dear eva, pls help

Look, life can be harder to navigate than the non-chronological order of Instagram. So we asked Eva Wiseman to sort our shit out for us. If you have a question for Eva, slide into our DMs or email deareva@i-d.co.

by Eva Wiseman
|
23 October 2017, 4:00am

How do I tackle the big things in life, like blusher, and exes?

Dear Eva,
You seem like the sort of person who has got their shit together so I will give this a go. I recently broke up with my boyfriend of eight years because I too wanted to get my shit together, to be alone, to try and be an adult. So now, here I am, surviving in the real world as a 35-year-old, trying to pay my rent on time and not have an existential crisis. Can you let me in on some tips? Like, how do I apply blusher without looking like a clown? Who actually buys Ted Baker? How do I deal with Mansplaining as it is happening? Should I get back together with my ex? Or should I just be single and date myself? God I hate that phrase.
Yours, Alana M.

Oh my god yes I have every turd in place thank you for noticing. The secret: STORAGE SOLUTIONS. Ease into it in your early 20s with an affordable unit from Ikea, with space for low level everyday shit, like 'What am I meant to think about Apple products rn', and then an airtight drawer for the more delicate shit, like 'How do I make everybody like me all the time forever in perpetuity', and hanging space for family shit, ambition, questions of belonging. Trade up as you near 30, to comprehensive shit storage from Habitat or Made, say, where it costs a little extra for the compartments dedicated to ex-lovers and death, but it's worth it. It holds the stink more successfully, trust me.

Hello! People like to say that if you broke up, it was for a reason. But what gets lost in that advice, cut off after 140 characters or whatever, is that the reason could be almost anything. It could be: whenever we get home at night he makes me detail every conversation I had with another man including the bouncer and then explains why I'm arrogant and slutty to think they were flirting with me because he's the only person that can see through my outer hell to the kernal of beauty within. And it could also be: I watched Luther on my period and thought 'hmm, wouldn't I look good with someone taller'. If you broke up, it might have been for a reason, but that reason might not have been THE reason, is what I'm saying.

I think our generation is a bit obsessed with the value of being alone, maybe because so many saw their co-dependent parents collapse in on each other like two sides of a rotten roof. Maybe because independence is so hard-won, or because we have learned the most important thing is to be everything you can be, which seems to require a certain level of selfishness, or because being alone seems harder (what with the rent, the bills) and therefore better. Except it's lonely alone, something that feels like a taboo to type, and something that we'll maybe return to another day.

But you can read all that as an aside, if you like. You left him for a reason. And besides, I have the answers.

1) Sweep on a neutral powder, blending outwards, then smile and stroke a jollier colour onto the apple of your cheeks. 2) Regionals. 3) Make sure it's real. Like, make sure you actually do know more than this dick talking over you, then you can start to ask questions with the force of a spade digging a grave. 4) No. 5) God no, please, unless you're talking about wanking in which case fill your boots.

It's incredibly hard, isn't it, when you find yourself stuck and questioning, chucking bits of reality like spaghetti at the wall to see if it's done. The truth is, I think, that sometimes a lens is forced to focus on a life at times of distress, which suddenly reveals all the micro-decisions you don't even notice yourself making. The blusher, the boyfriend, the things which alone are manageable, but stacked in a pile feel like a crisis. A decision on one seems to unbalance the other. A misstep threatens to throw you into a cold canal. The trick is to take one at a time, with three or four deep breaths.

What's the deal with Dr Pimplepopper?

Dear Eva,
I have been with someone for a few months now, I really like her, it's a really easy relationship and we get along well – you know, yadda yadda, I don't expect it will flourish into something but it might, we are just establishing our boundaries and all that jazz. The thing is. My girlfriend has a strictly no-toilet talk rule, which is FINE but she also is obsessed with Dr Pimplepopper which I find beyond gross. How do we have this conversation without a) grossing each other out and b) just like why do we live in 2017 when oversharing is a thing? I get it that it's good to "get it out in the open" but I really do draw the line at someone having their cystic acne drained. What's polite here?
Yours, Matthew K

Mate just don't look at her screen, your loss. You'll miss the exquisite thrill of a hard pop, of a dermal exorcism so satisfying many of us need a minute of meditation post. The involuntary mouth full of saliva as a blackhead emerges from the nose of an elderly man in an LA suburb, the toothpaste-like tubes of pus that spin joyfully from a previously blocked pore. But each to their own. You don't need to share everything, you just need to have a bit of sex and a laugh. I think you've found your boundaries.