Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: We made fun of toxic men at the gym. Then this friend started acting like one
I saw Trevor around the gym for months — scattered tattoos and black tank top with a cute smudge of climbing chalk on their ears. They always made sure to say hi, looking in my direction frequently. They first asked me to hang out in December.
I asked when they were free, and they replied, “Christmas Day?” I thought it was a joke, but now I’m not sure. In January, I went on a hike with them. They tried to take me to an old mine in Millard Canyon, which we never found — but we did find a shared love of theater and making fun of capitalist overlords and loud, grunting men at the gym. Overall, it felt so … friendly. No spark, but good conversation for hours.
A few months later, they got me out again — this time, to Geeky Tea and Games in Burbank. I had so much work to do, and I was hardly getting time to sleep. But I freaking love board games. We were out until 2 a.m.
After beating them in Catan (without witnessing an alpha male tantrum at losing!), we ended up at IHOP, where the server remembered Trevor from their youth. Her memory of them being sweet as a teenager calmed the “Is this person actually a serial killer?” intrusive thoughts.
We started texting throughout the day, sharing memes, cat pictures and jokes about the hypermasculine beasts at the gym. By May, I was working two jobs, hosting a fundraiser and arranging a group vacation.
I got sick and Trevor swooped in, making me soup, doing dishes, reading with different voices to me in bed, cuddling me and eschewing activities outside the apartment because they just “wanted to talk.” Even though I didn’t feel romantically connected, I felt protected and loved getting to chat until the birds sang with someone emotionally aware and sensitive.
We giggled about all the ways cis men had to prove themselves (and to whom?!). They repeatedly said they were happy with how the friendship was, that they would be just as happy if we never had sex and just slept next to each other at night. As someone on the asexual spectrum, that sounded perfect.
However, they kept being more and more touchy in bed, talking about how much I turned them on and how they weren’t like other male-bodied folks. I was curious and didn’t want to lose my sleepover buddy, so we agreed to be friends with benefits. Things went smoothly … for about two weeks.
By mid-June, their communication became inconsistent. Suddenly, the playful messaging, reliability, the soothing sound of them reading at night — all my favorite things about our time together — disappeared. When I asked what changed, they said that now that they “had me,” there was “no reason to do any of that.”
The sex was fun for those first few weeks, but then they stopped doing any sort of foreplay. I cried. A lot. It felt like I was spending time with a stranger — and one who couldn’t care less about me.
I knew they were going through a rough patch financially, and I thought if they could just get through that, they would go back to being the fun, gentle friend from the spring. But they started playing games of the non-board variety, such as messaging me, “What time are we meeting again?” at the time we were supposed to meet. They belittled creative ideas I had.
The long chats about our world and perspectives were reduced to watching a TV show in each other’s arms and falling asleep. Where was the emotional connection I enjoyed?
A few weeks later, they mentioned that they wanted to sleep with two climbers from the gym — two people in separate long-term relationships. They started making unrealistic plans to sleep with them (unbeknownst to the people). I calmly pointed out that if they continued to do this, they would lose me.
Trevor looked me right in the eyes and said, “OK,” leaving me to feel like our friendship was nothing to them.
I ended the sexual part of our relationship, but I held the door open for friendship. They responded, “Great, now I’m not gonna have sex for years.”
This cued a roller-coaster cycle — they’d come to the gym to say things like, “I’m going to cry myself to sleep tonight” and text that they needed me to come over, only to change their mind later.
I slept over one more time to have a talk about what our future friendship could look like. Trevor bemoaned how I could possibly want to be friends with them and how badly they felt for hurting me, saying they just couldn’t help hurting people all the time.
I told them that I felt it was odd to ask for sympathy for causing me so much emotional pain. I told them that to be friends moving forward, I needed them to promise not to intentionally hurt me in the future and to communicate if they were feeling anxious or insecure rather than lashing out.
When I woke up, they told me they didn’t want me to sleep over again because “it’s weird.” I left but then began receiving texts from them about how their week was going. They also shared YouTube clips with no context and fake cheery messages.
I felt like they were still putting on a front with me, when I wanted the real person. Or maybe I finally met the real person.
I wrote a long text message, explaining how our friendship still felt off to me, and I suggested that we chat about our feelings. They responded, “At this point, I do not think we would make good friends and I don’t want to be friends with you.” Ouch.
When the friendship ended, it felt like I was grieving someone who hadn’t existed. I think I should dislike them more, but the reality is that I miss my funny, talented friend. I wish for another late night of jolting up from laughing and hearing them playfully say, “Wait, are those birds starting to sing? Oh, nooooo, what are we gonna do?!”
I won’t ever know if my springtime buddy was genuinely there or if it was just a long-running mask. But I’m grateful for the friends who validated my feelings of sadness and confusion and firmly recommended running far, far away. For the next partner, I’ll keep the bar above the shirtless grunters at the gym and raise it up a notch to someone who can laugh through the birds singing and communicate even when they can’t.
The author is a queer, multiracial writer who took a part-time job at the climbing gym, only to accidentally unionize it. When she’s not playing outside, she can be found playing pretend at comedy venues around town. She’s on Instagram: @jessadventurin
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.
Lifestyle
Shy on the dance floor? Virtual reality ‘partners’ aim to help you find your groove
Entrepreneur David Huang tests out a VR headset while conducting demonstrations of the social dance lesson app Dance Guru at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., June 17, 2026.
Chloe Veltman/NPR
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Wedding season is in full swing, bringing with it a familiar sense of dread for anyone who fears the dance floor.
But relief may finally be at hand with the help of a new app, Dance Guru, and a virtual reality (VR) headset.
The social dance instruction app transports users to a spacious, digital dance studio. Waiting inside is a computer-generated coach: a handsome, male avatar wearing a shirt open to his navel. He speaks with a slightly gravelly English accent.
“Watch me now,” he instructs at the start of a waltz lesson — which NPR tried out at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., an annual conference showcasing the latest developments in virtual and augmented reality.
The avatar then demonstrates a basic box step.

From there, the lesson becomes interactive. The coach tells the user to hold his hand while an electric pinging sound tracks the student’s foot placement.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” the virtual teacher counts down.
When the user stumbles, he remains remarkably patient. “Do not worry, foundations take time. Let’s try that again. Work on grounding your steps more intentionally.”
Solving the beginner’s dilemma
Dance Guru creator David Huang said he came up with the idea for the app a couple of years ago out of frustration.
“I always wanted to learn to dance and I was always terrible at it,” Huang said. “And I always ended up stopping midway through the lessons.”
He soon realized that many beginners hit the exact same roadblocks.
“Private lessons are too expensive, and you feel like you’re always forgetting the dance steps,” Huang said. “You cannot find a partner to dance with. So I figured maybe I can create something like this.”
The Dance Guru platform currently offers tutorials in salsa, bachata, waltz, and cha-cha, in both lead and follow modes. To make the digital instruction feel authentic, Huang used motion-capture technology to record the movements of real-life dance teachers — with their permission.
Building on the legacy of online tutorials and video games
Dance Guru belongs to a small but growing wave of apps using VR to demystify social dance. At a nearby booth, conference attendee Victor Chen is testing out a competing app called Trip the Light. It currently offers salsa lessons, as well as freestyle options, where a user can dance with a partner without having to learn specific steps.
Trip the Light’s booth at the Augmented World Expo included posters of the app’s virtual instructors. Real-life performers, who gave Trip the Light permission to motion capture their movements, were used as a basis for these avatars.
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“A lot of times when you’re trying to learn a choreography, it’s watching a YouTube video and you have to pause it, rewind, and play it,” Chen said. “If you were to have a virtual avatar dancing in front of you and correcting for any parts that you missed, it might be a lot easier.”
Interactive video games like Dance Dance Revolution and Just Dance, and YouTube tutorials have been helping people improve their skills in private for years. But those games are mostly aimed at solo players. Unlike the new generation of immersive VR apps, they cannot simulate the mechanics or confidence required for partner dancing on a live dance floor.
The reality check
But this kind of app won’t work for every dancer.
“Everyone learns a little bit differently. And so unless you have a game that has lots of different ways of teaching, you’re going to have things that work for some people and don’t work for others,” said Ariana Katana, a trained contemporary dancer and dance content creator who’s active on YouTube, Twitch and other platforms. “Also, it’s hard to dance with a headset on.”
And then there’s the issue of not being able to physically feel a virtual partner’s hand or shoulder while dancing with them. Patrick Ascolese, the creator of Trip the Light, said the experience could become more tactile in the future. “Haptic suits and wearables will be coming, but I think we’re a little away from that,” he said.
Ascolese said even with their limitations, immersive tools like Trip the Light have immense potential as judgment-free training grounds — giving reluctant dancers the baseline confidence they need to eventually step onto the dance floor with real partners in the real world, including at weddings.
“Just like anything else, practice makes perfect,” said Ascolese. “So the more time you spend in VR with a virtual partner, it works towards helping you get over that social hurdle. We are teaching you the moves that you have to do in order to go out and have fun.”
Jennifer Vanasco edited the broadcast and digital versions of this story. Chloee Weiner mixed the audio.




Lifestyle
How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Deidre Hall
For half a century, Deidre Hall has taken on every kind of disaster in the drama-packed town of Salem, Ill., as a star of “Days of Our Lives.”
There was the time — actually, it happened twice — when her character, Dr. Marlena Evans, was famously possessed by the devil and even levitated.
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Or the time a serial killer, who was actually Marlena under hypnosis, seemed to kill several beloved characters. The long-running show’s storylines have become legendary, and in March, while promoting “Hail Mary,” actor Ryan Gosling even gave Hall a shout-out, admitting he was a fan, praising the hard work of soap opera actors and calling her an “OG acting inspiration.”
But Hall’s real life in Santa Monica is much quieter than her character’s, and she likes it that way.
“When I bought my house in Santa Monica, I didn’t realize how great it would be to live near Montana Avenue,” says Hall, 78, about the popular shopping spot. Every day, she walks to the main street with her golden retriever, Riley, and enjoys Pilates, art and good food along the way. “The owners of the Farms Market even keep dog biscuits, so guess where the dog wants to go every time we walk — the Farms, of course,” she says, laughing.
When she isn’t filming the daily soap opera, which airs on Peacock, Hall enjoys raising monarch butterflies, exploring the shops and restaurants on Montana, and hosting movie nights at home with her two sons.
Here’s what a perfect day in L.A. looks like for her.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
7 a.m.: Breakfast and dog walk
I usually kick off my day with a protein shake, feed our golden retriever and take her out for a walk. She’s a phenomenal girl. When we adopted her, her name was Riley, but I did think about naming her after Mrs. Hughes from “Downton Abbey.”
10 a.m.: Church and garden time
After I walk the dog and go to church, I like to spend some time in my yard. I’m not a natural gardener, but I really enjoy it. I started raising monarch butterflies because my identical twin sister, who played my twin on the show, planted a butterfly garden. Monarchs are amazing because they are transitional. Every year, they travel from Mexico to southern New England, but it’s getting harder for them. Their numbers have dropped by about 80%. To help, I plant milkweed, which is what they need to survive. I buy my milkweed from the Staghorn Garden on Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. Julie, who owns the nursery, is delightful and has a wide variety of milkweed. The monarchs always seem to find my garden. Julie was raising some caterpillars too, and she cared a lot about them. We talked about how important it is to help the butterflies. That’s why I do this. Sometimes I get milkweed with eggs already on it, and Julie knows her butterflies are going to a good home.
1 p.m.: Walk to Montana Avenue for some lunch
I live near Montana and love taking long walks, going to Pilates and trying out the great restaurants nearby, like R+D Kitchen and La La Land. I’m a big fan of the waffles at the Courtyard Kitchen. Just a few days ago, I had a chicken salad on raisin bread with an Arnold Palmer, and it was delicious. It is right on Montana and has a nice outdoor seating area. It’s one of my favorite spots. La La Land always has a long line in the morning, which is perfect if you want coffee. They serve coffee, doughnuts, croissants and avocado toast. There’s plenty of outdoor seating, and you can even bring your dog.
2 p.m.: Peek inside a clock shop
There’s a small clock shop on Montana Avenue that’s closed on Sundays, but if you walk by, you’ll see all kinds of clocks — standing, table and wall clocks. The owner is great at fixing them. Once, I bought a wall clock from MacKenzie-Childs, but it didn’t work. And I was really upset because it matched everything else on my countertop. I brought it to the owner and said, “I love this, but I can’t make it work.” He fixed it right away. His name is John, but I call him Geppetto. And we all know why. He really does have a magic touch.
2:30 p.m.: Visit a neighborhood art gallery
Ten Women Gallery is run by 10 artists, all of whom show their work there. I was drawn to some watercolors there, bought a few cards and spoke with one of the artists. She told me, “You seem to love watercolors,” and mentioned that the artist who painted them, Pamela Harnois, lives in Los Angeles and teaches nearby. I got Pamela’s name and found out she taught at the Brentwood Art School. I was so inspired by her gift that I started taking private lessons with her on Saturdays. That gallery is where I discovered my love for watercolor painting.
3 p.m.: Grab some ice cream at Rori’s
The other day, my longtime girlfriend wanted to get ice cream and told me, “We are walking to Rori’s Artisanal Creamery.” It’s a small shop on Montana near Lincoln. They make everything themselves, using local ingredients from grass-fed cows with no added hormones. The place is family-owned and probably has the healthiest ice cream you’ll find. They switch up their flavors often, but my favorite is the salted caramel.
6 p.m.: Family dinner and movie night at home
R+D Kitchen is always packed, so my sons, who are 31 and 33, do the cooking. They come over, and together we make salads and cook dinner. There’s a neighborhood grocery store called the Farms, off Montana, a small family-run place that has everything we need. Everyone knows each other there, and people bring their dogs. We try to have movie night every Sunday. Sometimes the day changes, but we always make sure to have one night a week where we cook a meal and sit down as a family. Keeping that tradition has become really important to us. My sons are great cooks, which is funny because they definitely didn’t get that from me. [Laughs]
9 p.m.: Take Riley for one last walk and visit neighbors
After dinner, I take my dog for a walk. It’s a great way to meet neighbors. We always go around the same block. We’ve met so many people, and since she’s a golden retriever, she loves meeting everyone.
10 p.m.: News, knitting and bedtime
I am a news junkie, so I usually watch whatever is on the news before I go to bed. I have a long-standing passion for knitting. Lately, though, the news would make me drop a stitch.
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