Arisce Wanzer

Arisce Wanzer

Arisce Wanzer is a full time model currently living, working, and dating in New York City. She hails from Woodbridge, Virginia where her supportive family still resides. She graduated from the Art Institute of Miami in 2009 for Fashion Merchandising and Marketing and has been in the business ever since. She came out as transgender when she was 19 and has been living happily doing what she loves... shopping! She has traveled the world, read many books, enjoys indie pop music and high fashion. You want to date her.

Social Profiles

Friday, 15 August 2014 15:53

Welcome To The Friend Zone

Hi Ariscestocrats! Have you missed me? I swear "The Boy Who Cried Love" trilogy will continue, but first, a little lesson on the touchy subject that is "The Friend Zone."
 
What is "The Friend Zone," you ask? And yeah, I know you didn't ask.
It's a pretty popular term these days, especially since half of the people put in that zone take so long to get the hint.  When do you put your has-been potentials in their place? Date 1? Date 3, perhaps? After meeting their friends? Maybe when they've gotten overly attached too quickly? Mine vary depending on my levels of initial attraction to the person. My most memorable experience placing a guy in "the zone" was one that I couldn't have predicted. Because the fact was that I actually really liked him.
 
I met J.T. at a photo-shoot for an NYC-based fashion magazine. He was a refreshing 6 foot 3 inches in height, caucasian, 29 years old, dark brown hair, body by Michelangelo, thick dark eyebrows, light brown eyes, and the sense of humor of somebody who reads to little kids for a living. He was absolutely adorable and borderline goofy. He reminded me of a hot, bodied-up Woody from Toy Story, mannerisms and all. He was farm raised with eight siblings in Pennsylvania and had just moved to NYC to take his modeling career more seriously. We were laughing and poking fun at each other the entire shoot. The publication and story were a bust, but our connection sure wasn't. We talked about our favorite music, growing up with big families, and continued to shoot more jokes back and forth before we exchanged numbers and packed up to go home. 
 
"What train are you taking, I'd love to see that you made it to the platform," he asked me boldly, never breaking eye contact. Cue my "melt" button, heart racing, this guy didn't play games!  We rode home together making more jokes and laughing just as much as before. I had full on butterflies fluttering throughout my entire body, this guy made me nervous. I knew I could really lose myself with him, I was entering into that dangerous territory called vulnerability.
Thursday, 03 July 2014 13:04

The Boy Who Cried "Love" - Part II

Ariscestocrats! How was everybody's Pride month? Did you see me in the "What's The T?" section of the parade in San Fransisco? Oh, you didn't? The shade of it all! 
 
Who's ready for the second part of Mr. Ryan's mysterious tryst with moi? I won't pound you with a long intro, I've built an appropriate amount of suspense thus far (you can catch up by reading Part I here). Now where were we? Oh yes, the "L" word....
 
Pride weekend was over and my New York life had gone back to normal, aside from the feelings that kept surfacing from the back of my mind about Ryan. Why was this the first guy I'd ever liked that made me feel I was "liked" back? Had I been cheating myself by tolerating being treated any other way before? I had so many questions, some for him, but most for myself. I  longed for the content sense of self satisfaction I had embraced before running into him the previous week. I had been casually dating a list of eligible bachelors, going out three or four times a week on expensive dates and having fun, no strings attached, no cares at all. But everything had changed now, I felt like an anxious teenaged girl waiting for her crush to call. Or write. Or post pictures, anything to show they were alive and interested. I didn't care what the other boys were doing anymore, where they were, I stopped returning their calls and texts. All because they could never make me feel the way Ryan had achieved so effortlessly. I felt wanted, needed, craved.
Tuesday, 17 June 2014 15:51

What's Your Problem? Ask Arisce!

Since I'm often referred to as a "Relationship Guru" and "Queen of the Gays", I get a lot of emails from strangers that ask for my perspective around dating issues. This week I'm sharing a chat conversation I had with Errol around his current situation that will hopefully be relatable to others.  Iif you have a question you'd like me to answer in an upcoming blog, email me directly at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. !
 
 
Now for a little Q&A (Queer and Arisce)!
 
Name: Errol
Age: 21
Sexual Preference: Gay
Ethnicity: African American
Personal Sexual Identification: Cis Male
Location: Tennessee, USA 
Normally dates: DL guys and guys with serious internalized homophobia
Length of relationship to date: 5 weeks
Thursday, 05 June 2014 15:38

The Boy Who Cried "Love" - Part I

Ariscestocrats! How is your summer going?! I hope everybody's boozy brunching it and attending grand poolside kiki's a-la rooftop (if not, do get on that, you're slackin' boo). But enough about leisure, let's talk about love.  It's a sticky subject and can be a very scary concept to consider for most people. You can't just throw that word around loosely, it's a real feeling, and that's why people get hurt. I've dated many men, most proving to be just boys with body hair and a great line of credit, but none had ever let the "L" word leave his lips... until Ryan. 
 
For discretion, names have actually been changed for this story - there's a first time for everything. He knows who he is, and he knows what he did. And I know he's reading this, so get ready to cringe "Ryan" (winks and cackles maniacally). Now, where were we?
 
It was the beginning of a super sexy summer and the first day of Gay Pride in New York City. I was out with some of my gays in Chelsea at one of my favorite haunts, Gym Bar, getting my day drink on with a frozen purple nurple. I remember that drink being my summer signature because the color clash went perfectly with my strawberry blonde 'Marcia Brady' weave I had been flossin' all season. I was werkin' a yellow shear tank and a pair of maroon short shorts strangers often mistaken for a belt (my boys call'em my "get it girl" shorts). I was puttin' it all out there for attention and man, did I get it. Ryan circled me and my friends, making occasional eye contact for well over an hour before he finally got up the gull to approach me. I was handing a new acquaintance a business card, dropped it, and without missing a beat Ryan swooped down to pick it up. "Can I get one of these as well?," he asked without an ounce of shame or sarcasm in his voice. He was smooth. I would have to use caution with this one. If I only knew then how much...
 
I learned the basics on him pretty quickly; Argentinian, Jewish, director/actor, here on business often, identifies as heterosexual, 6'2", thin frame, 35 years old, likes trans girls, and he's staying at a friends place on the Upper East Side. So far, nothing to object to, he'd earned himself an hour.
 
Ryan kidnapped me, with my consent of course, for the rest of the evening, separating me from my friends and the rest of the the Pride festivities. He stole me to a park bench where we started to go deeper with our real lives; siblings, jobs, hopes, dreams, past relationships. This guy wasted no time at all, I felt like I already knew home better than some of my friends. He grabbed us a cab and even guessed my favorite date spot, Pastis, on his first try. That had to be a good sign, right? We nibbled on seared scallops and a watermelon champagne concoction he ordered for me at the bar. We shared more of our stories and kissed for all to see without any sense of awkwardness. And it wasn't the sloppy "Those two are wasted strangers" kind of PDA, but the kind that looks and feels like you really see that person. I'd never been so comfortable with a guy so quickly, naturally I was down for whatever he wanted to do for the rest of our night out.
 
We skipped arm in arm over to the Standard Hotel to do some dancing, star gazing, and of course, more making out. Distracted by our little lust bubble, we completely forgot about Gay Pride; outside the hotel was the line from hell to get in. After our failed attempt to sneak in through the fire escape (don't laugh, the idea seemed foolproof and we'd been drinking damn it), we had the bright idea of pretending we were "somebodies" and confidently waltzed our asses to the front of the irritated, impatient crowd. The door boy looked us up and down, lifted his velvet rope, stamped our hands, and made our day. Everything was so easy, so effortless with Ryan thus far, all of the signs were pointing right at him that night. We danced jacuzzi side, made out in the moonlight via rooftop, we couldn't get enough of each other.
 
The night was coming to a close and I had a grown-up girl decision to make. Am I going to go home with this near complete stranger that I've been moving way too fast with all day? Or am I going home alone in the hopes that that will leave him wanting more? Shit. But wait! I could have my cake and eat it too! I went home with Ryan but took sex off of the table in our talk in the cab ride over. I claimed I was,  "exhausted," which wasn't a complete lie. He respectfully bought it and we headed home. We sleep cuddled throughout what was left of the night and said our hard goodbyes in the morning. He called me a cab and I got in feeling as if I'd been in a romantic comedy for the past 24 hours. What the hell just happened? Where has this guy been all my life? These questions weren't helped when Sara Bareilles' hit "One Sweet Love" started to play when the car door shut.
 
That morning was like any other Pride weekend morning; Midtown rooftop, poolside, my boys in toe and mimosas. It was like the previous evening never happened and I liked it that way.  But then a strange number popped up on my phone; it was definitely Ryan. "Don't you have a flight out in two hours?," I asked kind of shocked that he actually called so early. "I have to see you. I have to see you again, I might not be back for another month or two," he said with a sense of urgency I wasn't familiar with from boys I actually liked. I invited him to join us and he got there in a New York minute. We danced and kissed again, he met and got to know my friends, and just like that was off to catch his flight back to Argentina. Seriously, I could not figure out what the hell happened that weekend. Who was this guy? I was smitten, but more cautious than ever. I mean after all, he's just a tourist, where could this go?
 
To be continued Ariscestocrats*
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