Discerning & Exclusive
A sapiosexual with a 95% rejection rate
What if intellect is my aphrodisiac? When someone calls themselves selective, what do they really mean? Perhaps it means prioritizing well-being over instant financial gratification. Perhaps it means balancing business with pleasure. And what if I'm in the business of pleasure? How do I stay safe and still make a living?
🐺 Screening is standard practice in this industry — common in the U.S. and increasingly so abroad. Most of us ask for similar things, with slight variations: a LinkedIn profile, a corporate website, references from fellow providers. Why? We want proof you have a real job, and the means to pay once you walk through the door. References also tell us whether a client knows how to behave — the difference, frankly, between a man raised by a nanny and one raised by wolves.
“Think of me as a bouncer at the world's most exclusive — and least glamorous — club. The cover charge is honesty, and most people can't afford it.”
🦄 My website outlines my preferred age range, though exceptions happen. Rarely, a unicorn appears.
Late last year, while in New York for a photo shoot, a 27-year-old businessman reached out. His introduction was polite; he acknowledged he'd read my site, knew his age wasn't my usual preference, and asked — hopefully — if I'd make an exception. He included his LinkedIn. We met that same evening once my shoot wrapped, and he was a gem.
He arrived smelling wonderful, in a cashmere blazer, bearing an impressive bottle of red wine. Our conversation ranged across travel, work, and life — genuinely delightful company. He admitted shock that I'd agreed to meet him. When I explained my protocol — and my 95% rejection rate — he laughed: "Wow. The bar is that low, and people still can't clear it?"
"Shocking, isn't it?" I said
The Math Behind the Madness
From my home base in Palm Springs, California local ads bring five to ten messages a day — more on weekends, with international numbers mixed in. On tour, running ads nationally, that climbs to twenty-five, sometimes a hundred, inquiries daily.
Those numbers might suggest a torrid affair in every city, an accountant drowning in spreadsheets. The truth is far less glamorous. Am I an elitist, projecting inflated value? No. After five years in this industry, I've simply built boundaries. I won't risk my safety, meet someone unkind or unclean, or let myself be worn down psychologically. There's a lot of loneliness in the world — and a lot of untreated mental illness. I'm not a doctor equipped to treat either.
My protocol is simple. It requires no DNA sample, bank statement, or your mother's maiden name:
* A brief, polite introduction (two to three sentences) which includes: Your name, age, location, and visit length — ideally in one text, not ten
* A short phone call, two to five minutes, once I've received the above
🎭 Remarkably, 80 to 90% of men who contact me can't manage these two steps. Most never make it to the call.
📞 On the Phone Call Requirement
“A five-minute phone call tells me everything a twenty-page questionnaire never could — mostly because liars hate talking in real time. Funny how that works.”
Then there are the men who insist on video calls only, convinced that one hand on a phone and the other elsewhere qualifies as "screening." Usually, it's a scammer angling for a free show. These spike on weekends — about five a week on average, more when I'm touring. Yes, the numbers are real. No, I'm not flattered.
📲 A Tale of Four Messages
Here's a recent example of boundaries and sincerity working hand in hand.
One afternoon, four messages arrived within minutes: an American, an Australian, and two men from India.
The American followed protocol exactly. We spoke by phone, and within the hour he'd sent a deposit. We confirmed his visit for later this month, when he's due in the desert.
The Australian claimed to be staying at a Four Seasons in Beverly Hills on a two-month contract, hoping to see me regularly during his stay. We had a voice call; he sent his LinkedIn. Promising, so far. I called the hotel to confirm his registration — meanwhile, he was already texting me for my sizes, eager to buy Honey Birdette lingerie for our same-day visit. Ambitious, for a man who hadn't yet proven he existed.
There are two Four Seasons properties in Beverly Hills. I called both — the Beverly Wilshire and the other location. Neither had his name on file. I texted asking for his room number.
The two Indians, meanwhile, were messaging about their devotion, calling nonstop on WhatsApp, angling for a free video call. I ignored them both — gracefully, but firmly 🙅🏻♀️
At the same time, I was arranging care for my disabled brother, coordinating with his nurses, since a booking this size — a five-hour appointment plus a four-to-six-hour round trip — meant ten to twelve hours away. He can't safely be left alone that long.
I'd sent the Australian my booking form and was waiting on his deposit, still confirming his hotel residency, when it became clear: an hour of my time, a day reorganized, careful arrangements made around my brother's care — all for a man who turned out to be nothing more than a fantasy booker.
Annoyed at the inconvenience, I blocked him and the two insistent Indians without ceremony. But I felt real gratitude for the American — the one who'd followed protocol, respected my time, and confirmed everything within the hour. Sincerity, it turns out, is rarer than money. When you find both together, you notice.
🛡️ On Boundaries in General
"My boundaries aren't walls — they're more like a velvet rope. You can absolutely get in. You just have to prove you're not wearing sweatpants to the club, metaphorically speaking."
"Boundaries aren't elitism. They're survival."
