Obseshes

Everyone's All About It

By Kate Carraway


Photo by Annabel Mehran

SPRING BREAKERS

VICE very presciently did up a whole issue loosely themed around spring break (I wrote about “limited chaos,” which is going to solve your life if it needs solving) (probably), and my girls are all about it and are scrapping whatever nascent fashion plans were in place for S/S 13 (WHICH IS NOW, ALMOST!) in favor of the Opening Ceremony x Spring Breakers collaby and/or their own glucose-flavored, sucrose-scented fever dreams about what this means they want to wear (MESH ICE CREAM TITTAYS!) and do to the ends of their winter hair (DYE IT SOME GARBAGE SHADE OF PINK!). My dudes are all about it, too, and according to everyone’s post-movie-viewing experience, it’s all going down like it did 100 years ago where you’re legit stumbling out of an anachronism/movie theater with neon zig-zag decoratives, holding on to your friends and rubbing your popper-eyes and tripping over a crumbling dusk-gray sidewalk being like, “I have to see it again. Right now!” It all seems very flip-phone reminiscent, is what I mean. It all seems very… spring break.

(Related: I kid-watched Pulp Fiction (1994) and Kids (1995) long after their releases, on grainy VHS rips made by various teen delinquents and biked among various McMansions in various cul-de-sacs, and I guess it is both directly proximal and obvious that the way little kids are inevitably downloading Spring Breakers riiiiight now and then sucking in the corruptions like you-know-what with small, open mouths is just the current version of what we did in after-school basements? Why does it seem much sadder, though? Anyway, I don’t know any teenagers at all so you tell me.)

(Also do you guys think to yourself “A-T-L GEORGIA! BOOTIE LOOK LIKE THIS SIZE!” whenever you read anything about/look at/imaginate the ATL Twins? Oh, Luda.)

This is a rare moment when I don’t especially give a shit about something and am obseshing on behalf of y’all, and am doing so to make up for a couple weeks ago when I treated you to a description of my psycho-sexual environment vis-à-vis asking a guy to shave his beard for me. Sorries!

ASKING

Here is my genuine revelation of the week, which is on my list of things that maybe others come to earlier, or more easily, but: did you know that a lot of problems are best solved by doing what should be done to solve them, rather than kneading them into tight, floury masses (I saw a blog post about chocolate chip cookies this morning, forgive me this analogy okaaaaaay?) and spreading them out and rolling them thin and thinner and thinner until they split and pushing it back into an unrealized whole and then doing it again? Did you know that? Because today I was feeling like “I wish I could talk to someone about X” and then I made the radical decision to ask someone I talk to basically constantly, like constantly, to ask “Can I please talk to you about X” (I’m not being cagey, “X” is just so boring that you def do not care) and she said “yes” and “obvi” and so forth. And I don’t think this is just me being a fucking dummy who is afraid that when I try to get into it I’ll be lost and mute and stupid and dense and demanding and boring—because that is what happens when you try to talk specifically about a specific kind of thing, even to your besties, even when you come with a note on your iPhone where you’ve listed the details and talking points, because it denies conversation and introduces the heavy tokes of monologue—I do think there is a divide that is made up of basic, human, clammy-cold gasping life-fear about what might happen if you let your people, your besties, your whoevers, see the sick, tiny, sad you that needs them. So anyway I guess the small takeaway for this moment, at least, is that when you ask for something sometimes you get it?

RORY’S GETTING MARRIED

You guys, Rory Gilmore, aka, Alexis Bledel (but who cares that’s not what I’m talking about right here) is engaged to Pete Campbell, aka, Vincent Difficult Last Name, who I have read several incredible gossips about, like that he maybe shaved his hairline back because Pete Campbell would be balder than VDLN was in real life? And that he is or was an exxxtreme maximal minimalist who doesn’t have furniture (me too! Furniture is so gross!) or a car in LA (that’s kind of dumb though, 5-real). Also: “Dudes don’t realize how much they sound like Pete Campbell” is a long-ago line I once cut from a story that I am still really proud of.Anyway this news (from yesterday? Day before?) just made every girl with a hot streak of spazzy emotionality and residual, unmet nostalgias for a mom-relationship that she’ll never have just pat at her face with a tissue all day long. Just patta-patta-patta. It’s like the happy-sad of the inevitable and inevitably beautiful for Gilmore Girls ‘shippers of which everyone born between 1980 and 1990 just is.

Their wedding will be so nice. Dean will build a chuppah for them but Rory will forget or lose it or w/e and use the one that Luke made for Lorelai and Max. Lorelai will officiate in something both tight and appealing but never totally flattering and after, at the reception, will trade orig-era Nick and Nora-isms with Don Draper over martinis. Later in the coat closet he will drunkenly crash into her and they will land on a tuffet of woolen and cashmere coats and she’ll be like “Why is your forehead so sweaty?” and he’ll do that grim smile and then FADE OUT and then CLOSE UP on Lane trying and failing to mack on Sally Draper. Sally leaves, and later without explanation Sally and Jess hook up in a bathroom and Rory walks in on them and gives Jess a wounded, puckered “What?” but then squares her shoulders and walks away. And, FIN!

Previously - The Dunham Rule

Follow Kate on Twitter @KateCarraway

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