RED FLAGS IN A MAN’S APARTMENT

  • MEDICINE CABINET: Will you be pleasantly surprised by-extra large condoms or shocked by STD prescriptions?  Players often stock multiple packs of toothbrushes.
  • BATHROOM: Anyone can dust, but a shower free of mold and hair is a true sign of cleanliness.
  • KITCHEN: Unless he’s a health nut, Splenda, fat-free yogurt and lots of salad could be red flags.
  • UNDER THE BED: This is where people stash everything dirty before dates.
  • CONTEXT: Feminine hygiene products or lipstick on dirty cups make sense if the guy has a female roommate or visitor.

From what he chooses as wall art to where he puts his workout equipment, a series of experts have explained what signs to look for when decoding single male decor. Interior designer Meg Caswell tells Glo that a bare mattress is an obvious bad sign in the bedroom, because it means that he’s rarely home and, more importantly, ‘sheets are never changed’. But the man living in a perfectly-styled apartment with a bed made so tightly that quarters would bounce ‘is probably the kind of guy who walks into a bar and can pinpoint the women he wants to go out with right away’. Read more

Treat His Apartment Like a Crime Scene

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Part Two: The Kitchen

If a guy doesn’t have female roommates or visitors, chick condiments are another red flag. Unless he’s a health nut, why is he filling his grocery bag with Splenda, fat-free yogurt and rice cakes? When observing toiletries, use common sense. A lone tampon could be for his sister, but pregnancy tests in bulk are usually a bad sign.

Do Silicon Alley men have ‘Weird Science Syndrome?’

Self-described ‘love concierge’ Amy Andersen is revving up Silicon Valley’s dating scene by transforming her mega-successful bachelors from geek to chic. According to Vanity Fair, when the 36-year-old CEO of Linx Dating started ‘Cougar Night’ at the Rosewood Sand Hills Hotel, she took advantage of a gap in the market: Successful but socially awkward single men.[. . .]

 

Elle: The Positive Side of Negative Thinking

“Come on, give me a smile!” I was hungover and hiding behind sunglasses. The Starbucks barista was the only thing standing between me and my morning coffee, so I tried my best. “Have a nice day, and don’t forget to think positive!” Since moving to Los Angeles, my pre-latte existential crises were becoming more frequent. I was dealing with a pile of rejections, lack of friends, an empty savings account, three flat tires, a then-boyfriend who said he “couldn’t do commitment,” and a text from my mom saying the family pug died. But faking good cheer for a caffeine hit didn’t make me feel better. It only made me feel more “positive” that I wanted to punch him in the face.[. . .]

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