Lifestyle

What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Published

1 year ago

September 10, 2024

What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. They also happen to be a couple. Zana wears Zana Bayne corset, Black Suede Studio boots, Calzedonia tights, Pinsy bodysuit. Mariano wears BustedBrand shirt and pants, Ugo Cacciatori bracelet, Other People’s Property rings.

In a lofty space streaming with hot light on Los Angeles Street, there is a dressing room with heavy red curtains and a door in the shape of a butt plug. A mirror inside captures your reflection in its familiar curvature, and, of course, you pull out your phone to take a picture — because when have you ever seen a butt plug-shaped dressing room before? Across the room, a Wassily-style chair sunbathes in the corner, with a handmade burgundy leather base and back, studs running along the seams. The chair has straps on its armchairs — made for wrists to slip into — with custom silver buckles in the shape of an outstretched woman’s physique. Vintage fetish magazines line the glass table in the center of the room, which smells of fresh paint, leather and latex. On a warm afternoon in August, this space is still under construction, but soon it will be a store: the shared world of Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez, a physical manifestation of their creative partnership and personal relationship.

Bayne and Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. What people come to Bayne for is her specific style, where all details are meticulously done by hand, and where hardware reigns supreme. (She made the aforementioned chair.) A Zana Bayne piece feels structural to the point of sculptural — a leather crystal-studded corset flaring with hip ruffles that unfold like an accordion; a lace-up corset eyelet skirt that creates a soft, voluptuous curve line away from the body. The pieces are instantly recognizable as hers: hand-laced rivets holding together a bustier in the shape of a broken heart, the way one of her spiked choker handbags seems to defy gravity. Cortez is the Latex King of Los Angeles, known for developing new techniques with the material, or imagining it in completely new contexts. In Cortez’s hands, latex becomes printed as leopard and cowhide, it becomes evening wear, sportswear or business casual — from a football tank to a floor-length dress to a blazer.

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez of Bustedbrand for Image Issue 29

And they happen to be in a relationship. Sitting in the room with Cortez and Bayne, there is a gravitational pull that can be felt when in the presence of opposites who speak the same language. Leather and latex being their shared dialect. Fashion is a small world, fashion inspired by fetish wear is even smaller. There is a mutual understanding between the two designers, both about the practical things — like impossible schedules or the kind of obsessive nature you must have to be successful — and the big things, like living a life in dedication to your practice, or what it means to blend the realms of subculture, art and fashion. “What we do is so blood, sweat and tears — every iota of your being at times — and if you aren’t in it, it’s really hard to understand for certain people,” Bayne says.

In February, Bayne posted an image of a photo strip of her and Cortez and captioned it: “Leather mama & latex daddy.” The store, called FETISH and launching in October, is somehow the culmination of this exact description. Which takes us back to the beginning: What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Walking into Cortez’s studio in the fashion district, you are first hit by the distinct smell of rubber, filling your nostrils, washing over your brain in a haze of strangely intimate comfort. Cortez and Bayne are wearing all black in 90-degree heat while sipping on green juices. She is in a Nine Inch Nails 2008 tour T-shirt, thrown over a slip dress with fishnets on, and Cortez is in a T-shirt, cargo shorts and boots. They tell me that earlier that day, Chappell Roan wore a custom Bustedbrand X Zana Bayne look on stage at Lollapalooza for what was said to be the festival’s biggest audience ever. Roan jumped around in a hot pink and electric blue lucha libre wrestler’s outfit made of latex, with iridescent leather accessories including a belt, mask, shin guards and wrist and upper arm cuffs. Bayne started with accessories early in her career — first creating a single harness — back when she was an obsessive fashion documentarian with the blog Garbage Dress, and was enamored by the transformative qualities a small piece could have on an outfit, an aura. “There’s something about a strap of leather and a buckle that can really make people go wild,” she says. “I’m still not sick of exploring that.”

Cortez and Bayne started their brands at different times, both literally and culturally speaking. In 2011, when Zana Bayne was formed, there were fewer people making harnesses intended to wear at a concert or party, or in broad daylight. Bayne was one of the designers to open that world up for designers like Cortez, who would officially start his brand in 2018. Back then, anything that was made of leather with some rivets would be pigeonholed as strictly fetish wear, Bayne remembers, and there was little focus on the actual quality or design of the garment, which is what her brand was driven by. The term “post-fetish” was something her brand created to describe the kind of clothing she was making (mostly as a diversion for press, which in the 2010s loved to throw “BDSM” in a headline when covering the brand). Her work was rooted in and inspired by bondage, but she decidedly did not position itself as a bondage brand. “That term didn’t exist,” Bayne says. “The term post-fetish was, like, apres ski, like, postmodernism. It was a word play thing, and it worked. Now, there’s hundreds of brands. There isn’t a void to be filled anymore, because it’s its own monster.”

Cortez likes to think of his work as a bridge between fetish and ready-to-wear. “It still comes from a fashion standpoint — my interest was in latex material and what it could be,” says Cortez. “Respecting the roots of what people created this for, and then turning it into a more practical [garment].” One of the many iterations of designer Vivienne Westwood’s iconic boutique, Worlds End which she opened with then-partner Malcom McLaren in the ’70s, was famously dubbed “SEX,” with a huge sign in pink squeaky letters at the top. The store sold fetish wear and had whips and chains on display. Their slogan was: “rubberwear for the office.”

For both Cortez’s and Bayne’s designs, something special happens when they are seen, when they are out in the world. This is when they come to life, when the natural tension of wearing fetish-inspired wear — like one of Bayne’s spiked triangle bras, or Cortez’s latex cat suits — in a new context rises to the surface and you can see it in action. For the wearer, there is also an obvious dedication necessary to wear the pieces — both leather and latex, specifically latex, require a particular care process, and getting a piece by Bayne or Cortez on is an entire process on its own. There’s an intensity to the materials that, no matter the context, remains. There is a satisfaction to seeing Beyoncé wearing a full latex outfit on the cover of “Cowboy Carter,” which Cortez designed, or Ariana Grande wearing a full custom lavender leather look in the video for “Rain on Me,” which Bayne made. While on some level it feels as if they are positioning themselves towards the subversive through the code of fabric, it is also a straightforward appreciation of the designs themselves.

Bayne is mostly self-taught. She grew up in San Francisco, where she attended the San Francisco Art Institute and got a degree in conceptual art. “The first corsets I made came out of nightlife and subculture,” she says. “In San Francisco at that time, everyone was doing everything all at once. You go from a leather bar to a drag show to a punk show to a noise show. We’d go to soul night and then some rave off the train tracks. It was just this mix of subcultures and fashion.” Then she moved to New York, which is when her brand got its legs. Slowly and organically, stylists were pulling pieces for their clients, custom celebrity requests started coming in and eventually she became a highlight at New York Fashion Week. “All of a sudden I was making things out of my bedroom for Lady Gaga,” Bayne says.

Cortez is from Temecula, where he grew up in punk scenes, going to the desert, skating and doing BMX — which people still recognize him from, Bayne adds. He got injured at one point from BMX, and wasn’t able to walk for a year, which is when he put all his energy into learning about fashion on Tumblr. He moved to L.A. as a teenager, where he got an internship-turned-job at L.A. Roxx, a custom design house specializing in leather. They’d get calls from people constantly, inquiring if they worked with latex, which piqued Cortez’s interest. “It was curiosity,” he says. “People not knowing, also me not knowing, just made me dive deeper.” He’d go on to learn the craft under an L.A. fetish latex designer before starting Bustedbrand on his own terms.

Cortez knew of Bayne’s brand long before he started his own, and says that a lot of her designs were a big inspiration when he started out, and still are. Bayne quips in response: “I thought that some things looked slightly familiar. However, I always maintained the opinion that Busted had the coolest latex designs, the most relevant designs, and that their branding was better than anyone else’s who was in the game. I was both somewhat annoyed and appreciative. I couldn’t help but be like, ‘Yeah, you’re doing a great job.’”

Bayne is a Virgo, Cortez is a Pisces — sister signs that, in theory, are on opposite sides of the spectrum, but, in practice, serve as each other’s balance. It checks: Cortez is quiet and stoic, with a subtle warmth that reveals itself as he gets comfortable, while Bayne’s dark humor, sharp intellect and charisma serve as a magnet. Cortez regularly giggles at her dry jokes. It’s clear they share a shorthand, inside things that they don’t care to explain. They seem to complement each other in ways beyond just a shared aesthetic. “I think we’re both very stubborn people,” Bayne says. “An interesting thing to learn was how we’re saying the same thing, but in totally different ways.”

Their work kept being featured in the same editorials, on the same artists for years — Beyoncé, being one. People would come into Bayne’s studio carrying a Bustedbrand bag. And she’d think: “There it is again.” They’d physically been in the same room many times as well, and were cordial to each other, but hadn’t communicated beyond a head nod. “I’m mean,” Bayne jokes.

“She made a personal [Instagram] account and I had followed [it],” Cortez remembers. “Then I saw she started hanging out with my friend, Britton [Litow], and I asked, ‘What’s up with Zana?’ I told her I was interested.” Litow texted Cortez a couple days later and said that Bayne was interested. “I was like, ‘He can ask me out,’” Bayne says. No moves were made until Litow’s birthday dinner a couple months later at Mr. Chow, when she sat Cortez and Bayne next to each other. “He was wearing sunglasses,” Bayne remembers. “At night.” Their first date was at a bar where Bayne wore a “really intense outfit,” which was one of her own pieces.

Being in a relationship with another designer has been a comfort for Cortez. He’d never been able to share the highs and lows of the business with anyone else like this. “Zana definitely helps me be a little less one-track mind and enjoy what just happened,” he says. “That’s been pretty leveling, grounding. It’s been really nice that we share these experiences.”

“It’s really cliche for people to say, ‘I want to be with someone who challenges me.’ And I’ve never felt that way before. That’s never something I’ve looked for, but I think we definitely challenge each other,” Bayne says. “You remind me of what I love about what we do and where it can possibly go.”

Bayne says Cortez is constantly curious, with a brain full of “a million question marks at all times.” “I think curiosity has brought me to a lot of really interesting new techniques,” he responds. There is a spaceship-looking machine behind him that takes up an entire corner of the massive studio space, a laser cutter that he uses for his latex work. This is part of a production system Cortez developed for himself, which has further allowed him to think of latex in new ways, including using traditional garment techniques like sewing — something you usually don’t do with latex — which makes it possible to create some of his silhouettes, like a voluminous bomber jacket or a boxer short.

It’s a moment of expansion for Bayne as well, who is in the process of releasing a run of non-leather items for the first time inspired by the visual language she’s built over the last 13 years.

Charli XCX starts bumping on the speaker that is connected to Cortez’s phone — “maybe we go like one notch down?” Bayne asks, laughing. Charli wore one of Bayne’s skirts for a recent spread in British GQ. A non-exhaustive list of Bayne’s clients — mostly custom — include Rei Kawakubo, Kim Petras, Eartheater, Kim Kardashian, Brooke Candy, Doja Cat, Debbie Harry and she’s in the process of making some pieces for L.A. billboard icon Angelyne. For Cortez, that list includes 2 Chainz, Rico Nasty, Hailey Bieber, Ye, among others. They’ve collaborated on custom looks for artists, including Roan. And earlier this year, they collaborated on an exclusive collection, featuring micro triangle bras and belts in classic Bayne construction with a Bustedbrand flair through the leopard print and star appliques. “We have brands that work seamlessly together,” Bayne says. “It’s a no brainer.”

The ultimate collaboration will be the new store opening. Cortez’s father built the butt plug cut-out for the fitting room. “I told him it was a spike,” Cortez says, laughing. “The next day after I sent him the photo and the dimensions he was like, ‘That’s a butt plug.’”

Cortez and Bayne want the space to feel “clean and sexy.” “We’re building our universe,” Bayne says, which means the store will feature their pieces and exclusive collaborations, but it will also be a home to their musical inspirations, beloved objects and design references. They want the experience to be one of discovery. “There’s beauty, there’s severity with what we do, but there’s going to be playful elements,” Bayne says. The store is also an opportunity to continue presenting leather and latex in the contexts in which Cortez and Bayne imagine them in. Spending time in the space itself feels like sitting in on a conversation between Bayne and Cortez, which is a rarity, given the intentional mysteriousness around them as a couple.

“It’s really special what we get to do, and what we do [is] really f—ing hard,” Bayne says. “It takes a chunk of your soul constantly, but there’s got to be a part of us that loves what we do.”

“I told myself that the other day,” Cortez says. “I love what I do. And I’m glad I get to share it with Zana.”

Zana wears black gown and Mariano wears black suit.

Makeup Selena Ruiz
Hair Adrian Arredondo
Lighting Nick Shamblott

Lifestyle

Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley

Published

8 hours ago

February 27, 2026

Press Room

Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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“You are my favorite customer,” Baz Luhrmann tells me on a recent Zoom call from the sunny Chateau Marmont in Hollywood. The director is on a worldwide blitz to promote his new film, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert — which opens wide this week — and he says this, not to flatter me, but because I’ve just called his film a miracle.

See, I’ve never cared a lick about Elvis Presley, who would have turned 91 in January, had he not died in 1977 at the age of 42. Never had an inkling to listen to his music, never seen any of his films, never been interested in researching his life or work. For this millennial, Presley was a fossilized, mummified relic from prehistory — like a woolly mammoth stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits — and I was mostly indifferent about seeing 1970s concert footage when I sat down for an early IMAX screening of EPiC.

By the end of its rollicking, exhilarating 90 minutes, I turned to my wife and said, “I think I’m in love with Elvis Presley.”

“I’m not trying to sell Elvis,” Luhrmann clarifies. “But I do think that the most gratifying thing is when someone like you has the experience you’ve had.”

Elvis made much more of an imprint on a young Luhrmann; he watched the King’s movies while growing up in New South Wales, Australia in the 1960s, and he stepped to 1972’s “Burning Love” as a young ballroom dancer. But then, like so many others, he left Elvis behind. As a teenager, “I was more Bowie and, you know, new wave and Elton and all those kinds of musical icons,” he says. “I became a big opera buff.”

Luhrmann only returned to the King when he decided to make a movie that would take a sweeping look at America in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s — which became his 2022 dramatized feature, Elvis, starring Austin Butler. That film, told in the bedazzled, kaleidoscopic style that Luhrmann is famous for, cast Presley as a tragic figure; it was framed and narrated by Presley’s notorious manager, Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by a conniving and heavily made-up Tom Hanks. The dark clouds of business exploitation, the perils of fame, and an early demise hang over the singer’s heady rise and fall.

In 'Elvis,' an icon remains an icon, and little else

It was a divisive movie. Some praised Butler’s transformative performance and the director’s ravishing style; others experienced it as a nauseating 2.5-hour trailer. Reviewing it for Fresh Air, Justin Chang said that “Luhrmann’s flair for spectacle tends to overwhelm his basic story sense,” and found the framing device around Col. Parker (and Hanks’ “uncharacteristically grating” acting) to be a fatal flaw.

Personally, I thought it was the greatest thing Luhrmann had ever made, a perfect match between subject and filmmaker. It reminded me of Oliver Stone’s breathless, Shakespearean tragedy about Richard Nixon (1995’s Nixon), itself an underrated masterpiece. Yet somehow, even for me, it failed to light a fire of interest in Presley himself — and by design, I now realize after seeing EPiC, it omitted at least one major aspect of Elvis’ appeal: the man was charmingly, endearingly funny.

As seen in Luhrmann’s new documentary, on stage, in the midst of a serious song, Elvis will pull a face, or ad lib a line about his suit being too tight to get on his knees, or sing for a while with a bra (which has been flung from the audience) draped over his head. He’s constantly laughing and ribbing and keeping his musicians, and himself, entertained. If Elvis was a tragedy, EPiC is a romantic comedy — and Presley’s seduction of us, the audience, is utterly irresistible.

Unearthing old concert footage

It was in the process of making Elvis that Luhrmann discovered dozens of long-rumored concert footage tapes in a Kansas salt mine, where Warner Bros. stores some of their film archives. Working with Peter Jackson’s team at the post-production facility Park Road Post, who did the miraculous restoration of Beatles rehearsal footage for Jackson’s 2021 Disney+ series, Get Back, they burnished 50-plus hours of 55-year-old celluloid into an eye-popping sheen with enough visual fidelity to fill an IMAX screen. In doing so, they resurrected a woolly mammoth. The film — which is a creative amalgamation of takes from rehearsals and concerts that span from 1970 to 1972 — places the viewer so close to the action that we can viscerally feel the thumping of the bass and almost sense that we’ll get flecked with the sweat dripping off Presley’s face.

Sofia Coppola imagines Priscilla's teen years, living at Graceland with Elvis

This footage was originally shot for the 1970 concert film Elvis: That’s The Way It Is, and its 1972 sequel, Elvis on Tour, which explains why these concerts were shot like a Hollywood feature: wide shots on anamorphic 35mm and with giant, ultra-bright Klieg lights — which, Luhrmann explains, “are really disturbing. So [Elvis] was very apologetic to the audience, because the audience felt a bit more self conscious than they would have been at a normal show. They were actually making a movie, they weren’t just shooting a concert.”

Luhrmann chose to leave in many shots where camera operators can be seen running around with their 16mm cameras for close-ups, “like they’re in the Vietnam War trying to get the best angles,” because we live in an era where we’re used to seeing cameras everywhere and Luhrmann felt none of the original directors’ concern about breaking the illusion. Those extreme close-ups, which were achieved by operators doing math and manually pulling focus, allow us to see even the pores on Presley’s skin — now projected onto a screen the size of two buildings.

The sweat that comes out of those pores is practically a character in the film. Luhrmann marvels at how much Presley gave in every single rehearsal and every single concert performance. Beyond the fact that “he must have superhuman strength,” Luhrmann says, “He becomes the music. He doesn’t mark stuff. He just becomes the music, and then no one knows what he’s going to do. The band do not know what he’s going to do, so they have to keep their eyes on him all the time. They don’t know how many rounds he’s going to do in ‘Suspicious Minds.’ You know, he conducts them with his entire being — and that’s what makes him unique.”

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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It’s not the only thing. The revivified concerts in EPiC are a potent argument that Elvis wasn’t just a superior live performer to the Beatles (who supplanted him as the kings of pop culture in the 1960s), but possibly the greatest live performer of all time. His sensual, magmatic charisma on stage, the way he conducts the large band and choir, the control he has over that godlike gospel voice, and the sorcerer’s power he has to hold an entire audience in the palm of his hands (and often to kiss many of its women on the lips) all come across with stunning, electrifying urgency.

Shaking off the rust and building a “dreamscape”

The fact that, on top of it all, he is effortlessly funny and goofy is, in Luhrmann’s mind, essential to the magic of Elvis. While researching for Elvis, he came to appreciate how insecure Presley was as a kid — growing up as the only white boy in a poor Black neighborhood, and seeing his father thrown into jail for passing a bad check. “Inside, he felt very less-than,” says Luhrmann, “but he grows up into a physical Greek god. I mean, we’ve forgotten how beautiful he was. You see it in the movie; he is a beautiful looking human being. And then he moves. And he doesn’t learn dance steps — he just manifests that movement. And then he’s got the voice of Orpheus, and he can take a song like ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ and make it into a gospel power ballad.

“So he’s like a spiritual being. And I think he’s imposing. So the goofiness, the humor is about disarming people, making them get past the image — like he says — and see the man. That’s my own theory.”

Elvis has often been second-classed in the annals of American music because he didn’t write his own songs, but Luhrmann insists that interpretation is its own invaluable art form. “Orpheus interpreted the music as well,” the director says.

In this way — as in their shared maximalist, cape-and-rhinestones style — Luhrmann and Elvis are a match made in Graceland. Whether he’s remixing Shakespeare as a ’90s punk music video in Romeo + Juliet or adding hip-hop beats to The Great Gatsby, Luhrmann is an artist who loves to take what was vibrantly, shockingly new in another century and make it so again.

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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Luhrmann says he likes to take classic work and “shake off the rust and go, Well, when it was written, it wasn’t classical. When it was created, it was pop, it was modern, it was in the moment. That’s what I try and do.”

To that end, he conceived EPiC as “an imagined concert,” liberally building sequences from various nights, sometimes inserting rehearsal takes into a stage performance (ecstatically so in the song “Polk Salad Annie”), and adding new musical layers to some of the songs. Working with his music producer, Jamieson Shaw, he backed the King’s vocals on “Oh Happy Day” with a new recording of a Black gospel choir in Nashville. “So that’s an imaginative leap,” says Luhrmann. “It’s kind of a dreamscape.”

On some tracks, like “Burning Love,” new string arrangements give the live performances extra verve and cinematic depth. Luhrmann and his music team also radically remixed multiple Elvis songs into a new number, “A Change of Reality,” which has the King repeatedly asking “Do you miss me?” over a buzzing bass line and a syncopated beat.

I didn’t miss Elvis before I saw EPiC — but after seeing the film twice now, I truly do.

Lifestyle

L.A. Affairs: Sick of swiping, I tried speed dating. The results surprised me

Published

9 hours ago

February 27, 2026

Press Room

L.A. Affairs: Sick of swiping, I tried speed dating. The results surprised me

“You kinda have this Wednesday Addams vibe going on.”

I shrieked.

I was wearing my best armor: a black dress that accentuated my curves, a striped bolero to cover the arms I’ve resented for years and black platform sandals displaying ruby toes. My dark hair was in wild, voluminous curls and my sultry makeup was finished with an inviting Chanel rouge lip.

I would’ve preferred the gentleman at the speed dating event had likened my efforts to, at least, Morticia, a grown woman. But in this crowd of men and women ages ranging from roughly 21 to 40, I suppose my baby face gave me away.

My mind flitted back to a conversation I had with my physical therapist about modern love: Dating in L.A. has become monotonous.

The apps were oversaturated and underwhelming. And it seemed more difficult than ever to naturally meet someone in person.

She told me about her recent endeavor in speed dating: events sponsoring timed one-on-one “dates” with multiple candidates. I applauded her bravery, but the conversation had mostly slipped my mind.

Two years later, I had reached my boiling point with Jesse, a guy I met online (naturally) a few months prior who was good on paper but bad in practice.

Knowing my best friend was in a similar situationship, I found myself suggesting a curious social alternative.

Much of my knowledge of speed dating came from cinema. It usually involved a down-on-her-luck hopeless romantic or a mature workaholic attempting to be more spontaneous in her dating life, sitting across from a montage of caricatures: the socially-challenged geek stumbling through his special interests; the arrogant businessman diverting most of his attention to his Blackberry; the pseudo-suave ladies’ man whose every word comes across rehearsed and saccharine.

Nevertheless, I was desperate for a good distraction. So we purchased tickets to an event for straight singles happening a few hours later.

Walking into Oldfield’s Liquor Room, I noticed that it looked like a normal bar, all dark wood and dim lighting. Except its patrons flanked the perimeter of the space, speaking in hushed tones, sizing up the opposite sex.

Suddenly in need of some liquid courage, we rushed back to the car to indulge in the shooters we bought on our way to the venue — three for $6. I had already surrendered $30 for my ticket and I was not paying for Los Angeles-priced cocktails. Ten minutes later, we were ready to mingle.

The bar’s back patio was decked out with tea lights and potted palm plants. House-pop music put me in a groove as I perused the picnic tables covered with conversation starters like “What’s your favorite sexual position?” Half-amused and half-horrified, I decided to use my own material.

We found our seats as the host began introductions. Each date would last two minutes — a chime would alert the men when it was time to move clockwise to the next seat. I exchanged hopeful glances with the women around me.

The bell rang, and I felt my buzz subside in spades as my first date sat down. This was really happening.

Soft brown eyes greeted me. He was polite and responsive, giving adequate answers to my questions but rarely returning the inquiry. I sensed he was looking through me and not at me, as if he had decided I wasn’t his type and was biding his time until the bell rang. I didn’t take it personally.

Bachelor No. 2 stood well over six feet with caramel-brown hair and emerald eyes. He oozed confidence and warmth when he spoke about how healing from an accident a few years prior inspired him to become a physical therapist.

I tried not to focus on how his story was nearly word-perfect to the one I heard him give the woman before me. He offered to show me a large surgery scar, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal the pale pink flesh — and a well-trained bicep. Despite his obvious good looks and small-town charm, something suspicious gnawed at me. I would later learn he had left the same effect on most of the women.

My nose received Bachelor No. 3 before my eyes. His spiced cologne quickly engulfing my senses. He had a larger-than-life presence, seeming to be a character himself, so I asked for his favorite current watch.

“I love ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty,’” he actually said.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, it’s my favorite. Oh, and ‘Wednesday.’ You kinda have this Wednesday Addams vibe going on.”

I was completely thrown to hear this 40-something man’s favorite programs centered around teenage girls, and by his standards, I resembled one of them. Where was the host with the damn bell?

Although a few conversations clearly left impressions, most of the dates morphed into remnants of information like fintech, middle sibling, allergic to cats, etc. Perhaps two minutes was too short to spark genuine chemistry.

After a quick lap around the post-date mingling, we practically raced to the car. A millisecond after the doors closed, my friend said, “I think I’m going to call him.” I knew she wasn’t referring to any of the men we met tonight. The last few hours were all in vain. “And you should call Jesse.”

I scoffed at her audacity.

When I arrived home and called him, it only rang once.

The following three hours of witty banter and cheeky innuendos were bliss until the call ended on a low note, and I remembered why I tried speed dating in the first place.

Jesse and I had great chemistry but were ultimately incompatible. He preferred living life within his comfort zone while I craved adventure and variety. He couldn’t see past right now, and I was too busy planning the future to live in the moment.

Still, in a three-hour call, long before the topic of commitment soured things, we laughed at the mundanity of our day, traded wildest dreams for embarrassing anecdotes, and voiced amorous intentions that would make Aphrodite’s cheeks heat.

Why couldn’t I have had a conversation like that with someone at the event?

It’s possible I was hoping to find the perfect replica of my relationship with Jesse. But when I had the opportunity to meet someone new, I reserved my humor and my empathy.

Also, despite knowing Jesse and I weren’t a good match, I thought we had a “chance connection” that I needed to protect. In reality, if I had shown up to speed dating as my complete self, that would have been more than enough to stir sparks with a new flame.

It would be several more weeks before I was ready to release my attachment to Jesse. But when I did, I had a better appreciation for myself and my capacity for love.

The author is a multidisciplinary writer and mother based in Encino.

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.

Editor’s note: On April 3, L.A. Affairs Live, our new storytelling competition show, will feature real dating stories from people living in the Greater Los Angeles area. Tickets for our first event will be on sale starting Tuesday.

Lifestyle

In reversal, Warner Bros. jilts Netflix for Paramount

Published

20 hours ago

February 26, 2026

Press Room

In reversal, Warner Bros. jilts Netflix for Paramount

Warner Bros. Discovery said Thursday that it prefers the latest offer from rival Hollywood studio Paramount over a bid it accepted from Netflix.

Bloomberg/Bloomberg via Getty Images/Bloomberg

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The Warner Bros. Discovery board announced late Thursday afternoon that Paramount’s sweetened bid to buy the entire company is “superior” to an $83 billion deal it had struck with Netflix for the purchase of its streaming services, studios, and intellectual property.

Netflix says it is pulling out of the contest rather than try to top Paramount’s offer.

“We’ve always been disciplined, and at the price required to match Paramount Skydance’s latest offer, the deal is no longer financially attractive, so we are declining to match the Paramount Skydance bid,” the streaming giant said in a statement.

Warner had rejected so many offers from Paramount that it seemed as though it would be a fruitless endeavor. Speaking on the red carpet for the BAFTA film awards last weekend, Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos dared Paramount to stop making its case publicly and start ponying up cash.

‘If you wanna try and outbid our deal … just make a better deal. Just put a better deal on the table,” Sarandos told the trade publication Deadline Hollywood.

Netflix promised that Warner Bros. would operate as an independent studio and keep showing its movies in theaters.

But the political realities, combined with Paramount’s owners’ relentless drive to expand their entertainment holdings, seem to have prevailed.

Paramount previously bid for all of Warner — including its cable channels such as CNN, TBS, and Discovery — in a deal valued at $108 billion. Earlier this week, Paramount unveiled a fresh proposal increasing its bid by a dollar a share.

On Thursday, hours before the Warner announcement, Sarandos headed to the White House to meet Trump administration officials to make his case for the deal.

The seal of the Federal Communications Commission hangs between two American flags; the FCC is urging broadcasters to air more "patriotic" content in the run-up to the country's 250th celebrations this summer.

The meetings, leaked Wednesday to political and entertainment media outlets, were confirmed by a White House official who spoke on condition he not be named, as he was not authorized to speak about them publicly.

President Trump was not among those who met with Sarandos, the official said.

While Netflix’s courtship of Warner stirred antitrust concerns, the Paramount deal is likely to face a significant antitrust review from the U.S. Justice Department, given the combination of major entertainment assets. Paramount owns CBS and the streamer Paramount Plus, in addition to Comedy Central, Nickelodeon and other cable channels.

The offer from Paramount CEO David Ellison relies on the fortune of his father, Oracle co-founder Larry Ellison. And David Ellison has argued to shareholders that his company would have a smoother path to regulatory approval.

Not unnoticed: the Ellisons’ warm ties to Trump world.

New CBS News Editor-in-Chief Bari Weiss arrived with a mandate to reshape the network's news coverage. Initial moves involving such mainstay shows as 60 Minutes and the CBS Evening news have sparked dissent inside the newsroom and drawn criticism from journalists outside it.

Larry Ellison is a financial backer of the president.

David Ellison was photographed offering a MAGA-friendly thumbs-up before the State of the Union address with one of the president’s key Congressional allies: U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, a Republican.

Trump has praised changes to CBS News made under David Ellison’s pick for editor in chief, Bari Weiss.

The chair of the Federal Communications Commission, Brendan Carr, told Semafor Wednesday that he was pleased by the news division’s direction under Weiss. She has criticized much of the mainstream media as being too reflexively liberal and anti-Trump.

Kari Lake praised President Trump effusively in a January 2026 appearance on Voice of America's Persian-language service. As she oversees the network's parent agency, critics say her comments may violate the law that seeks to safeguard the news network's editorial independence.

“I think they’re doing a great job,” Carr said at a Semafor conference on trust and the media Wednesday. As Semafor noted, Carr previously lauded CBS by saying it “agreed to return to more fact-based, unbiased reporting.”