Sinead in the City is your insider's guide to millennial life in Auckland. If you're struggling to pay the bills or find love in the city of couples, you're not alone. Sinead is here to commiserate. Because whatever you're regretting, Sinead has probably done it twice.
Hi, I'm Sinead.
I'm a 26-year-old millennial, renting (beyond my means) in Auckland's wankiest suburb, Ponsonby.
I'm also an unwavering hopeless romantic, and former dating columnist: for the past year I've chronicled the trials and tribulations of sex (or lack of), swiping right and Sad Single Sundays.
When I was asked to become a weekly columnist again, I worried I wouldn't have anything important enough to say – and that there were already far too many loud-mouthed, self-obsessed millennials on the internet.
But then I remembered all the times I opened my huge, self-obsessed gob and complained about Auckland millennial problems that seemed to totally resonate with my peers. Such as how My Food Bag doesn't offer a "Sad Lonely Spinster" bag for one.
Or wondered aloud if I'm the only person who hates group BYO dinners because I get stuck sitting next to a vague friend's colleague who I truly can't be effed making small talk with at the end of a long week.
Or complained pathetically that I'll never own a home because I don't have rich parents to bankroll me - and instead of sensibly becoming a well-paid accountant, I'm a poor journalist writing this for a laugh during your 3pm Kit Kat slump.
Or admitted I'm in crippling overdraft for accidentally charging months' worth of Uber Eats to my work credit card.
Or screamed and threw my phone across the room because I accidentally sent a screenshot to the person I was talking about.
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Or mused out loud that it would be so handy if a Metro Top 50-esque guide to Best Places To Buy The Morning After Pill existed, because while it's great knowing where to get the dopest eggs bene in town, I also just want to know which pharmacies aren't going to slut shame me on a fragile Sunday morning.
I remembered all these times and how another poor soul would always chime in, saying "Oh my god, same mate."
While I'll be the first to admit that I probably don't have anything Important Enough to say, it would be an honour and a privilege if, once a week, I got to help you feel like you're not the only millennial fu**ing it up sometimes.
After all, anything you're regretting, I've probably done twice.