I Was An Accidental Sugar Baby

Or at least that’s how society saw it

In the wake of an excruciating breakup, after scraping myself off of rock bottom, I took the opportunity to do many things I’d never done before. I wholeheartedly embraced the word “yes” and enthusiastically threw myself toward every possibility that presented itself.

This newfound gusto resulted in me spending a life-changing couple of weeks solo in Spain and Morocco, having dinner with Paul McCartney and his family, trying my hand at dating for the first time and, in doing so, unwittingly spiraling dangerously close to becoming a sugar baby.

We met through a mutual friend.

I had grown quite close to one of the semi-regulars that frequented the bar in Brooklyn where I worked. After months of surface-level pleasantries, we struck up a conversation one day after my shift as I was changing the 35mm film in my Pentax while having my shift drink at the bar. He was about my parent’s age, had worked at a distinguished advertising firm in London, and thought it was curious that someone my age was still toying with old-school cellulose well into the digital age.

We ended up having good banter and getting along really well, spending a couple of hours shooting the shit and covering a lot of ground. We delved most deeply into my dissatisfaction with my current work situation and how I felt unable to really get anywhere with my art or writing. At the end of the evening, he gave me his card and told me to give him a call if I ever thought he could be of assistance. I promptly tucked the card into my wallet and, several drinks deep, forgot about it.

Fast forward many months and my life imploded around me. I’ll spare you the nitty gritty (which you can read about here), but the bottom line was that I suddenly found myself unable to afford my rent, decimated by heartbreak, and struggling to stay afloat both financially and emotionally.

I filled my miserable hours with mischief and found the loneliness absolutely unbearable. I began to truly worry how long I’d last without the therapy I desperately needed but couldn’t afford. I wasn’t taking care of myself, old habits in brutal self-sabotage reared their ugly heads and I could feel myself not only falling apart but…