What is Salt & the City?
We have been living devoid of a divine feminine New York City blogger in uncomfortable heeled shoes with a relatable stream of unfortunate dating experiences and other words of take it as you will wisdom since 2004. Well, we probably haven’t been, given that half of Williamsburg has a penchant for the utterly bemusing blogosphere—but as a Manhattanite myself, I’d like to build upon the ground Carrie Bradshaw once paved. Think ‘Sex and the City’ with a heightened sophistication, a brush stroke of raw creativity and an underlying semblance of theatre kid meets vibrant feminist meets mousy, introverted librarian energy. Salt and the City is the modern, astute, stripped bare Sex and the City we only have room for now. This is a natural makeup look, an Italian apertivo before dinner, and a digestivo after—this is the acoustic version of a song, playing at sunrise, this is the every day girl, 22 and busy, bringing her thoughts on sex, femininity, politics, cocktails, designer pursues, socializing and social anxiety to the kitchen island. This is being over dressed at the grocery store, and under dressed on a date you didn’t even want to go on. This is curiosity, confidence and chamomile tea, spiked and hot.
With the last season of Sex and the City came a 5’3 shaped space in the city that never sleeps, the third floor of Bloomingdales, and the corner seat of a smoky bar, martini—up, dirty, in hand. Miss Bradshaw answered to nobody but her penchant to write, to share her thoughts, to lounge across the tops of sentences, which poured brazenly from her mane of yellowed hair and the sensual musing between her legs. I should only hope to do the same.
Carrie Bradshaw was introduced to the world a month before I was born. If I had to describe who I shoplifted my personality from it would be 50% her, 30% impassioned high school drama club advisor in a rainbow sweater and 20% Lorelai from Gilmore Girls—feminist icon she is.
The peril of indifference, says Romanian author Elie Wiesel, is apathy. And thus, I will wake at 6:30 AM, stretch, have a glass of water, and let my mind run. I cannot shy away from my own creative impulse—be it both white hot, stream of consciousness, flagrant and unabashedly sexy. I want to be here, to shout out to you and hope you let my words settle, then linger, like purple cigar smoke in the air.
Many write to respond, to qualify, to press up against, to confirm, deny or solidify. I write because I have no other choice.
Thank you for being here. May your margarita rim be salted, your skin clear, eyes focused at a goal you aren’t quite determined of yet, and your orgasms, plentiful.
Who is Eli Rallo?
Over caffeinated, over anxious, over stimulated—but nothing if not consistent and punctual, Eli Rallo is a writer, a creative, a journalist, a champion of sex positivity and a zesty, gluten free goddess in a tennis skirt and farfalle earrings. She is all the caffeine you needed in a day, an ecstatic, wanna be edgy, salted work in progress. She is a graduate of the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre and Dance with a bachelor’s degree in performing arts management, and a graduate of the Columbia University Journalism School with a masters of science in Journalism. Despite these credentials, she cannot long divide. She is not a picky eater, she is an introvert with a lot of sparkly dresses and a viral TikTok account, and she is glad you decided to drop by.
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Pairs well with: oatmilk lattes, quarter life crises, having hate sex with your ex, the morning after a tequila sunrise evening and pizza, obviously.