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L.A. Affairs: I was navigating L.A. to find my perfect match. But would I really meet her?

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L.A. Affairs: I was navigating L.A. to find my perfect match. But would I really meet her?

My mother had always admonished me to date nice Jewish girls. Otherwise, I might fall in love with someone who wasn’t.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I’m sure she thought I had come to the perfect place. Living off Fairfax Avenue, I was in the ideal neighborhood to meet a Jewish woman and not far from where my newlywed parents lived 40 years earlier.

But this was not the same city, and it had different plans for me. I started my search in earnest, unbounded by faith, within a small radius that grew bigger along the way.

During Friday night jazz at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, I met Katrina, a statuesque blond who had recently emigrated from Russia. Over a Korean barbecue dinner on La Cienega Boulevard, she talked about her fiancé, explaining that an engagement for her meant something different than it did for me, which gave me hope.

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She also mentioned she loved the Sunday string quartets that performed at the museum. Curiously, I developed an interest in them too. I visited a few times on Sunday but never saw Katrina again.

Speaking of art, I met Jill as I was admiring the collection in a gallery on Rodeo Drive where she worked. She told me I was handsome and had a nice voice. She looked a little bit to me like Vanessa Williams. We exchanged numbers. I wanted to ask her out but soon realized she just wanted me to buy a painting.

A friend introduced me to curious Stephanie at an event in Little Tokyo. After one of our dates, she took me to a video rental shop (yes, this was before streaming) and had me check out a gay porn movie to watch at her place. It wasn’t an aphrodisiac.

After giggling and hiding her eyes behind a pillow, she fell asleep on the couch. I slipped out, returned the movie and headed home. And that was the last movie we ever watched together, gay or straight.

I met Daniella at a party for my friend Dale’s parents at his childhood home in Baldwin Hills. There were a lot of people and plenty of food and music. While Dale showed me around the backyard, Daniella approached, dancing. Dale gave me a look that said I needed to dance too. She was the caregiver for Dale’s aging father, and in her spare time, a Michael Jackson impersonator. She gave me her number, and we agreed to meet again later.

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She had to meet after midnight, when Dale’s father was asleep, and return by 6 a.m. One night, I arrived around 12:30 a.m. and waited. Twenty minutes later, she emerged wearing a waist-length, straight-hair, purple wig. I drove her to the Santa Monica pier, where we strolled and talked through the night. Surprisingly, there were many others doing the same.

I returned her before sunrise and went home and slept. When I woke up, I was pretty sure a purple wig-wearing Michael Jackson impersonator was not my type.

I saw Alisha at an election party at the Biltmore Hotel. We knew each other from college, and I recognized her. More than 10 years later, she looked the same — gorgeous. She remembered me too. Soon we were doing lunch in Larchmont, dinner in West Hollywood and movies at Beverly Connection. She accompanied me to my company’s Christmas party at the Biltmore.

She worked as a foreign correspondent for a big network, which had been her dream. That took her all over the world, and a few months later, she left on assignment. I hung in there, thinking an international romance was in the works.

After sending me postcards and having late-night phone calls for over a year, she made it clear: She wasn’t returning, and our careers were “going in different directions.”

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Then I met Samantha, a temporary employee at my work. After she left, we started dating. We listened to jazz, drank and danced until we were out of breath at B.B. King’s Blues Club at Universal CityWalk, Harvelle’s in Santa Monica and Margarita Jones in South Los Angeles.

I gave her my keys. Sometimes she was waiting for me when I returned from work, and I would make her dinner. At her place near Crenshaw Boulevard, I made her piña coladas from a mix. She was impressed.

One weekend, I met her mother. We joked about what to call her. “What about mom?” I said facetiously, which got me a look that said, “Never!” Everyone had a good laugh. Coincidentally or not, the relationship ended not long after.

A year or so later, a co-worker introduced me to Carol. Our first date was nice, but our second date was (almost) perfect.

Carol was glowing, and I was starting to see sparks. I had scored a lot of points for the restaurant. During dinner, I told her I wanted to push the plates aside, climb across the table and kiss her in front of everyone. Wisely, I didn’t. Instead, we kissed outside the restaurant. It wasn’t my best kiss. I tried to meet her lips as we walked side by side with my arm around her shoulders. She stopped, moved me to face her and had me try again.

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After that, things only got better. We drank ourselves silly listening to Marty and Elayne at the Dresden, tried swing dancing at the Derby and took long hikes in Griffith Park.

The matriarch of Carol’s family, Halmeoni, did not approve of her granddaughter dating someone who wasn’t even Asian, let alone a Jew.

The family doctor put her mind at ease. “Jews are very much like Koreans,” he said. “They are educated and successful.” Reminding her of the men in Hancock Park in trench coats and top hats on weekends, he added, “and they are excellent dressers.”

From then on, Carol told me that Halmeoni affectionately referred to me as the “Jewish man.” I did not try to explain to her that I am not Hasidic, if for no other reason than she did not speak English.

Four years into our relationship, we wed in an interfaith ceremony in Altadena, although finding a rabbi to preside over it was not easy. We exchanged vows under the chuppah. I broke the glass. We signed our ketubah.

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We also incorporated a Korean ceremony. We wore hanboks, sipped tea and bowed to Carol’s mother. Korean dancers entertained our guests. Afterward, one of them teased us. “Chuppahs and kimchi,” he repeated, giddy to have coined a new catchphrase for multicultural weddings.

Then our daughter, Isabel, arrived. For 18 years, she has been the unifying force of our existence. She is a beautiful, mixed-race, interfaith young woman. She loves to eat kimbap and tteokbokki, earns excellent grades in school and has an impeccable sense of fashion. She also reads Hebrew, had her bat mitzvah and, like her mom and dad, loves to roam the city.

My mother did not live long enough to see all this happen, but even though I broke a few ground rules, I think she would be pleased with how it all worked out.

The author is a writer and a lobbyist for a trade association. He lives in Los Angeles. He’s on Facebook at facebook.com/richardlaezman.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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Lifestyle

You know the Mayflower. What about the White Lion? Here’s the story of ‘Two Ships’

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You know the Mayflower. What about the White Lion? Here’s the story of ‘Two Ships’

Just in time for a contentious 250th anniversary of the United States of America, historian David S. Reynolds’ latest book, Two Ships, helps us realize that any country that couldn’t agree on its own origin story is destined for divisive times.

Two Ships is about the complicated, conjoined legacy of the landings of the Mayflower, which carried the Pilgrims to Plymouth, Mass., in 1620, and the White Lion, which arrived in Jamestown a year earlier, bringing the first enslaved Africans to Virginia.

As Reynolds demonstrates, it’s not so much the facts of these two voyages, as it is the meanings ascribed to them, that made them such a powerful metaphor for two conflicting visions of American identity.

To simplify, the Mayflower’s passengers were separatist Puritans, dissenters to the reign of the English king, James I. As the United States developed, the Mayflower was credited with carrying the seeds of a radical democracy to the New World, one in which all men (in theory, at least) were equal before God.

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In contrast, the European settlers of Jamestown were Royalists, also known as Cavaliers. Loyal to the monarchy, they believed in a strict hierarchy.

But the meaning of the images of the two ships shifted depended on who was invoking them and when. Not surprisingly, the metaphor was deployed most vigorously during the Civil War. In abolitionist speeches and writings, the White Lion or the “Slave-Ship,” as it was commonly called, was condemned for infecting America with the “plague-spot” of slavery.

Reynolds says that Frederick Douglass resorted to the “two ships” metaphor frequently, while Lincoln avoided it, hoping to preserve a unified ship of state. Meanwhile, Southern descendants of Cavaliers invoked the Mayflower to emphasize the intolerance and “cruel, persecuting” character of the Puritans. In a comment that resonates for our own times, Reynolds says:

It didn’t matter to the South that … by the mid-nineteenth century, the North had become a kaleidoscope of religious denominations, …, few of which resembled the faith of the Plymouth colonists. Distortion is intrinsic to cultural memory, especially when amplified by sectional or political bias. For Southerners, the Mayflower had brought Puritanism, which had yielded fanatical movements like abolitionism, now a dire threat to the Union.

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A historically hot Paris Fashion Week photographed with a kid’s camera

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A historically hot Paris Fashion Week photographed with a kid’s camera

I took a kid’s camera to Paris Fashion Week, because was it ever really that serious? Yes and no. This men’s season happened during one of the hottest weeks in France’s recorded history, which inspired that specific brand of collective hysteria brought on by living through yet another unprecedented moment together — taking over our brains and ruining our plans to wear boots — and a grander reflection on what we were doing there and why. The throngs of teenagers doing back flips into the Canal Saint-Martin and playing soccer in the street set the mood for the week. If the world is ending, you might as well swim in dirty water and have fun doing it, no?

As far as the shows went, there was the coastal stoner energy of Tokyo-based Auralee — brightly colored leathers and furry flip-flops — that reminded me of the low-key elegance of hanging out in Southern California. At the Rick Owens show, Rick-heads made minimal weather-restrictive tweaks to their usual uniforms — platforms, leather, ground-grazing garments — making you appreciate the beauty in that level of ascetic dedication. Louis Vuitton built a literal beach as its runway, complete with sand and a giant wave that felt like a mirage: Is this a heat-induced hallucination or yet another buzzed-about set design under men’s creative director Pharrell Williams? At the Dries Van Noten show, there was an ice-cold beer fridge and popsicles, a chic and inspired detail only rivaled by a collection that was a breath of fresh air during a week where I Googled the symptoms of heat stroke more than once. The Willy Chavarria show was air-conditioned, pumped with Xinú perfume and felt expensive. Sven Marquardt, a Berlin photographer and Berghain’s most famous bouncer, was sitting in front of me, which I took as an incredibly good omen. The painted blue feet and Oakley collab sunglasses at the Kiko Kostadinov show felt auspicious as well.

A model walks with his hands in his vest

A look from the Auralee show.

There were conversations floating around about how apocalyptic it felt sitting at a fashion show in over 100-degree Fahrenheit weather, our backs soaked, our minds dizzied, when the industry is responsible for something like 10% of global greenhouse gas emissions. The cognitive dissonance contributed to the thickness in the air that week.

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At the Comme des Garçons show, called “If the War Were to End..,” models danced and ran and skipped out onto the runway for the finale, soundtracked by the joyous sound of children singing “You’re So Good to Me” by the Langley Schools Music Project. In that moment, we were happy, we were clapping, we might have even been hopeful. Humans have the capacity to hold a lot — a fan in one hand while attempting not to completely melt in the front row, and a fantasy that there might still be a future where we get to wear those leopard-print Dries shoes we fell in love with on the runway.

People stand in front of a wall bearing the words "Paris Tourisme"

The moments before the Comme des Garçons show.

Two people dressed mostly in black

Comme des Garçons show attendees.

A model wears Comme des Garçons, head-to-toe.

Comme des Garçons, head-to-toe.

A model walks in white light

The Comme des Garçons show.

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Models wear long jackets

The Dries Van Noten show.

A bottle of beer

A chic and inspired detail at the Dries Van Noten show: ice-cold beer.

Modeling on a pink bench
A person in black shoes, left, and a person in pink shoes

Scenes from the ERL presentation.

Seated attendees watch a model
Seated attendees watch a model on a blue carpet

The Kiko Kostadinov show.

The Eiffel Tower rises in the distance
A woman in sunglasses stands in a beach setting

Tapping in from Louis Vuitton beach.

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Quavo at the Louis Vuitton show.

Quavo at the Louis Vuitton show.

A person stands in a beachlike setting

Scenes from after the Louis Vuitton show.

People use their smartphones to photograph a person in a suit and tie

Scenes from the Louis Vuitton show.

A variety of shoes and laces

Scenes from the Nahmias x Puma dinner at Gigi Paris.

Scenes from the On X Online Ceramics rave.

Scenes from the On X Online Ceramics rave.

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On at PFW.
People walk under arcs of water
People in a nightclub

At Silencio to see Venezuelan DJ and producer Safety Trance.

Five models wearing sunglasses stand together

The Willy Chavarria show.

A glowing cross with curved ends

Scenes from Willy Chavarria.

People sit along a canal

The throngs of teenagers doing back flips into the Canal Saint-Martin and playing soccer in the street set the mood for the week.

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After weeks of speculation, Taylor Swift, Travis Kelce wed in New York

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After weeks of speculation, Taylor Swift, Travis Kelce wed in New York

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs, pictured at a basketball game in May, announced their engagement in August 2025.

Gregory Shamus/Getty Images


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Gregory Shamus/Getty Images

NEW YORK — Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce are officially married.

After three years of dating, The pop icon and Super Bowl-winning football player, both 36, tied the knot in New York, according to a statement from Swift’s publicist, Tree Paine.

There were neither bridesmaids nor groomsmen. “Instead, her brother Austin Swift served as Taylor’s Man of Honor and Jason Kelce was Travis’ Best Man. The ceremony joined both families together,” Swift’s publicist said in the statement released Friday evening.

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The ceremony was officiated by comedian and a friend of the couple, Adam Sandler, the statement added.

The singer’s rep said that the couple was dressed in Christian Dior Haute Couture.

“The bride and groom’s wedding ceremony looks have been created by Christian Dior Haute Couture. They are designed by Jonathan Anderson, Creative Director of Dior Women’s, Men’s and Haute Couture Collections, in close collaboration with the Bride and Groom,” the statement said. “This is the designer’s first couture wedding dress for a world-renowned celebrity. Their shoes were custom made by Christian Louboutin and the bride wore Cartier jewelry.”

Security around the event was intense, so it remains unclear if the wedding was charming, if a little gauche. But the night before the ceremony the 20,000-person stadium was bathed in a lavender haze.

Details gleaned from a city permit obtained by The Associated Press, showed details of a “special event at MSG” scheduled to begin Friday evening and running overnight Saturday.

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As speculation built, fans began gathering in front of the stadium ahead of the expected wedding, despite the couple’s efforts to keep details of the celebration under wraps.

Superfans and sleuths appeared to have their hunches confirmed on Friday, as dozens of black cars dropped off elegantly dressed guests outside of Madison Square Garden in New York City.

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