Angel Haze On Grindr, Break-Ups and Flying People Across the World for Sex
Angel Haze is Noisey's new columnist. This week: matters of the heart.
I just can’t get on board with internet dating. It’s so gross. You meet people in seconds, you don’t get that feeling when you have the time to get to know someone, to take them on dates. You have Grindr and Tinder; where you’re clicking on someone and deciding if you want to fuck them in five seconds, going to their hotel, and having disgusting, nasty sex. It all happens so fast. It’s so instantaneous.
I have been in love properly, not internet love. It’s so exhilarating. It’s cute. If you want love, you don’t look. That’s when the best things happen; when you close your eyes, close your mind, when you’re just having fun and doing the things you love. Then, you meet someone who wants to do them with you.
To date, I have been in love with two and a half people. Not that the half a person was a midget—I was just halfway in love, and halfway not. I’m a finicky person, but I pick those certain qualities about someone and that’s what I love about that person. Then I don’t love them fully and realize I’m only half way in love, and that makes me sort of a bitch.
The first person I fell for, I met was when I was 16. I was doing a song with some group from New Jersey and he was their DJ. It was like “love at first sight.” I saw him and I immediately wanted every little part of him for the rest of my life, and we ended up being engaged. But whatever, we broke up. It turned out we had zero in common. He was my first love, but you grow.
The second person, I did kind of meet through the internet, but not on a dating site. I was on Tumblr and I saw this person and said to my fans, “Can someone find out who this is?” Someone got me their Twitter username. I tweeted them saying, “I’m in love with you.” We met up like a week later, and then spent three years together.
Maybe it will happen again? I just met someone else in a very weird way at New York Fashion Week. Basically, my life is crazy right now.
The struggle is that it’s hard to fit someone in when you’re an artist.The last two months we were on the tour bus, and I was having random phone calls with this person every night. I keep saying to them, “I really like you, and I know it’s hard for you to understand cause I’m not a real person that’s tangible now, cause I’m always on the road, coming and going.” I think that especially as an artist, if you have someone that understands, it can be the easiest thing—but if they don’t, it can be really tough and strenuous. I’ve experienced both. I realized that it must suck for people to be interested in someone that can’t be there; someone who is gone like the wind, and you have to take it when you can get it.
Actually though, there are times when it’s great, because my label fly a person I just can’t be without to wherever I need them to be. That’s a perk. So if you like me enough, and you’re cool with it, you could come anywhere in the world and we could hang out. But most people don’t do that cause then they feel like a prostitute: “You make me feel like a cheap whore, you’ve flown me in just for sex.”
All I want is to wine and dine someone. To make them feel special. I was dating someone and it was their birthday, and I rented out this entire private space overlooking the ocean. I had a famous chef cook for them, and music too. But I think that I’m overly romantic in my nature. It’s like old school parent-trap shit, where I’m play old soul songs to make people fall in love.
If it all goes wrong, and you break up, then turn your ex into literature. Make them fictional, and then they don’t exist anymore. When I broke up with my ex-boyfriend I wrote a blog about him for a year, over-romanticising him wildly beyond my imagination. And it worked. I started to think of him as something I imagined, and I got over him. I keep like three journals with me at all times. I write in all of them.
More columns from Angel Haze:
Angel Haze Talks About The Epidemic of Youth Depression
Waiting to Release My Album Would Have Killed Me