Blowjobs, sleeping in Walgreens, and rosé.
This letter is about Bachelorette Party Hell. (And how to avoid it).
Today’s letter is written from the back of an Uber.
In January, I sent out an audit to my Feed Me readers to get a temp check of what they wanted to read and learn this year from this letter. I’ve been implementing some of the takeaways since then, but one topic that I’ve been asked about over and over since that audit is The Bachelorette Party.
“Three-day Vegas party that included a class on blowjobs from a LV real estate agent (by day) who showed up with a grocery bag full of cucumbers. Room temp rosé was served and the lack of food in my system meant that I would end up throwing up on my Fellatio 101 certificate.” - Anonymous Feed Me reader
I’ve only been to one bachelorette party. It was for my sister, Anna, and I planned it. She wanted something indulgent and short. So I booked a suite at The Greenwich Hotel, and we spent hours with friends drinking tea, eating dried fruits, and gossiping in the Shibui Spa before sipping champagne in the hotel room and getting dinner at Altro Paradiso for spaghetti and negronis. The Greenwich Hotel’s entire mini bar is free, which I find to be ultimate luxury, and hotels that do this skyrocket to the top of my Favorite Hotel List. In the morning, a few more of her friends met us for brunch downstairs at Locanda Verde. She took photos with a stack of pancakes in a BRIDE crown, and then everyone went home. My sister got beautiful photos, everyone felt hydrated, and nobody lost a Sunday to travel or sorting out drama.
“Planners booked a (nonrefundable) $10k+ Airbnb in South Beach Miami without consulting anyone and just told girls the price they owed for the full weekend. They did a Costco shopping trip and bought enough food for 7-10 days (we were there for 3).”- Anonymous Feed Me reader
But I have come to understand that this is not the norm. Based on my Instagram feed, many women prefer spreadsheets that turn into flights to Austin or Phoenix or Cabo, that turn into houses full of Amazon party decorations and customized sweatshirts and taking shots at restaurants and then, airport hangovers. These parties look expensive and a lot of the 3-day delivery Zara outfits look cheap. The whole phenomenon of matching bikinis on a boat for the sake of a photo makes me judgemental, and I’m sorry about that but I’m just being honest. I also don’t know how all of these women my age have six packs. I digress…
There was one woman I needed to speak to for today’s letter: Avery Singer. Avery (yes, daughter of Ramona), is the co-founder of the bachelorette planning service Bach Boss, with her friend Jolie Golub, and their company has established themselves as the go-to savior for unorganized people who want to throw a banger of a bachelor or bachelorette party. Why does one need to hire a service like Bach Boss? Well, to avoid Bachelorette Party Hell.
And what’s Bachelorette Party Hell? Hundreds of you anonymously told me your versions last week when I asked for stories, and I included some of the most deranged (overpriced, over-served, under-planned) ones in today’s letter.
NEWS:
Cowboy boots have become so popular for brides that Tecovas has started hosting bridal parties. I think I’m into this.
In a rare moment of solidarity, Disney+, Hulu and Max will offer a bundle this summer.
The business of scented retail experiences is booming. Customers in pleasant-smelling spaces – not just stores, but also casinos and hotel lobbies – spend more time there without realizing it. The citrus, musk, and wood of Abercrombie still sends a nostalgic chill through my bones.
Vice will create a joint venture to relaunch its digital properties, including Vice.com, Munchies, Motherboard, and Noisey. The deal will see Savage Ventures investing "tens of millions of dollars" into the joint venture, a Vice spokesperson said. Well, Savage Ventures clearly understands the power of lens flares based on their site, so at least they’re on the same page with Vice about that.
Zyn is fueling the American military. I will have to put this on a t-shirt, I fear. Although it’s a bit concerning how much loose stuff our guy has on his dash…it’s like an old Pontiac. Not a dissimilar feeling to when I watched my helicopter pilot in Vegas respond to nudes on iMessage while flying us over the Grand Canyon.
