Lesbian Sex & The City: I Went to A Party For Ivy League Lesbians And Will Never Be The Same

Move over, Shane, I’m hanging with the Bettes of the world now.

Last week I, Carrie Lezshaw, entered what felt like an IRL episode of “The L Word.”

I thought an Ivy League party would be stuffy and that I would stick out as the “slutty ratchet sore thumb” but it was the complete opposite. It was positively TEEMING with hot power lesbians.

Picture a room full of Bettes and Helenas. There were a few Shanes thrown in there, too. But not that many because Shanes are usually smoking cigarettes outside a grungy bar. These women were polished – fresh blowouts, expensive manicures, and suits from Bloomingdales, not L Train Vintage.

Corinne Kai (GO magazine’s very own managing editor) and I arrived, trying to appear “professional.” My intuition told me to take my choker off in the cab so I shoved it into my beat up Chanel clutch. Corinne frantically undid her bondage-chic black-leather collar in the elevator when we were greeted with quizzical (if not judgmental) looks from two power lezzies exiting the elevator. I was wearing a floor-length black dress with a high thigh slit paired with a powder blue leather jacket and a ponytail so tight it gave me a free facelift. Corrine was in wide leg trousers (her signature look) a fluffy scarf and leather jacket. Taking our collars off didn’t really do much to keep us from standing out.

But once we were there were realized that everyone was a low-key freak anyway.

I don’t even know where to start, you guys. Power lesbians are my new favorite thing. I love them more than I love my eyelash extensions. I love them more than I love sparkling rosé in a can. I love them more than I love Monday nights at Cubbyhole. It’s hard to collect my thoughts for this essay when I get the pussy flutters every time I try to put it into words.

What I thought was going to be frumpy and buttoned-up was sexy and delicious.

We emerged from the elevator, ready to be greeted by more judgmental stares, but we were greeted with smiles and nods. With crudité and cocktail hotdogs. (Cocktail hotdogs are delicious and anyone who denies it is L-Y-I-N-G.) We hit up the bar, which was stocked with everything your bougie heart could desire, and surveyed the room.

I’d look to my right and see a hot dyke in a perfectly tailored suit and designer loafers. I’d look to my left and see a gorgeous femme in a skin tight cocktail dress. I felt like I needed to attach a leash to my collar to keep myself from trying to make out with every power lezzie I saw.

“How the hell are we supposed to talk to people if we both have crippling social anxiety?” I asked Corinne, half joking. I was intimidated. Before she could answer, a dapper butch inserted herself between us.

“Hi! We’re all here to mingle, so let’s mingle.”

Well, that was easy.

At first, the conversations were professional. Networking, as they say. We made a ton of meaningful connections and added to our upcoming list of 100 Women We Love.

Sounds of “Where do you work?” “What do you do?” “Do you know so-and-so?” filled the room, but as the night progressed and the Sauvignon Blanc kept flowing things heated up in Ivy League lesboland.

If you’re a millennial, you already know how excruciating dating can be. We live in a perpetual state of swiping and sliding into the DMs. While I LOVE internet dating culture (hell, I’ve made a career out of it) it can be seriously disheartening to rarely set up sex in person – to “cruise” I believe our respected power lesbians call it. Listen to me, babes. These women actually *ask you* out to your face. They don’t send their roommate (they don’t even have roommates!) up to you to say that “my friend thinks you’re cute.” They don’t avoid making eye contact with you all night at an obscure Brooklyn dive bar then message you on Facebook asking if you were out the other night. They don’t wait for you to message them first on Tinder while passive-aggressively liking all of your Instagram photos. They actually use their social skills and Ask-You-Out.

It’s low-key depressing that this is exciting to me, but it is. It’s so refreshing to be blatantly hit on rather than playing the whole coy do you want to have sex with me or not? game. These women let you KNOW.

“I’ve read your Lesbian Sex and The City column. Would you like to go out sometime?”

“Are you single?”

“Is there an owner to that collar?”

Corinne and I got questions like these all night. Needless to say, our egos were soaring and our heads were spinning. (We’ve concluded that we love power lesbians/daddies.)

^ Us all night.

I am so impressed by how unabashedly sexual, direct, and confident these ladies were. They made Carrie Lezshaw puuurrrrrr.

Rather than being a “freelance artist” (AKA smoking weed in their loft and screwing around on Instagram all day) these women had jobs. Impressive jobs. Important jobs. Jobs with real paychecks. Ugh. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up.

I was so blissed out on compliments, good conversation, white wine, and expensive cheese that I actually forgot about my debilitating social anxiety. That’s probably because a power lesbian took Corinne and I under her wing and introduced us to everyone who was worth knowing – AKA everyone there.

What’s even more important than how hot everyone was, was how supportive everyone was. This is the kind of event I want to be at: where women support women. Women uplift women. And, obvi, women hit on women. For women, especially lesbians, it is SO validating and inspiring to see others succeeding and slaying. This is the kind of stuff that gives us hope, motivates us, and pushes us to uplift each other and do better ourselves. It shows us, yes, we can have it all. It shows us we’re shattering the glass ceiling. It shows us how far we’ve come as a community. It shows us lesbians can do anything. It shows us that power lesbians are the most potent aphrodisiac on earth.

I saw the future in that room of Armani suits and DVF wrap dresses. I saw a young girl living in Arkansas growing up and realizing she can both kiss girls and run a company. I saw a shy queer, new to the city realizing she’s supported by people she doesn’t even know. I saw women sharing ideas, business cards, and numbers.

No one was arguing over semantics or putting each other down. No one was competing to be the most woke or successful. Everyone just wanted to talk and connect.

If you haven’t gone to one of these events, get your ass there, babe. It’s the one place where you can swap resumes and find someone worth going on date with. It will also totally get your ass in check if you can be a tad judgmental like yours truly. I went in with low expectations and left trailing a hot lez wearing leather pants. I had NO IDEA that a community full of confident, educated, direct, and sexy AF woman was out there. These women are too busy running companies to be shady towards one another. They have too many emails in their inbox to be hate-tweeting each other. They are way more interested in bringing each other up than tearing each other down.

Move over, Brooklyn Shanes, I’m hanging with the Manhattan Bettes now. Just please don’t tell them I didn’t go to Harvard and that I live with 2 roommates in a loft in Greenpoint. 

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