The New York 10 doesn’t pay for coffee.
The New York 10 doesn’t pay for nice dinners.
The New York 10 gets flown out and put up without asking.
The New York 10 is approached or contacted daily, if not weekly, by someone the average person would be thrilled by.
The New York 10 watches optionality compound on itself.
The New York 10 has their sense of normal completely recalibrated upward.
The New York 10 sometimes questions the motives of otherwise innocent relationships.
The New York 10 experiences insulation from ordinary friction.
The New York 10 risks treating the desirability as the core of who they are.
The New York 10 is annoyed by all this sometimes.
I used to wonder what it felt like to be a New York 10.
Then I realized I already knew.