A first date with me usually goes a little something like this: I show up late and frazzled, offer a bunch of apologies, and order a drink. The standard small talk ensues — “How was your day?” “What’s the worst Bumble experience you’ve had?” Will anyone ever love me? — and then, we get into the job-description thing. I explain that I’m a beauty editor and that I write about hair, makeup, and skin care for a living. The guy proceeds to incorrectly refer to me as a fashion editor for the remainder of the evening. Then, the second drink arrives.