mens lounge

anonymous asked:

Im trying out the water for being an SB on tinder, 24 but i look 17. Im happy for dinner and services after, but i dont know how much i should be charging- the whole night or per hour? What if he doesn't want to give me his full name to do a background check on. Xx

This question…it’s a problem. It really is. Let me explain…

That’s not being an SB and these men KNOW that. These men EXPLOIT that. 

What you’re doing when you’re operating in such a way as an SB is devaluing yourself. 

I’ve seen the men’s lounge on ECCIE. There’s a thread specifically about sugar babies, where they talk about how they get them to do the same things for escorts for less money. These men are the men you will likely encounter. These men are not SD’s. They will not treat you like a real SD will treat you. They will likely never spoil you or take you on trips or buy you designer goods or pay your bills. They these things Golden Pussy Syndrome. 

Do. Not. Play. Their. Game.

The best advice I can give you is to become an escort. Under the title of being an SB, you can spend hours with a guy, go to dinner and then fuck him and walk away with $200. You can do the same thing as an escort and walk away with $1000. Be a smart hoe. Don’t play their game. 

These per-date “sugar” relationships are bullshit and they need to stop. 

The whole concept is literally just a way that men have played us to get their way. If you think I’m bullshitting you, what do you like about this arrangement? You spend a few hours and walk away with some cash? If you want that money to keep coming steadily, you’re going to have to fuck for it. And you’ll be making less money. 

The point here is; think about how you want to organize and run your business before you start because regardless of what you call yourself, you are still running a business. 

Do you want to invest the same amount of time with a guy and make less money? Or would you rather advertise as an escort, do the exact same things, and get paid more for it?

Funny Story

When I was 12 and living with my father, he took us to the country club for a Hallowe’en party. The club had converted the men’s dressing rooms and lounge into a haunted ride of sorts.

My father decided to go with me and we both were terribly unimpressed. Like, the decorations were great, but I’ve always been boring in terms of being scared on Hallowe’en. I walked up to houses that kids and teens older than me would not go near because of hanging skeletons and ‘scary music’. I’m weird.

So we’re walking along, just checking it all out and one of the workers dressed as a mummy, jumps out of a darkened doorway. I did not scream. Instead, I elbowed him in the chest and grabbed him by the costume and threw him to the floor. 

And all that was heard through the combined rooms was, “WHAT THE FUCK, GIRL?!”

My father laughed his ass off and I just stared at the dude.

“Why did you do that?”

“It’s part of the ride!”

“Oh. You should be more careful next time.”

And that was it.

The story spread. The staff gave me extra candy at the dance party. Some of them gave me money as well. And for the next few months, ‘Jake’ was not allowed to forget it.

The best part of the whole thing though, was that I was dressed as Snow White.


Welcome to the first FRIDAY FASHION FACT of 2016! I want to start out by thanking all of you for your endless support of this blog. Ephemeral Elegance has grown far bigger than I could have ever hoped for, and it is all thanks to you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it!

Last year, I kicked off 2015 with a post about the little black dress (read here) which is a New Years Eve and special occasion staple for women. So it seems only fitting that I should kick off 2016 with a staple for men: the suit. The classic suit, like the little black dress, is appropriate in a vast array of settings, and in many situations, it is the only appropriate option for men. A suit can be the fastest way for a man to look professional, polished, and respectable. What is most interesting about it, though, is the fact that the suit has changed very little in over 100 years. So where did the suit get it’s start?

The earliest origins of what we now identify as the men’s business suit (or lounge suit, depending on where you’re from) can be traced to the court of Charles II. In 1666, London was in the midst of the Great Plague, which claimed the lives of nearly a quarter of the population. The pandemic made the former opulence and frivolity of court seem indecent, and so the monarch put regulations in place. Inspired by the French court, he created a sort of uniform for all men to wear, consisting of a coat, waistcoat, breeches, a cravat, a wig, and a hat. In more modern terms, the ensemble essentially consisted of a jacket, vest, pants, and a necktie. All in all, it was not altogether different from the 3 piece suits of today. When Charles II first implemented the new dress code, men were expected to wear dark or dull colors out of respect for the raging plague. However, once the plague had ended, colorful silk and elaborate embroideries gradually returned to court.

While cuts evolved slightly, men’s court suits remained essentially the same throughout the 18th Century. At the end of the 18th Century, though, the opulent style fell from favor (as I discuss here.) It was at this time that one man stepped in to change men’s fashion forever.

Beau Brummel was a suave middle class man with aspirations for greatness. He befriended the future King George IV while serving in the military, and as a result of his charming personality, gained great influence with little actual work. He was the first true dandy, spending several hours a day perfecting his dress, advising others to do the same. He is credited with creating the look of men’s fashion for the regency era: a dark, perfectly tailored jacket, contrasting pants paired with gleaming polished boots, and an exquisitely tied cravat. The look was simple, yet flawlessly executed, intended for everyday wear. In other words, you can thank Mr. Brummel for all of your Mr. Darcy fantasies. Formal (namely court) attire followed Brummel’s lead of simplicity and crisp tailoring, but called for matching trousers and jacket.

Throughout the 19th century, the formal and informal attires shifted and blended in various manners as clothing became more affordable, and therefore it was possible to have a more diverse range of formality in dress. A casual lounge suit was developed for sporting, with matching jacket and trousers made out of more relaxed fabrics. On the other end of the spectrum, a formal lounge suit was created, similar to what we think of today as a tuxedo, a level below the formality of white tie. Several other styles, such as the morning jacket, were created for the in-between levels of formality. By World War I, the short-jacketed business suit became the acceptable form of day wear for gentlemen, and the tuxedo gradually grew to be the acceptable attire for formal wear. While cuts have varied slightly throughout the years, the same general principals have been applied ever since.

For the history of neckties, read here.

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!

Fly Me Home (1/?)

Fandom: X-Men

Ship: Warren/reader (gosh darn it now I’m in love with him what have you done)

Length: 517 words

Rating: PG

Warnings: Reader harassed and (almost) assaulted by men on the street (but Warren saves the day don’t worry)

You hated working till close. You didn’t mind working late— you actually got more tips than usual—you just hated walking home after dark. You lived in a bad part of town, so walking home at night was nerve racking to say the least.

About a block away from your house, the street lights became few and far between, so you started walking a little faster. You passed one apartment building where three gruff-looking men lounged on the steps, and they whistled as you passed.

“Hey sexy,” one of them said, standing up and stepping in front of you. You could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Where you goin’? Don’t you want to stay and have a little fun?”

“No, thank you,” you stepped around him, but he grabbed your arm.

“No?” He scoffed, squeezing your arm until you were sure there would be bruises, “I don’t think you heard me. You’re going to stay, and you’re going to have fun.” He jerked you forward into a disgusting kiss, and you pushed against him as hard as you could. When that didn’t work, you slammed your fist against his nose, hearing a distinguished crack.

The man let go, and you turned and ran, the two other men who were sitting on the steps chasing after you. You ran as fast as you could, but they were faster. You knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up to you.

Just as you started to get hysterical, overhead you saw the silhouette of an angel against the light of the moon. You thought your eyes were playing tricks on you; it couldn’t possibly be an angel, and yet…

The angel dropped from the sky onto the men behind you. You spun around to see a man with huge white wings knocking out your assailants. He seemed to be using his wings to his advantage, swiping them to the two men to the ground. The third man, the one you had decked in the face, jumped on the angel’s back. The angel ran backwards and slammed the man into the wall, and he released his grip.

As all three men lay on the ground, the angel turned to you. You took an uneasy step back, unsure of his intentions, but he raised his hands in the air.

“Hey, it’s ok! Are you alright?” You nodded slowly, “my name is Warren, but people call me Angel. Can I walk you home?”

You nodded again, and Warren held out his arm for you to take. You put your hand in the crook of his arm and he escorted you the last block to your apartment. He made a little idle small talk, asking why you were out so late and where you worked, and you gave him one word answers, still a bit shaken up.

When you reached the door, you turned to him. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Any time,” his blue eyes sparkled, and your heart fluttered. “Hey, what was your name?”


“(Y/n),” he tasted your name on his lips, and a little smile began to blossom at the edges, “well, (y/n), I could walk you home from work tomorrow if you wanted. What time do you get off?”

You bit your lip, “I get off at eleven, but could you…could you fly me home instead?”

Warren grinned, “hell yeah I can!”

Part 2

It’s really crazy how sexualised women are in the West. Subtly or obviously sexualising a woman in ads has become a necessity to sell anything. From window cleaners to pens to cars to drinks to men’s shoes to video games to 2 minute noodles to Doritos. How many shows and films exist right now where women are completely nude, stripped of their clothing in certain scenes while men lounge around in suits or sweatpants? How many billboards, bus stops, trams, have women in some ridiculous position, pouting at the camera, selling you something? It’s bizarre. How can people pretend that it’s empowering? 


Someone’s been passing out drugs again. And she had a feeling she knew who the culprit was.She hated working gigs at this club. 

Brown eyes flashed to the group of business men lounging in the couch by the VIP area, unreasonably angry at the fact that whenever this group of hot shots came in – they seemed to cause the entire club to erupt in a crazed fever, no thought process left to function. She tsked, shaking her head as she clutched her glass to her chest – caution causing her stay alert for anyone that came near her.

The VIP area wasn’t nearly as crowded as the public area – but somehow, she still found it hard to breathe when those men were nearby. She sipped at her glass, wanting to finish so she could make her way out as quickly as possible – only her alcohol tolerance was rather low so it was slow going. It would be a waste to just leave it behind. It didn’t help that she was in the only available seat near them – so she could hear every slimy word that dripped out of their equally smarmy lips.

“God, send someone to save me from this please.” Though she didn’t have high hopes for much.


It was supposed to be a nice holiday in England to visit one of Hargrove’s kids, and the grandkids. It had been a nice summer so far. But the third day they were there, the weather turned beastly hot. If this had been in the States, it probably would have been bearable, but the UK was not prepared for above normal temperatures.

It left two old men lounging around in shorts, feeling sweaty, sticky, hot, and altogether gross. It also lead to shorter tempers, and it was a wonder the two of them were civil to each other to begin with.

“Don’t even say it, I know you’re going to complain.”

“If I wanted to sit around and melt, I would’ve just gone home–” home being home home, of course, “–and laid out on the sidewalk for an hour,” he complained, regardless of what he was explicitly told not to do. It’s fucking hot, it’s not supposed to be hot in England. 

Not only that, telling him not to complain is only going to make him want to do it that much more. 

“Would’ve been a hell of a shorter trip, for starters.” That in and of itself was worth it. “And when I got done laying out on the sidewalk, I could go in and sit in the AC for the rest of the night. I hate it here.”