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Pets. Pasta. Shoes. Glasses.

I love pets, pasta, shoes, and glasses. I love pets and pasta, and I wear shoes and glasses. I love pets because they're not phony. They're not full of shit, nor are they apologetic.

BY ANDREA ROSEN

PHOTOS BY BEN RITTER

STYLING BY ANNETTE LAMOTHE-RAMOS

Hair and makeup: Mandy Bisetti

Fred Perry top, Rachel Antonoff skirt, Wolford socks, Marais shoes, Ray-Ban glasses; Levi’s shirt and jeans, Adidas shoes

I love pets, pasta, shoes, and glasses.

I love pets and pasta, and I wear shoes and glasses.

I love pets because they’re not phony. They’re not full of shit, nor are they apologetic, pathetic pussies. They might feel embarrassed on occasion, but they’re never self-conscious. If they have a huge mangy beard, or a hairless tail, or bad breath, they own it. If they get nervous, they’ll just take a shit, or pee, or puke. And then feel better. They’re cool like that.

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I love pet owners because they are constantly massaging and scratching their pets, whispering sweet nothings into their ears—even if they don’t have any ears (do snakes have ears?).

I just googled it. Snakes do not have ears, but they feel vibrations.

Pet owners are so free with their love toward their animals. Humans can’t deal with that kind of adoration. It can be annoying, and suffocating. (People who adore too much can turn into John Hinckley Jr.) Animals, on the other hand, have an endless capacity to be emotionally smothered, especially if you feed them and let them run around and smell stuff.

I love homemade pasta. I’m not a latchkey kid, stoner, or white-trash loser, so I hate the stuff out of a jar. I love that pasta is doughy and easy to digest. I rarely get the shits from a bowl of quality pasta. Plus, it’s visually stimulating—this stuff comes in all shapes and sizes. I like colors, and depending on the sauce and what’s mixed into the dough (e.g., beets), pasta can be all kinds of colors.

I like to eat pasta, and then pray, and then love. (That was an

Eat Pray Love

joke.)

I love glasses because I have to. When I was eight years old I wished for glasses, and then my wish came true. And now I’m a four-eyed fuck with astigmatisms and a case of dry eye. So I’m always looking for a new pair of specs (that’s what the cool kids and the yuppie fucks call glasses).

I love shoes because though they’re necessary (as I’m not a barefoot tribal lady living in the Amazon), they feel like the earrings of an outfit. They are decorations on our hooves. They draw our suitor’s eyes from the top of the body all the way down to the bottom (not the butt, the feet). And hopefully, your shoes will give your suitor the idea to massage your feet. That’s the best, right? A nice foot massage!

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