“Gurrrl, you on your own? You gotta try a Sugar Daddy on for size, for rrreal.” Then he dragged extra hard on a Marlboro Light...you know, for emphasis.
The Sugar Daddy Advocate was one of my new favorite archetypes, the Gay-Ghetto-Hipster, a mix of ‘hood attitude, BBW comedic line deliveries, neon American Apparel accessories and Alize. (No, I’m not being racist, he was really drinking Alize. The yellow kind.)
We were on the outdoor porch of a Bushburg (translation: the grundle of Brooklyn, a no-man's-land between the cock of Williamsburg and the anus of Bushwick) bar when he overheard a discussion I was having with one of my wingmen about leaving Alex, the desire to shake up my routine with some wild shit and the need for experiences which fall outside the boundaries of traditional monogamy. I was also bitching about how I couldn't afford shoes and was spending my days in seasonally-retarded suede boots as a result, which may be why Sugar Daddy Advocate (henceforth known as “Sugar”) bailed on the bizarrely mustachioed hipster hitting on him (seriously, what is with the mustaches? Has the Magnum PI look really worked for anyone besides Tom Selleck? I’m asking this seriously, responses welcome) and proceeded to give a drunk dissertation on:
- why my fleeing to the ‘hoods of Brooklyn made me a “fierce bitch” and not just a bitch
- why my need to leave was the result of a codependency overdose (totally accurate…more on that later)
- why I needed a Sugar Daddy
One hundred years of women's rights activism and 25 years of self-respect aside, the idea of a Sugar Daddy isn't awful. In fact, it's kind of awesome: You get worshipped as a sex goddess and showered with gifts, including body treatments which keep you looking like a sex goddess (waxing, mani/pedi), meals, seasonally appropriate footwear and the occasional coverage of rent, utilities, etc. The downside is sexual acts with someone who might repulse you (but if you get, say, a Richard Gere or Andy Garcia type, then burn your Hitch List and marry him) and the occasional feeling you're a whore for money (because, well, you are).
According to Sugar, there's real life lessons to be learned by "Daddying." His theory suggests that being the "baby" enrolls you in a crash course on how to separate sex from love-making, while giving you an open forum to play any sexual role you've ever wanted but haven’t for fear of opening Pandora’s Box (ha, box) with a real potential mate. Aggressive power-bitch by day? Find a dominating daddy and go submissive. Total pushover? Strap on those PBC stilettos and track down a Wall Street blowhard looking to get walked over.
Sugar, an experienced Baby, also stressed (he was slurring his words, but lets not allow that to discredit his thesis entirely) that the arrangement puts you in a position of power, one where you can learn hands-on how to manipulate and not be manipulated--a valuable life skill, especially for cynics.
I'm not sure how appealing or true any of that is outside of drunken conversation on a Bushburg porch, but I'm intrigued.
Also, this is depression-era New York and I'm strangely (read: alarmingly) comfortable with the idea of being a whore for money from time to time.
The Hitch List was created to foster independence and kill codependency; relying on a Poppa to pay your way is probably the antithesis of standing on your own two feet.
At any rate, sugar-babying is now up for debate as a Hitch List item, because who am I to doubt the advice of a Gay Ghetto Hipster without a little analysis first?
PS: Has anyone out there ever BEEN a "Sugar Baby?" Or a Daddy for that matter? And how do these pairings even meet? Match.com doesn't have a "I'll Fuck You If You Buy Me Those Dior Shoes" section, does it?