Lifestyle

Ode to a Gen-Z Situationship

Published

9 months ago

March 28, 2025

I met Jacob at an overcrowded Abba-themed dance night. He was wearing a faux-fur head wrap. He seemed so young. I was 33. Still, I thought he was cute. When we locked eyes on the smoking patio, I thought the feeling was mutual.

We got to chatting. Jacob said he worked “in music,” which I took to mean he sometimes played the guitar. He asked what I did, and I brushed off the question. I didn’t feel like talking about work.

A week earlier, my ex had moved out of our apartment. After six years together, he said, “Anna, I don’t think this is working.” And just like that, we were over. There were plenty of reasons. We argued too much, had different timelines for children. And then there was the sex — or lack thereof.

Couples therapy helped with the arguing but not the intimacy. When he finally handed me his key, I sat in my half-empty apartment and cried.

Now, with Jacob, I thought about how most of my friends were starting families and buying houses. And here I was at Abba Night, drinking a vodka soda.

He asked for my number. I gave it to him, not expecting much.

The next day, he asked if I wanted to get a drink. We met for margaritas. I was early. I realized that I barely remembered his face. All I knew was that he seemed young. As I waited at the bar, I wondered just how young. Finally, he appeared, looking like he was dressed for Coachella — baggy cargo pants and chunky, layered necklaces. I could barely meet his gaze.

He was 24, almost a decade younger. I was embarrassed, but Jacob shrugged.

“Age doesn’t matter,” he said.

Which of course, wasn’t true.

He told me he was a rapper and that his tracks had done well on Spotify. I was surprised. Impressed, even. He said a manager was interested, but he’d have to fork over a huge chunk of his profits.

I started to give him advice — as a TV writer, I had experience with predatory contracts. Then I stopped myself. Did I sound like his mother? We talked more. We didn’t have much in common, but I wasn’t ready to give up. When we finished our margaritas, I suggested a second bar.

The next place was swanky. The bartender gave me a funny look. Was he judging me? Maybe nine-and-a-half years wasn’t that much, but I’d never been on this side of an age gap. In my early 20s, I had dated a handful of older men. At the time, I found their age alluring, but hindsight had made me skeptical of their attraction. I once heard that adult brains aren’t fully developed until the age of 25. Was my young self simply easier to manipulate?

Sitting with Jacob, I wondered if now I was the creepy older man. I ordered myself an orange wine and he blinked. “What’s that?” he asked.

I explained it had something to do with the grape skins. He nodded blankly, then he asked what I was working on. I told him about my horror script about a girl who loses her mind in the woods. He listened, eyes wide. He told me it sounded “like a real movie.” I knew he meant it as a compliment.

Jacob was a gentle lover, if a bit nervous. He lingered in my living room for an hour before kissing me. I didn’t mind. He was a good kisser. And when he ran his fingers along my arm, the age gap disappeared. We were just two people on a fitted sheet, trying to feel less alone. For once, sex felt effortless.

On our second date, Jacob showed me his music. It was chaotic and loud. Even his voice — deep and full of swagger — felt unfamiliar. I didn’t understand it.

On our third date, lying naked in bed, I told Jacob I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I explained that I was emotionally unavailable because of my breakup. He said that was OK. Perfect, in fact. Because he wanted to focus on his music, not love. We agreed to keep things casual.

“Casual” meant seeing each other once a week. He always offered to pay, but usually I grabbed the check. I knew my TV writer salary exceeded his Spotify profits. He lived in a cramped studio apartment and slept on a futon. I had slept there once, but my back hurt so much from the flimsy cushions that I vowed never to do it again.

Two months in, we went clubbing with his friends in a sweaty basement bar where everyone seemed younger than me. I was dressed in high-waisted Zara jeans and a tank top I’d bought in 2017. The other women wore low-slung pants with tiny crop tops, oozing the kind of confidence you feel when you’re still on your parents’ health insurance.

One vented to me about her on-again-off-again boyfriend. I suggested couples therapy. She looked at me like I had told her to eat a shoe.

The next morning, I peered into my bathroom mirror, hyper-aware of the wrinkles on my forehead. I had turned 30 in the first year of Covid. Prepandemic, I didn’t remember ever having wrinkles. Post-pandemic, my face seemed centuries older.

After three months, I found myself falling for Jacob. On Valentine’s Day, I took him to my favorite sushi restaurant. Afterward, in bed, I told him how I felt. I said I didn’t need a serious relationship, but I wanted to take things to the next level. Maybe a weekend trip?

He grew quiet. “Maybe,” he said.

During our next date, Jacob dumped me. We had just ordered our entrees when he dropped the bomb, saying, “I think we should roll things back romantically.”

I didn’t get it. Was this about the weekend trip? He said it was everything. I never understood his jokes. We had different interests. And hadn’t we agreed to keep things casual? Didn’t I notice that when I told him I was falling for him, he never said it back?

The waiter returned with our entrees — salad for me, and a big bowl of mac and cheese for Jacob. Waiting for the bill, I wanted to cry, but I refused. It was one thing to date a 24-year-old in a faux-fur head wrap; it was quite another to get dumped by one.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. At 3 a.m., I opened Spotify and clicked Jacob’s first track. I listened over and over until the music no longer confused me. What had initially sounded chaotic now seemed urgent and driving.

I searched Spotify for similar artists. It was as if dating Jacob had opened my eyes to the fact that there was a new generation of people creating art, and it was worth trying to understand. Obvious, maybe, but I’d missed it.

Jacob and I had only dated a few months and barely scratched the surface of our emotions. We were, by all accounts, a “situationship.” And I had spent most of it focused on myself. Because I paid for things, I chose what we did, what we ate. And it wasn’t just that. He seemed endlessly impressed by my writing career. He made me feel like I had things figured out. But I hadn’t considered how it all made him feel. That maybe the constant focus on my life made him feel small and unmoored.

A month later, I willed myself onto the dating apps. When I met Jacob, I was reeling from heartbreak. But things had changed, and I had to admit that sex with anyone would now, inevitably, lead to feelings.

I soon matched with a guy named Lucas. He was 45, with eye wrinkles and gray hair in his beard. On our second date, he took me to a fancy restaurant and ordered the orange wine. He had just bought a house in Encino and redone the floors. After our fourth date, he suggested a weekend trip. Maybe Santa Barbara?

I liked Lucas, but what was I doing flinging myself so far across the age spectrum? Lucas wanted something serious. Was I ready for that? I told my therapist I was thinking of breaking it off. She asked why. I said, “Because he’s old!”

She laughed. “If you like him, that’s all that matters.”

I said yes to Santa Barbara.

A year after my breakup with Jacob, he texted me. He was now 25, meaning his brain had officially finished developing. When he asked if I would like to meet up, I was shocked. Did he finally realize that he couldn’t live without me? He clarified that he still didn’t want anything serious, but would I be interested in a no-strings hookup?

I politely declined. Lucas and I had plans.

Related Topics:dating and relationships Featured Generation Z Love (Emotion)

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Lifestyle

‘Pluribus’ star Rhea Seehorn says no thanks to a world dictated by group think

Published

6 hours ago

December 9, 2025

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‘Pluribus’ star Rhea Seehorn says no thanks to a world dictated by group think

Rhea Seehorn plays a misanthropic romance writer in the Apple TV series Pluribus.

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Rhea Seehorn says she’s on “Team Carol.”

In the Apple TV series Pluribus, actor Rhea Seehorn stars as Carol, a bestselling romance author who suddenly finds herself living in a world where everyone around her is bound together by a “psychic glue.” They share memories and knowledge and they are happy and peaceful. The only problem: Carol’s not interested in joining them — especially if it means losing her own sense of self.

“I would absolutely be Team Carol as far as arguing the necessity and the positives of individual thinking,” Seehorn says. If the world were taken over by group think, she explains, “There’s never going to be a joke that you haven’t heard. There’s never going to be a surprise behavior that makes you laugh. And that’s just such a source of joy for me that I just can’t imagine that contentment is the same as happiness.”

Rhea Seehorn as Carol Sturka in Pluribus.

Seehorn previously played Kim Wexler in AMC’s Better Call Saul, co-created by Vince Gilligan. He is also the creator of Pluribus. Seehorn says Carol’s character was originally imagined as a male protagonist, but was rewritten for her to take the starring role. Gilligan “wanted to play with tone and take wild swings as far as [the series] could be darkly comedic, or it could be darkly psychological … and he was impressed at my ability to do those things,” Seehorn says. “I’m certainly very thankful for it.”

Interview highlights

On playing angry characters in Pluribus and in Better Call Saul

There’s this idea [that] anger can be a miasma almost, that can spread. And we’ve all seen horrible things can happen when you just are riling people up. … But at the same time, it is a necessary emotion, which, I think, is one of the arguments in the show that I side with — the idea that all of the emotions are important, not just happiness. …

As 'Better Call Saul' wraps, Bob Odenkirk reflects on his life-changing heart attack

Because I’m a woman playing the role … it felt as though I was taught that anger was unpalatable, specifically from females, and that I should find a way to make it palatable. … When I was much younger, I would scream. As a teenager, you know, screaming, yelling, like the typical arguments you have over hairspray and idiotic things as a teenager. … My parents were divorced, and so it was a household of three women, my mom, and my sister and I. … But, you know, you kind of grow out of this. …

I don’t think it’s OK to scream and yell in someone’s face, but I think I have become conflict avoidant in the suppression of that anger to a degree that’s not healthy. I will stand up for somebody else, though, in a heartbeat. If somebody else is being mistreated next to me, I’m in there. I’ll take you to the mat. But if it’s at me, I tend to swallow it and try to figure out how I can make it better.

On how she prepared to play the role of a romance novelist

I went to The Ripped Bodice, which is an amazing romance novel store. … And I just slipped in and looked around. And I have to tell you, one of the first things that struck me is the amount of sub-genres and the specificity of these sub-genres. … I watched a couple of people do readings from their books, and I was really surprised at the breadth of people, of fans, listening. There was a lot of people dressed like early Stevie Nicks, in a beautiful way. But then there was also … [a] couple that looked like they came straight from a corporate job. … People younger than me, people older than me. It definitely widened me to how huge this genre is and how much it encapsulates all the different novels it has.

On changing her name from Deborah, which was her first name, to Rhea, which was her middle name

I got a little chunky in puberty, and kids started yelling at me, “Hey, fat Debbie, do you want some more Little Debbie’s?” (which are snack cakes.) … I was just like … I just need a fresh start. And I think I identify more with my middle name. And weirdly, there was no issue with kids that had known me forever. Everybody just sort of was like, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

On her father being a counterintelligence agent

I knew he was investigating things and I knew that they were secretive, but I didn’t have a lot more details than that. And I am loathe to say that my head was too far up my butt as a teenager to actually be interested in what my parents actually do. And then he died when I was 18, so I didn’t get to ask a lot of the questions that I wish I had asked. …

Vince Gilligan: The Man Behind 'Breaking Bad'

My Dad’s favorite answer to everything was, “What are you, writing a book?” If you even just said, like, “Where are you going?” … And I thought I was so brilliant when I was 15 that I finally had a comeback. And I said, “Yeah, I am.” And he said, “Well, then leave this chapter out.”

On her father’s drinking

Apparently he was a heavy drinker for most of his adult life, but it just didn’t get labeled as alcoholism, you know? And my dad was the life of the party and very, very smart, very, very funny, with a super dry wit. … The idea that he was in the Tet Offensive and, as far as I know, never talked to anybody about it, and that you would have a life built of a lot of secrets. … I don’t remember him ever saying that he had anybody to talk to about it. So I just bring that up because I think self-medicating was going on for quite a while before it physically became a full-blown issue and then full-blown disease.

On how she became an actor

I was obsessed with television, film, and as a kid in the suburbs in Virginia, I’d never known anybody that had even the loosest association with the entertainment business and thought it was just an impossible dream. And then, in my first year at George Mason University, you had to take an elective in the arts that was not your major, and my major was fine arts. And so I took an acting class. … It was not an emotional, ooey-gooey class — I took plenty of those later — but this was a hardcore, do-your-homework, script-analysis class using practical aesthetics that was developed out of the Atlantic Theater. And I just was in love with the fact that if you work really hard and study, you can incrementally get closer and closer to being good at this and hopefully one day great at this. …

Bob Odenkirk plays the title character in the Breaking Bad spin-off series Better Call Saul.

And then I started going to D.C. theater, which I think is some of the world’s best theater … and [I] was just like: Immediately, I have to do this for my life. I don’t know how many day jobs I’m going to have to have. It was not about being famous. I knew that I had to be an actor and I’d support myself, however I had to.

Lauren Krenzel and Nico Wisler produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.

Lifestyle

Elton John Promotes New Oz Book Amid Intense AI Art Controversy | Celebrity Insider

Published

7 hours ago

December 9, 2025

Press Room

Elton John Promotes New Oz Book Amid Intense AI Art Controversy | Celebrity Insider

Instagram/@eltonjohn

The pop icon, Elton John, has revealed the astonishing news about a forthcoming graphic novel called ‘The Lost Lands,’ in which he has provided the foreword that is originally meant as the first chapter of the Ultimate OZ Universe. This animation ushers in the extinction of L. Frank Baum’s original Oz tales, which John retells were his sources of inspiration during lonely childhood days in Pinner, England. However, the good news was soon getting mixed with thousands of comments that blamed the artwork connected with it for being done by a machine, thus triggering a heated debate about the meaning of art in the digital age.

In his announcement, Elton John shared his personal tie to the Land of Oz. He described himself as a “very lonely” boy when he discovered Baum’s stories and the stories “multiplied” his own imagination and gave him “a wonderful life of storytelling, imagination, and creativity.” He expressed his wish that the public would be as fond of “The Lost Lands” as he is, presenting it as a great inheritance of Baum’s legacy declaring “the triumph of good.”

The comments were anything but pleasing. The very next hour the comments section had turned into a battlefield discussing whether the paintings had been created by human hands or AI. The detractors were pointing out anatomical errors that they were confident had come from AI and thus gave away its production. One person said, “Just take a look at the hands with your own eyes in the second image. One of them has 7 fingers and some of them have none.” Another person remarked, “In the second slide notice how short the guy’s arm is, he’s at the bottom in the middle. It’s AI.”

A few of the netizens were sorry for the situation, recognized John’s talent and help but were aware of the fact that he might be backing AI art. One user expressed, “It’s unfortunate that my favorite artist resorts to technology that is taking away jobs from other artists,” and added a crying emoji. Another user commented, “If you can’t afford AI, hire artists.” Also, some users shared their worries about the planet and one of them referred to it as “the water-wasting resource-burning climate-changing planet-warming AI slop.”

The discussion was getting hotter and at the same time, the defenders of the artwork were coming forward. A lot of comments were mentioning that the artist Mike Deodato was credited in the project. “The artist is literally mentioned in the post this isn’t AI!” a user insisted. Another said, “Those who see this as AI-generated are presumably the ones without brains THE ARTIST IS LITERALLY TAGGED IN THE POST and if you had more than two brain cells you would recognize that this is the work of a very talented artist.”

The skeptics responding to the defense right away argued that the use of AI by established artists raises an even bigger ethical question. “It’s not right when non-artists make ‘art’ with AI, but it’s even worse when established artists are doing that in their works,” one person said. Another remarked, “A name attached to it doesn’t change that. Just take a look at the hands in the second photo.”

The whole issue was ringing a bell of a very serious ethical question regarding disclosure and consumer rights. One enlightened user wondered, “If it is the case, is that at least being disclosed to buyers? People should know if what they are purchasing was made by AI or not, regardless of their opinion. The consumers should be able to make informed choices.” This point illustrated that the AI art debate is actually about the purity of art versus the legitimacy of the market.

Amidst the arguments, some supporters were rejoicing the project. The official Ultimate OZ Universe account posted, “It’s incredible and an honor to have Elton John be a part of our Ultimate OZ Universe graphic novel.” Another admirer commented, “I adored this book SO much, what a fantastic new take on Oz, which has always been my personal and preferred mythology.” John himself humorously questioned if anyone noticed “familiar faces in the artwork,” tagging his husband, David Furnish. This project also brings to mind his most ornate album cover ever.

The magnitude of the reaction has highlighted the societal concerns about the impact of AI on the creative fields. What started as a sincere homage of Elton John to a character that inspired him during his childhood turned into an unintended battleground in the discussion about technology, art, and authenticity that is still going on. As the AI devices become more skilled and easier to access, the matter of distinguishing between human creativity and machine production becomes more complex. The passionate responses from both sides show that the separation is of utmost importance to many, whether they are pointing out the mistakes in a tin man’s hands or debating the very existence of art as we know it. This situation is reminiscent of Big Boi’s behind-the-scenes moment with Elton John and Janelle Monae, showing how artists collaborate across genres. The discussion also brings to mind Ozzy Osbourne’s final memoir and its success. Fans of Elton John’s retro Captain Fantastic ad will appreciate this new creative direction. Finally, Elton John’s reflections on his early career with Bernie Taupin show his long-standing commitment to artistic collaboration.

Lifestyle

We debate: what’s the worst Christmas movie? : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Published

18 hours ago

December 9, 2025

Press Room

We debate: what’s the worst Christmas movie? : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Andrew Lincoln in Love Actually.

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Working Title/Maximum Films/Alamy

‘Tis the season you’ll find plenty of good holiday movies – films that can be counted upon to deliver warmth and cheer. And bad holiday movies? They can be fun in their own way. So we’re debating: what’s the worst Christmas movie of all time? We’ll talk about Love Actually, Jingle All The Way, I Believe In Santa, and Scrooge & Marley.

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