Yesterday was my birthday. 32 years old. Honestly, the number doesn't scare me; I love my age, my maturity, and my experience. But the evening itself turned out to be a comedy and tragedy. I ordered my favorite cake from a bakery, opened a bottle of light prosecco, lit the candles... and realized there was no one to make a wish to out loud. The dog looked indifferently at the candles, and the room was so silent you could hear the sound of melting wax.

I work as a stylist and colorist. I see dozens of faces every day, giving women confidence and men something to look at. I make others beautiful and happy, but on my birthday, I sat there with my hair perfectly styled and a new dress, staring at my phone. Congratulations from friends and clients came one after another, but none of them warmed my heart. Because I realized: I'm so tired of being "strong and self-sufficient." I'm tired of applying makeup only for myself and choosing restaurants based on the principle of "somewhere I can live alone."

This isn't a cry of despair. It's a statement of fact: I'm ready to let someone into my space. I'm tall, slender, and, as they say, beautiful. But my beauty is a currency I want to spend not on likes, but on real hugs. I want someone to blow out my candles with me next year, and I want them to blow out theirs.

That's why I'm here. Not to entertain you with witty texts, but to find someone for whom "stylist Anna" will simply become "Anya."

Dear men, why do you think modern men are so afraid to approach tall women in real life, but are willing to spend time online?