I have only been in therapy once and that was, not surprisingly, when I lived in New York City. Not only did all my friends have therapists but my then boyfriend, Joshua Sippen, was studying social work at New York University in the hope of himself becoming a therapist (he had spent eight years as a dancer/waiter).

Buenos Aires is said to have the highest percentage of people in therapy of any city, but Manhattan must come close. Among my friends a therapist was as common as a dentist or gym membership, and certainly more common than, say, a stockbroker. I remember two of my friends going through a protracted and self-dramatising break-up, some of it while staying with me in a house on Fire Island, throughout which both were on the phone to their therapists at least as often as to each other.