I recently ended my last relationship. Actually, as a friend had said, it was over last year, but no one told me. I still have 200 percent retention of all the great times. The fact that he was totally unavailable right from the beginning was like the elusive $12,000 Hermes crocodile handbag. I mean, what would I do with it anyway even if I got it? The chase is always better than the catch.

There should be a formula. The harder you fall in the beginning is multiplied by x amount of months to equal recovery time in the end. It should be calculated like a term life insurance policy for relationships. When it’s over, you cash in your policy and you can go shopping with the payout.

Anyway, I am comparing handbags to men. The truth is that a good bag lasts longer than any relationship I have ever had, except my marriage. That lasted 17 years, but it should have been 17 days, as we met on a nude beach in Ibiza—that’s what too much sun can do to your brain.

Bags last longer. You don’t use them every day (unlike a man). We all have multiple bags. I mean, who has one bag that goes with everything? We need multiple men—different men for different occasions, don’t you think? The guy that is best, say, at shopping with you, is not necessarily the best at fixing your computer. And the man who stimulates our brain the best may not make the perfect risotto. While the man who gives you the best sex didn’t necessarily graduate high school.

For handbags we need a day bag, an evening bag, a small bag, a big bag, a shopper, a hobo, tailored and casual, and an assortment of colors in each category—how can we expect one man to fit the job when we need a minimum of 15 handbags a season? And that barely gets us through!

So maybe it’s time for online dating. Dating is like interviewing a potential new employee. Except we give those new employees a much more thorough interview than someone we might think about sharing our bodies and lives with. It’s hard to interview, especially when you are running an international company and constantly traveling worldwide, even first class. So what do I decide is the best way to find the perfect man? I turned to the Internet, of course.

I thought I would try a Jewish guy this time. I thought about all those happily married Jewish women. Maybe they have it right. I mean, they get all the clothes, jewelry, etc., and go on expensive vacations and are not worrying whether heel heights are coming down or going up for next season’s collections.

First I type in jewdate.com. But finally I get the Academy Award, red-carpet Jewish dating site that I have heard so much about: jdate.com.

I fill out the form. I say I am interested in anyone from 42 to 62. Actually, I’ve never dated anyone over 40, but I’m an equal-opportunity employer. And my dear friend Joan Jedell’s dear friend Ivana (as in Ivana Trump) has been quoted as saying she would rather be a babysitter than a nurse maid. When I saw her out with her latest accessory, I knew we blondes had more than plastic surgery in common—was he hot, and trained!

So the questionnaire: Well, I hate long walks along the ocean; my hair would frizz up immediately. And I never went hiking in my life, nor do I have intentions to do so now. I haven’t cooked since the last male left home, so when it asked “about me,” I answered:

I am the perfect woman, I hate to shop, I love sports, am a gourmet chef, and only wear high heels 24 hours of the day. Killer heels—super-high, really high ones!

I know men (all men) just love high heels. The higher they are, the more they love them. I knew that at 10 years old when I decided to become a shoe designer.

I thought my “about me” would be very appealing, but so far no one has written. Maybe I am too perfect? Like Barbie, I come with three shoe stores, a mansion in Ibiza, a New York apartment, and all my own jewelry. All my surgery has already been done—and redone—I am in perfect health, and can probably generate income for another 20 years or so. I have unused frequent-flier miles, and my trainer is foreign and comes to the house. What more could anyone want?

So I am sitting here in my design studio overlooking the Mediterranean (yes, the real one) waiting for that perfect man to write me, the perfect woman. I did notice and was quite impressed that when I joined there were 19,700 other people online. I figured they were 19,700 other perfect Jewish women also waiting for that one perfect man to get in touch with them.

What is perfect anyway? I think all women are perfect, whatever size, color, or age. And if the high heel fits—wear it!

Back