I have a whole list of dating hates that aren’t necessarily dealbreakers but traits I utterly loathe. For the sake of time, space and verbosity, they're in concise list form. Drum roll please:

The Loathe List:

1) Exclamation marks - at all, but especially in excess. The worst is when you think a guy is cool. You like him and are kind of in that intimidated awe stage, which wears out really quickly but is so good while it lasts. Then you follow him on Twitter or friend him on Facebook and like a bloody train wreck hundreds of exclamation marks stare back at you. And you ask yourself, “Is someone truly cool ever that openly enthused?” Consider some ultra cool men - Clint Eastwood, James Dean, A-Trak, Kid Rock, George Clooney. Would they use exclamation marks? Heavens no...and neither should a dude you date.

2) Running shoes with jeans. Running and cross training shoes are for athletics, not Sunday brunch. Do not wear them with denim unless you prefer your footwear coated in vomit because that combination makes. people. gag.

3) Ill-fitting underwear. You know that dude with the running shoes and jeans? Well, you can bet your Balenciaga that when he takes off those jeans it’s far from Beckham for Armani. (See also: Jamie Dornan for Calvin Klein.) What you will find are really loose, ill-fitted, wrinkled, rumpled, and faded boxers from Banana Republic circa 2002 decorated with little monkeys or firetrucks. Need I say more? And you wonder why I date Eurotrash.

4) Discussing dollars. My mom says I have an aversion to any money discussion, but really, I just don’t want to know your business. It’s unattractive. I don’t want to know that buying a boat made you have to reel in the spending for the next two months; and newsflash, I can figure that out on my own. Your bills, bank statements, saving method, financing, yadda, yadda, yadda are not my business unless we aim to merge our lives in which case I need to know everything.

5) When they call me baby. If you are not my boyfriend, then I am not your baby. Each time you call me “baby” a part of me dies inside.

Originally written for The Daily Vogue: http://thevoguecity.com/dont-call-me-baby

Emma Dinzebach