Sometimes you aren’t as good as you think, and that’s okay
BY Malakai Yepes ★ november 1st, 2026
Let me just preface by saying that NONE OF THIS was in the script. I told myself going into sophomore year at Syracuse that I would accomplish a lifelong mission of mine, something I’d yearned for and sought after like the many that trailblazed before me. Of course, I’m talking about getting laid. It’s worth mentioning that I entered freshman year with this same aspiration to no avail. Which surprises more people than I thought it would. I’ve never considered myself much of an object of desire. Yet, whenever I told people I was a virgin, they’d gasp as if they’d just seen Clavicular on campus buying a matcha lemonade at College Town Bagel. Unfortunately, my jawline isn’t nearly battered and injured enough to be as much of a “hold me back” as he is.
Despite my concerning lack of experience after 4 girlfriends, 10 talking stages in the past year, and 730 women I unironically referred to as my wife, I held the firm belief I was ready to go the full mile with someone. And Lo and Behold, the first person I ever hooked up with was a sorority girl… who’s sisters side-eye me every time they see me at work!
For context, I was just coming off work and going back to main campus. My primary friend group was already outside enjoying the night, so I decided to stay in and do absolutely nothing. While at work, someone passed by my desk with really bright colored hair. As per Cat Valentine, I didn’t want to make assumptions about anyone’s psychological problems stemming from dyed hair, but it was hard not to when an hour later, I got a DM from this person. I knew them from a class we had taken together the previous semester, but never actually interacted with them outside of the class.
We talked for a good bit about how our lives were going, what we’d done during the semester, setting up flirtatious banter to be revisited at a later date, and not the same night. You know, as one casually does. As I was laying down in my bed staring into the abyss of my dorm room ceiling, this girl began telling me about her and her roommate’s excursion to Faegins. Which was understandably terrible, I mean c’mon guys there’s got to be better bars somewhere. The conversation devolved, or evolved depending on if you’re talking to me, into what I like to call Hennessy and Bitter Memories.
I ended up back at her dorm, ordered condoms cause even DoorDash knew this wasn’t happening again, and promptly set me up for success. Until a week later goes by without a single word. Is this starting to feel familiar? When she finally did message me back, I was met with one of the worst responses, a SEEMINGLY pretty good hookup. Hey so, I’m gonna be honest and say I’m just not interested.
First thought, opposite of transcending the game. Second, this is absolutely not what the fans want to see. And I think the only thing that sheltered my pride in a somewhat protective barrier is that, unfortunately, this happens to a lot of other people. Forbes posted a map in 2023 that showed the percentage of people who have been ghosted after a hookup, with New York garnering itself 83%. I get I might not have been the best partner in hindsight, being that she’s a senior I’m a sophomore so that’s kind of cradle robbing in a sense but I digress.
Regardless of how thick skinned someone is or isn’t, men or women shouldn’t disappear on their partner like that. Sex is an intimate experience despite how many men at Syracuse may beg to differ. We’re all people, and we all deserve the respect to at least be told that we grunt too much, or that we sweat through the bed sheets in an attempt to achieve peak thrustability. Think about it like this: with an experienced partner, they might be able to adapt to your preferences fairly easily. But with someone relatively inexperienced? You can start your very own build-a-freak workshop.
Edited by Ella Dimitriadis