While some women are occasionally duped into believing certain “men” are perfect, there is, invariably no such thing, and some fatal, unspeakable flaw always lies beneath the surface. In Williamsburg, essentially the Stepford of Brooklyn (along with Park Slope, but for non-straight people), perfection is sought to be obtained through the ideal apartment overlooking the waterfront and the ideal non-mentally exerting job at a startup nearby.

“Men” who fool women into believing that they’re infallible on the physical and/or personality front always have something horrendous up their sleeve, like being obsessed with their parents or not eating pussy. If you find yourself across from a “man” over a candlelit dinner at an expensive restaurant like Zenkichi, run the fuck out of there because he’s probably a serial killer (but actually wait until the dinner’s over to take advantage of the perfectness of him paying for your food).