Darlings! Where’ve you been? The whole switch to magazine format confused me, too. I worried that one of us would be left behind, standing there in the empty ether wondering why the closets had been cleaned out. But here we are, blooming, beaming, hopeful, eager to leap into this new day with eyes wide open. Lovely to see you, my muffins. I have something to tell you, and it’s this:
You are stunning. Perfect. Well, whole and holy. Your dharma is enchanting, your karma unblemished and your self-ness is flawless and true. Everything you’ve done and are doing has been carefully calibrated by the ineffable, omniscient universe to bring you directly to this moment, here and now (cosmic curbside service, if you will). The smell of you, the look of you, your innards and outwards are delightfully delicious. No one does You better than you. Angels weep at the thought of you, dogs grin, babies burp happily in their sleep because you, precious, are here on the planet. It’s true; if I could bottle your essence and sell it on e-Bay, I’d be fatter than Donald Trump on April 16. You are just divine. Choose to believe it or write me off as a blower-of-smoke-up-asses, simple fact is that you are the most righteously brightest of the best.
As blessed recipient and keeper of your own fabulous flame, you’ve got some work to do. Spring break is over and it’s time to hit the books. There’s been a little certain something lacking from your absolute fineness, a wee hitch in your giddyup keeping you from the water-walking and celebrity you so deserve—benevolence, my friend, good old-fashioned benevolence. Two parts empathy and one part suspension-of-disbelief. It’s a challenging trait to engender but mostly worth the effort. It lightens your load, whitens your smile and frees you from shouldacouldawoulda guilt eight times out of ten. I’m not asking you to love your enemies or deny reality; no one’s telling you give up the occasional miserliness of spirit that is so satisfying on Truly Bad Days—no simpering Pollyanna makeover here, thank you. However, you’ve been remiss on some of the fine print in your contractual obligation as Spectacular Badass Worthy of Worship. I’m just trying to help:
Largess. Generosity and magnanimity are easy to forget when the heater’s broke, the boss is a fuckface and you’ve been knocked in the head with a backpack on the bus for the fourth time in as many days. But practice it. Pretend that every human on the planet is a sweet, if fumbling, fool. Breathe. Smile (it’ll be a bitter grimace of loathing at first but this will pass). Consider the lilies of the field (or the ass on the hottie hiking up First Ave, whatever works).
Civility. Once defined as “courtesy or lack of crudeness.” Neo-Victorian appropriation of the term has distorted this very fine word to signify “semi-virginal moralizing ala the US, 1954.” Take back the night, sisters and homies! Don’t let fear of being labeled a conservative force you into crappy public displays and piggish punkrockery! You can be cutting-edge AND genteel, hardcore AND kind. Hold doors, offer help, say “please” and “thank you,” forgive those who may deem you inferior—to do otherwise perpetuates planetary obtuseness and brings nothing to the table. Go on, with your progressive ways and your impeccable manners! You’re making the world a better place, one sincere “no, after you” at a time. (And for the love of Christ, please stop cursing in front of other people’s children. Were you raised in a fucking barn?)
populargirls@tabletmag.com
|
