair of shoes since day 1 as long as the wrist is iced.
Of course they highkey got drip. Brutalist fits hit hard, paying homage to Olivia Rodrigo’s “God, it’s brutal out here!” But they’d never listen to her; they exclusively listen to Ty Dolla $ign and 50 Cent. Last time, DM-ing me on LinkedIn, they offered to cook a multi-course cross-cultural meal on our first date (if we were to go on one). But when they showed me around their kitchen, their black plates made me wonder if I wasn’t ORFE-coded enough to appreciate this ambiguously arbitrary design. They just think they’re cool; it’s part of the new money mindset.
If they asked me out and I said yeah, would that be oddly intimate because I’d be essentially calling their name? Even if nothing works out, Hobson is just a hop away.
