We were friends. Dear friends.
She was there for me last November when one of her girlies started messaging people “asking” about me. The sheila's story sounded fishy to Lurla because I'd been in her own DMs months before and hadn’t been anything close to predatory.
That was in I think August? She only had a few dozen subs at the time, but was already dominating the Notes algo because she did the Dasha routine significantly better than anyone else. Haywire was calling her a red scare twitter girl or some shit and I got her to back off, pointing out to her that Lurla’s longform writing was actually quite good. Once she saw it Haywire agreed; these days she's promoting Lurla and the two of them seem to be friends.
I knew from the outset she'd be famous one day. Not Substack famous; Famous Famous. Assigned as homework famous. She’ll almost certainly be in Wikipedia before I am, and for sure would have overtaken me in subs by now if she hadn't nuked her first account. The girl is simply a prodigy. She's also an innovator; a tastemaker; a leader.
She read me her DMs from other girls. They said she gave them runway to write about their own fucked up shit. Soon they started copying her vibe, and she got rather pissy when a few of them did so just a little too well. Some of those girls are much bigger than her now because despite being a lot less talented they operate in a more scalable and consistent way—Kasparov to her Fischer.
I’m entirely certain her volatility won’t last, because the girl’s just insanely ambitious. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, because like Mr. Lavender she’s very talented at performing nonchalance while ruthlessly managing her personal branding, but that’s just because both of them understand that artistic status hierarchies demand a certain sprezzatura—it comes off as very gauche and unrefined to actively chase success.
Now personally I find this kind of attitude incredibly gay and have always clashed with other artists over this, because whenever I speak candidly with one of you goofballs it literally always turns out that you secretly want to be famous and admired and rich but think guys like me are a bit oafish for being too open about actively wanting that. And in fairness most people simply aren’t good enough to get away with it. Thankfully I am.
And so is Lurla. If she made a serious go of it she could easily be pulling six figs off Substack this time next year. No gimmicks necessary—just a dignified $8 paywall. She’d have to be disciplined and intentional and burn a little excess social capital on openly giving a fuck about things, but she easily has the raw talent to pull it off.
I wanted to help her get there, so in our first call I spoke to her about monetization. She seemed interested at first, and practically squealed when I showed her how much revenue I was bringing in from my paywall, so I gave her a bunch of advice for how to make that work with her own content. Ultimately she never followed any of it.
…which honestly makes a lot of sense for a 19 year old girl who comes from money; she’s not going to get much of a hedonic return from entrepreneurialism compared to optimizing around social status by performing nonchalance. Her attitude struck me as immature at first because I’d thought her circumstances different—she initially told me she was 21, and her persona on Notes sort of presented herself as working class—but in her sexy cowboy boots I’d no doubt do exactly the same thing.
Anyway we never really spoke about business again after that convo. Lurla recently described our dynamic as “transactional,” and may genuinely believe that now thanks to the tragic legacy of Paleolithic Bride Capture, but I never sent the girl a penny and basically all of the advice I gave her after that convo had to do with deep personal shit or her long-term creative trajectory, and if we’re counting that as “transactional” then literally what relationship isn’t?
I also gave her lots of sexual attention. Obviously. The girl is gorgeous. Looks and sounds like Snow White. She complained her boyfriend was a weak loser who doesn’t want to drug and rape her, so I told her I was going to steal her from him and put her up in a swanky apartment across the street from my splendiferous high rise condominium. That was my first mistake; rich girls pretty much always get the ick when you flash cash like that, the only exceptions being wine track Negresses and occasionally JAPs.
I recovered. Roughly a week after we started talking I wrote a little jingle for Lurla—80% because I was already hugely taken with the lass, and 20% because I intellectually fancied the recursive aspect of writing a song named after a girl named after a song.
She really loved it, listening to the ballad roughly thirty times per Substack analytics. Then we quarreled that night and she told me she hated the song before texting me the following morning saying sorry she still likes the song. Then we had another fight because I self-indulgently offered to buy her a pedicure and that triggered some old trauma response, and for the next three months or so we didn’t talk at all.
Happily circumstances changed in November after some drama with another girl, when I reached out to Lurla for a million different reasons. For about a week she pretended to be mad that I’d “tried to fuck her friend” (wife her friend more like it), presumably for silly Girl Code reasons, but after that we began talking extensively—mostly about Lurla’s creative aspirations and social difficulties and personal traumas. She told me a bunch of intense shit she claims to have never told anyone else before, and I’m not sure if that's true or if the things themselves were even true but they sure as Hell made for a remarkably compelling story.
Lurla is a genuinely spectacular storyteller. It was honestly a grievous insult for me to call her The Zoomer Dasha when that bitch is very obviously The Zoomer Sylvia. or perhaps The Zoomer Houellebecq.
Things got sexual fast. She pretended to be significantly kinkier than she really was, and told me she'd fucked eight dudes (including no less than two Negroid gentlemen). At this point I’ve had so many girls admit to having lied about their body count in precisely the opposite direction that I price it in like girls do with height and dick size and income, but this was the very first time I’ve EVER had a shy innocent virgin lie to me about being a miscegenating libertine kinkster. But I suppose that bizarre decision was ultimately to my benefit, because I would have been infinitely more beta had I known she was a virgin (this is what we writers call “foreshadowing” btw).
Anyway given that her purported body count was 8 and she constantly talked about how much she wanted an old man to rape her I was pretty aggressive in our texts. Lurid photographs were exchanged. There was lots of fetishistic sexting leaning on ageplay and power exchange—I really put that verbal IQ to good use and sent the lass some genuinely inspired bawdy limericks.
She’s already chosen to leak the contents of some of our exchanges, and I don’t really mind that decision given that it’s already won me a horny Jewess DM from one of her subs, but I was really expecting her to keep our sexual exchanges private—not even as a moral thing but just for game theoretic reasons. Other guys are probably going to be a lot more circumspect about giving Lurla this sort of attention going forward, *especially* if they’re a dude with a big platform and something to lose. Nobody impressive will send you the good shit if he’s gaming around the possibility of you turning him into Armie Hammer once the next caveman comes around.
Reputation matters. There are certain things in life you can’t just drive away from.
Anyway the sexual stuff was at times difficult to navigate because the performative kinkiness meant Lurla would occasionally get triggered when we delved into certain territory. To her credit though she got really good about navigating this gracefully, because she genuinely loves men and seems to harbor a particularly special appreciation for wounded and misunderstood aggressive masculinity. Whenever we touched on a nerve during sexting I generally used the opportunity to explore the genesis of that trigger and discuss how she could move past it in the future, and at the time she obviously appreciated that. But she also has the verbal IQ to spin at as grooming if Mr. Lavender ever tells her to do so, so I guess we’ll see.
Let’s talk about Mr. Lavender.