Narcissism

Approval is my drug, and I’ve found a way to deal it to myself in public.

Sofia’s right: I really am difficult. The two dangers of being desired — having instead of getting, and being wanted in the wrong amount.

A Playboy mention, some flattering analytics, and a meditation on what happens when strangers actually stick around.

Rejection makes me want a blow job from a stranger and a cigarette, in that order. Instead, I’m just sitting here, feeling it.

The volatile narcissism of self-esteem: how quickly I can swing from buoyant to bereft, and back again, all on the evidence of women’s desire.

A roll call of my most devoted readers, and a nakedly narcissistic plea to know what keeps them coming back.

I re-read my own blog, and I liked it. But narcissism is more complicated than vanity — especially when your self-esteem hinges on whether you’re wanted, and how much, and by how many.

A loyal reader’s compliment sends me down a predictable rabbit hole: am I endlessly self-reflective, or just endlessly self-absorbed?

A reader asked me to define narcissism. I’m happy to oblige — it’s a word I know intimately.

Tell me what you like. Tell me what you don’t. Just hit the stars — no interaction required.