The latest podcast episode is essentially what determined me to write this. I've, personally, been called high maintenance more times than I could count, always by men who weren't actively contributing towards my lifestyle in any way, starting from the times when my parents were the ones responsible for footing the bill for my maintenance.

Ngl, getting called that used to bother me a lot when I was younger, but over the years, I thankfully managed to wise up and see that lowering my standards for a LVM is a game I can't possibly win. As soon as you think the bar couldn't get any lower, he grabs his pickaxe and starts chipping away at the Earth's crust. However, I was very surprised to see how many men who I've only tangentially had in my life, felt the need to comment on my standards/ lifestyle.

They're the men I've either never considered dating or those who were still early in the vetting process who I didn't decide if I wanted to date or not, and these are their stories (on what makes me high maintenance). DUN-DUN!

  • Getting my nails done monthly. I say monthly and not weekly because I wear acrylic nails. This is something I got more times than I can possibly remember. Usually, I'll hear about how I'm wasting a lot of money (which first of all, they don't even cost that much, and second, it's my money, that I've worked for, I can do whatever I want with it), but one time a guy straight up looked me in the eyes and told me the UV is going to give me cancer. Which was very rich coming from a guy who probably only wears sunscreen once a year, when he goes to the beach. (I bet his sunburnt ass felt very proud with himself)
  • Taking an UBER home after an outing with friends got cut short because of rain. Take note, ladies, apparently, refusing to wait for the bus in the pouring rain is bad now.
  • Having both Spotify and Netflix subscriptions. Ignoring the fact that the cost is actually split between the members of my household which brings my monthly bill down, forking the whole 16 euros it would cost me for both hardly makes me part of the bourgeoisie.
  • And most recently, after buying my own apartment, refusing to sleep on a mattress on the floor just so I can move out of my parents' house as soon as possible. Like I'm some frat bro living off Doritos and crunchy sock fumes and not a full-grown woman who needs to cook her meals and do her laundry.