I created my Seeking Arrangement profile one night at the Stonewall Inn after a few drinks and an existential crisis. I was complaining to friends about how impossible it felt to earn enough money in New York. One of them suggested I try sugar dating. So I picked some photos, wrote a clever but safe bio, and signed up.

Seeking (formerly Seeking Arrangements) is a site that connects “sugar babies” with “sugar daddies” or “sugar mommies.” It calls itself a luxury dating platform, but it’s clearly about money and relationships with power differences.

The site separates users into two groups: “Attractive” and “Successful.” Attractive members are usually younger women. Successful members are usually older men. Most men are looking for in-person relationships, often romantic or sexual. In exchange, sugar babies receive money either per meeting (PPM) or through a weekly or monthly allowance.

The morning after I made my profile, I woke up to dozens of messages. Some were polite. Many were pushy. A few were openly sexual. Some came from blank profiles with no photos. When I told one man I wouldn’t sleep with him, he accused me of “whoring myself out.”

Because sex work is illegal in many places, the site avoids direct language. Instead of saying “money for sex,” users say “mutually beneficial.” Instead of “sexual relationship,” they say “mentorship.” Many men asked to move the conversation off the app quickly.

Safety became a concern. Even without my real name on the profile, my photos could be traced to social media. A friend who had sugar dated before warned me how risky it could be. One of her first dates drugged her, and she barely escaped.

Still, I had my reasons. At Columbia, I was surrounded by wealthy classmates. Many could afford expensive dinners, clubs, and designer clothes. I couldn’t. Breaking into my field after graduation would mean earning far less than my peers in finance or consulting. Sugar dating felt like a way to close that gap.

Other students I spoke to had similar motivations. Some wanted financial relief. Some wanted luxury experiences. Some were simply curious.

Not all sugar arrangements were sexual. Some women avoided sex entirely. Others set firm boundaries. One student met a man who claimed he only wanted companionship. The money helped her through the semester. But eventually, he wanted more than she was willing to give.

I met one man only once. He was a banking executive. Before our date, he sent me expensive perfume. We had a lavish dinner and drinks. Afterward, he called me an Uber home and later sent me a gift card to a luxury spa. For a moment, I tasted the lifestyle I had envied.

But what I didn’t expect was how exhausting it was. The constant messaging. The fake names. The emotional performance. Pretending to be impressed. Pretending to feel chemistry.

Many of the men wanted to believe it wasn’t transactional. They talked about “chemistry” and “connection.” But both sides knew what was happening.

There was also a strange power dynamic. Some men bragged about confidential work details. They valued my Ivy League education, almost as if it made me a “different kind” of sugar baby.

Eventually, I stopped.

Some people I spoke to left sugar dating because they found partners. Others left after bad experiences. I stopped because I worried about how it would affect my future relationships, my career, and my sense of independence.

What disturbed me most wasn’t the men - it was what the experience showed me about myself. I realized how much I tied my happiness to luxury and status. I also realized how easily I accepted disrespect for material comfort.

Sugar dating can bring fast money. For some, it works. But it comes with emotional cost, power imbalance, and real risks. It’s not glamorous. It’s not empowering in the simple way it’s sometimes described.

As one former sugar babyLinks to an external site. put it: “You’re not tricking him. He knows exactly why he’s there.”

And so did I.