We’re All Going to Die

November 1, 2014


I am a hypochondriac. I analyze every sneeze, headache, and suspiciously dark mole until I have no choice but to lie in my bed, resign myself to my untimely fate, and make my “final” phone calls to family, friends, and nemeses alike. My parents have tried nearly everything to reduce my hyperawareness of my own mortality. My mother enforced a complete embargo on all medical dramas during my junior year of high school after Grey’s Anatomy left me convinced I had brain cancer. My father indulged my “terminal” Lyme disease by helping me write my eulogy. He was kidding, I was not. But nothing seemed to qualm my intense belief that day-old yogurt would leave me ravaged by a vicious case of listeria so they did what any self-respecting parents would do: made fun of me. Over the past three years my father has meticulously documented every single one of my imagined illnesses in order to use it for Thanksgiving dinner fodder. Below I annotate some of the most recent and deadly.

  1. Smurf-itis: September 20, 2013, Scotland. The heat wasn’t working. I am pale. I awoke with horror at the sight of my noticeably blue skin. Original Prognosis: Death as my blood freezes within my veins. Actual Prognosis: Got the heat fixed, lived.
  2. Concussion: October 12, 2013, Scotland. Smacked myself in the head with a zipper as I was packing. Original Prognosis: Death as I did not have someone wake me up every ten minutes and would thus enter an indefinite coma in my sleep. Actual Prognosis: No concussion, but a rather unfortunate bruise on my forehead.
  3. Heart Attack: December 3, 2013, Scotland. Felt a tingling in my left arm. Original Prognosis: Death caused my body’s consumption of my own heart. Actual Prognosis: Tingling moved to right foot, less deadly, updates to follow.
  4. Rust Poisoning: February 14, 2014, Providence. Shaved legs with slightly rusty razor blade. Original Prognosis: Death as the rusty blood would soon enter my heart and encase it in an impenetrable fortress of yuck. Actual Prognosis: Bought a new razor, lived.
  5. Brain Tumor: April 3, 2014, Providence. Can’t see Powerpoint in my Public Health lecture. Original Prognosis: Death caused by the massive tumor that is lodged behind my eye causing my shitty vision. Actual Prognosis: Went to ophthalmologist, near-sighted.
  6. House Exploding Syndrome: July 4, 2014, New Jersey. Smelled gas, convinced house was going to erupt in deadly flames, put dog and cat into my car and drove around the highway until parents returned from party. Original Prognosis: No house. Actual Prognosis: A bug I crushed earlier in the day was emitting gas-like smell. Threw out bug. House still stands.

This is obviously an abridged collection of my hypochondriacal exploits. However, if any readers would like to take a look at the mysteriously dry patch of skin behind my right ear, I can be reached at Emma_Starr@brown.edu.

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The Mainstream Mandate

October 31, 2014


Breaking News! A new phenomenon that you’ve probably never heard of is rocking the nation: Hipster Shaming.

In this country — like other issues of immigration reform, climate change, and The Great Recession — widespread antipathy and contempt for hipsters is quickly becoming an omnipresent national crisis. Such a targeted cultural standpoint is bound to manifest itself as a critical issue for debate in the following years as it develops into a defiling stigma on the American archetype, once representing freedom of religion, speech, and style.

Hipster harassment is sure to reach its boiling point soon as the number of hipsters continues to grow: college kids everywhere are graduating with useless degrees in things like pinhole photography, pre-colonial African art history, and vegan nutrition — leaving them no choice but to move to New York, buy seven hundred scarves, and start work at the nearest underground coffee shop. With no where else to turn, these troubled kids find solidarity in subverting powerful pop culture and other forms of governmental oppression. Hipsterism is just an adapted method of survival.

And yet, the word “hipster” has acquired a sort of dirty quality as a title to be scorned and met with distaste and shame. Conservatives across the board cry out to penniless yuppy baristas who just want to make it big someday: “Shave already and buy some pants in the right size!” Furthermore, the characteristic unusualness of hipster taste and lifestyle, touted by its proponents to just about anyone who will begrudgingly listen, inspire marvelous mockeries like this one.

No doubt such absurd stereotypes come from a deep curiosity and fascination with the hipster’s bizarre nature and collection of interests. And everyone on this planet understands the irresistible neatness of a perfectly curled handlebar mustache (I’m sure I’m not the only fangirl to approach a complete stranger at a music festival just to snap a pic with his celeb-quality facial hair). Maybe what we all really need is just a better understanding of exactly what a hipster is. And so I offer a modest attempt to shed some light on the situation.

I start my quest by consulting Dictionary.com:

noun, Slang.
1. a person who is hip.
2. hepcat.
3. a person, especially during the 1950s, characterized by a particularly strong sense of alienation from most established social activities and relationships.

The only sense I can attribute to the first point is lost within the antiquated and inherently uncool context of our parents’ generation of lava lamps, middle parts, and blazers paired with turtle necks.

God knows what a hepcat is.

The third point, however, is probably the most useful. Hipsters are “alienat[ed]” from “social activities and relationships.” Sounds a lot like poor little Rudolph who wasn’t allowed to play those reindeer games because of his special red nose…

Like Rudolph, hipsters are just poor lonely souls who need a bit of TLC from the rest of us. We might even discover how special they are. No matter how stupid their “ironic” hats look, hipsters have the best taste in music. They may own an inhuman number of over-sized flannels, but hipsters always know where to get the best organic produce.

As a culture, we all stand to gain quite a bit from the welcoming of our unique comrades into our circle of friends. Take some time, then, to really familiarize yourself with their way of living and their interests. This blog and this chart may be of some use to you in your studies moving forward.

So, in the end, what can we glean from this enlightenment of sorts? Just remember: people without prescriptions in their glasses have feelings too, and deserve to have their rights respected — just like the rest of us blind, unoriginal schmucks.

Image via.


One Graph To Rule Them All

October 30, 2014


In a quest to graph my life, I have stumbled across the one that exemplifies most of my daily experiences. This graph demonstrates a sense of building excitement, turned to apathy, and then disapproval. Perhaps it is the weak, “quitter” mentality my middle-school gym coach warned me about that makes these graphs so relatable – even so, I’ll stand by it as the ultimate  graph for all scenarios:


You know how this works, first you hear it in your friend’s car. Next, it’s the on the radio that faintly plays out of the cafeteria kitchen. You begin to like this song…maybe you even add it to a Spotify playlist or two. As time progresses, you notice that it comes up on all of your Pandora stations. It’s always on in the gym. Suddenly inescapable, the song loses its original flair. (I’m talking to you, Lorde.)


Ah, Autumn, season of changing leaves, brisk mornings, and copious amounts of knitwear. Frankly, if you aren’t wearing at least one knitted (or crocheted) item, you need to reevaluate your fashion choices and befriend a kindly elderly woman. As winter approaches, donning four pieces of knitwear hits the sweet spot: wooly socks, snuggly sweater, warm gloves, and a scarf so big it lusts after Nicki Minaj’s butt. Maybe even a pair of tights for good measure. Past that, things get weird – knitted underwear is just plain unnecessary.


And with Autumn comes midterm season. Upon entering the library, you can feel energized and productive. Eight hours in, your will to live wanes.


If the subject of your costume is sexy, by all means be sexy. If the subject of your costume is a puppet from a children’s show, consider reevaluating your costume. Don’t make me simultaneously sad about our collective childhood and the future of our generation.


It’s easy to get excited about pumpkin-flavored things in early October when the taste of a certain spice latte is new to your tongue. At a certain point, the taste of pumpkin abruptly shifts from delightfully autumnal to cloyingly artificial. Luckily, you never have to wait too long for peppermint season.

Sexy Sesame Street Image via Yandy.com

Life & Other Drugs, Satire

A Rant From The Guy Without A Culturally Relevant Halloween Costume

October 30, 2014


Speaking as someone whose self-worth is solely determined by my ability to impress others with a witty and timely Halloween costume, October 31, 2014 is going to be a pitiful night. Honestly, what happened this year?

Beyonce and Jay-Z almost got divorced. Pharrell wore that hat and had that song on the radio. Ariana Grande.

“But there are some great movies and television shows that came out this year!” you say in the shrill, repulsive voice of someone probably wearing a devil costume for the third year in a row. What am I going to be, Ben Affleck from Gone Girl? The kid from Boyhood? A man in boring clothes dressed as his pathetic self?

Who the hell do you think I am?

I’m the Herald of Halloween, the Prince of Pop Culture, the Duke of Doing October Right. I ordered cowboy boots and a blonde wig a second after Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift. Last year, I almost got arrested in my Walter White costume. When Mitt Romney had binders full of women, I had binders full of costumes related to the 2012 election. You probably think I had a pretty creative binder costume, right? Wrong. I was Paul Ryan in workout clothes from his unforgettable Time Magazine photoshoot.

This isn’t a game. It’s a lifestyle. And even if 2014’s disgrace of a year is throwing a monkey wrench at me, don’t forget that I’m still going to find a way to do it better than every single one of you.

Aw, you’re dressing up as Ron Burgundy this year? How adorably 2004 of you. What’s the plan for next year, pal, Zoolander? Just because this year wasn’t culturally fruitful doesn’t mean you have the right to embarrass the rest of us with an outdated costume. This Halloween, do us all a favor by staying in with a Judd Apatow DVD and candy for drooling trick-or-treaters instead of showing your sorry face around these parts.

Sadly, some of you hopeless fiends think you can still whip some shred of a costume together with your roommate’s dirty laundry. Even more of you will approach me with your so-called trendy and innovative suggestions. What do I look like a, Pinterest board (which, by the way, I wore as a costume last year)? Those of you who think your DIY Orange is the New Black costumes are the most clever get-ups this side of Netflix clearly forgot that I dressed as a prison guard last year — you know, back when it was relevant. By the way, those handcuffs were real.

And don’t even think about saying the f-word: Frozen. Little girls around America — nay, the entire sequin-clad world — beat me to that months ago. Do you really think I’m here to copy a bunch of children?

I’m in it to win it.

So, while the rest of you are harassing underpaid workers for the last pair of moldy cat ears at your local party store, I’ll be gluing my corneas to Twitter, eagerly awaiting the next culture-shaking event. With actual glue. When you breathe, sweat, and bleed Halloween superiority, there’s no time for mercy.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Shia LaBeouf articles to peruse.

Image via, via.
Life & Other Drugs

The Teammates Who No One Can Stand

October 28, 2014

In high school, I didn’t play a single sport. But at the start of my first year of college, I decided to grace Brown University and the world at large with my tremendous athletic ability by joining the women’s Ultimate Frisbee team. Don’t know what Ultimate is? How about you step into the sunlight for a little bit, friend? Frisbee is everywhere. It’s on the Main Green. It’s on the athletic fields. Find any patch of grass on a sunny day and you can bet someone will be tossing a disc. Even adults play it! Crazy!

However, understanding the point of this article doesn’t require a knowledge of Frisbee. Just trust me when I tell you that it’s a sport. Naturally, with any sport there comes an opponent. But I’m not talking about any kind of opponent: I’m talking about the really obnoxious, overly pumped-up players whom your aggressive, equally pumped-up body just wants to slam into, and possibly injure. If you’ve ever been on a sports team of any kind (or even in a gym class), this article should make perfect sense to you. These people are everywhere, in every sport, in every high school gym. They will always be there, polluting your playing time with their incessant antics. Hey, you could be one of these people, and I’m not trying to beat on the love you have for your sport. Just take it easy, kiddo. Tone it down. Continue Reading…

On "The Hill"

Dorm Room Trick-or-Treating

October 28, 2014



One fateful Sunday night in October, Halloween-Eve-Eve-Eve-Eve, my most devoted friends and I ventured out into the eerie, fluorescent dorm lighting on a mission to spread Halloween cheer and shamelessly beg for candy (or anything else people would be willing to part ways with). Dressed in half-assed costumes (I’m a mouse, duh) and equipped with nothing but CVS plastic bags, we weren’t the most impressive trick-or-treaters, but we made up for our shameless mascara whiskers with our boundless enthusiasm for getting free stuff.

We walked into “Hotel Andrews” expecting big things, particularly “King-Size” candy bars. Each room has private sinks, after all. This is prime real estate, the home of the Pembroke elite. It took a couple of doors slammed in my face until I realized that Halloween is dead and Andrews Hall killed it. The palpable awkwardness and general lack of Halloween spirit was unexpected, and perhaps a spooky reminder of peoples’ ability to be despondent in the face of joy (and silly costumes).

Not everyone was a Halloween Grinch. In fact, some people were surprisingly prepared and enthusiastic. (I’m looking at you, fake-spider-webs-girl! At least I hope those were fake…) Anyway, thanks to everyone who put up with our early Halloween shenanigans and generously gave us treats! As for the rest of you cold-hearted bastards, you’re in luck: I’ll probably be too busy reveling in my loot to actually trick you guys.

Food Treats:

1.  Cookies (3)
-Short bread from a box (1)
-Home-made (1)
-Oreo (1)
-Happy trick-or-treater (1)

2.  Reeses (4)

3.  Dried banana chip (1; half eaten)
-So bourgeoise chic…

4.  Protein powder (4 oz.)
-Snorting a couple lines of protein powder gave me the strength to persevere after being mocked and rejected at multiple doors.

School Supply Treats:

5.  Pen (1; chewed)
-The bite marks add character!

6.  Pencil lead (1 pack)
-Tears will get you the good stuff.

Classic Dorm Crap Treats:

7.  Red solo cup (1; used)
-Sooo college, but, like, very practical and useful. If only there were a little something extra in there to keep me going…

8.  Condom (1; not used)
-Thanks, Resident Peer Leader!

9.  Ibuprofen (2 pills)
-I’m personally an Advil brand type of girl, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.

10.  Individual floss (1)
-This was very helpful with dislodging the Reese’s aluminum foil wrapper from between my molars.

Miscellaneous Item Treats:

11.  Insurance Card (1; politely declined)
-Honestly, wow.

12.  Tissue (1; used)

13.  Hello Kitty tattoo (1)
-Unfortunately, not permanent.


Love & Romance, Uncategorized

“Watch” This: A Guide to the Movie Hookup

October 27, 2014

Over the summer, a friend and I were chatting fervently about his latest romantic interest–a Logan Lerman lookalike who lived about an hour’s drive away. They had been flirting incessantly over Grindr for a couple weeks before Hottie finally decided he would come visit, which meant that my friend was determined to turn their texty relationship into a sexy reality. And of course, what better way to do that than to bring him into the basement to “watch a movie”? Ever since middle school, sliding in a DVD and letting the darkened room and cramped couch do the talking has been the standard prelude to a good make-out session.

“Do you know what movie you’re gonna ‘watch’?” I asked, putting extra effort into the air quotes.

“Yeah, I’m thinking Brokeback Mountain,” he said, lifting his hand into the air for a high five. I slapped it away.

“Brokeback Mountain? Are you shitting me? Just because it’s gay doesn’t mean it’ll put him in the mood!”

He refused to listen to me. I mean, sure, he got his hookup anyway, but was it really worth being constantly interrupted by close-up shots of Jake Gyllenhaal looking upset?

So to spare the rest of you the same embarrassment, here is my definitive list of movie genres and whether they’re good, bad, or just plain ugly to “watch.”

The Rom-Com
Rating: 4/10
It may seem like the perfect choice from an objective standpoint–after all, rom-coms are a classic option for first dates at the movie theater–but you’ll regret picking the latest Ryan Gosling ab-a-palooza for your hookup. The declarations of true love and the overly steamy sex scenes might give your date the wrong idea of what you want in a relationship. Of course, you can talk to him or her about what you do want beforehand, but it’s still weird to nonchalantly make out to a wedding scene.

The exceptions: Any rom-com about friends casually hooking up and then falling in love (especially if you want to take your hookup to the next level), and any rom-com that’s so bad it’s good–because giggling is always sexy.

The Rom-Dram
Rating: -4,000,000/10
Okay, so in addition to being my least favorite genre in general, this is the ABSOLUTE WORST type of “watching a movie” movie. You might cry. You might fall asleep due to boredom before any sexy fun can happen. You might be so worried your chosen date will contract some rare disease and die that you prematurely send them packing. Just don’t do it.

The exception: Gone With The Wind. It’s so long that you and your date are practically bound to start doing something at some point.

Rating: 6/10
So long as it’s not too scary, this movie will make your date curl up into you in adorable fear, and there’s usually some unrealistically attractive couple hooking up in the woods at the beginning to set the mood. Just make sure you initiate things in real life before the token monster chops their heads off–that can put a damper on even the steamiest moments.

The exceptions: Slasher films and screamers. Too much gore is just plain gross. Also, no one likes to be interrupted mid-kiss by a surprise scare, and if you’re as jumpy as I am, your date might be less-than-happy about you accidentally punching them in the face.

Rating: 8/10
These movies are practically guaranteed to induce some warm and fuzzy memories, and with you and your date both in a good mood, a good time is bound to follow. Granted, it might be a little weird to hookup while having flashbacks to childhood, but the awesome soundtracks will definitely make up for it.

The exception: Frozen. Because your makeout will certainly be interrupted when you both pause to loudly sing along to “Let It Go.”

Superhero Action Movies
Rating: 10/10
In addition to being the best ever genre ever that exists ever, this is the perfect type of movie to seduce your lucky date. First, he or she is bound to enjoy the movie in general, and if they don’t, I can guarantee you don’t want anything to do with them. Second, unless you’re a total nerdwad like me, the movies are often not so riveting that you can’t pull your crush’s attention away for a little… and it’s easy to make that little become a lot. Third, there’s usually some romantic interest-sexual tension that’s subtle enough to not make your date think you’re coming on too strong, but obvious enough to set the mood. Finally, you can stare at Chris Hemsworth’s abs, or something similar, which will undoubtedly put you in a sexy mood.

The exception: The Amazing Spider-Man 2. Because it will ruin your life.

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It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

The Illusion of Workout Clothes

October 27, 2014

After eight years of wearing a uniform to school, I now struggle with the concept of “picking out an outfit” for class. Back then, it was so easy: kilt, polo shirt (blue or white – oh the options!), spandex for under the kilt, and my Sperry Topsiders (so preppy chic). It also helped that my school was all girls – no makeup, constant bed head, and stained collared shirts – AKA not giving a shit.

Now at college, I feel like I probably should give one. Do I wear jeans? If I do, I usually end up sweating through them. Do I wear a dress? If I do, I feel like I’m trying too hard. So, I asked some friends ahead of me in school for outfit advice. My friend, Natalie, gave me some great wisdom that I am now going to impart on you, the fellow outfit struggler. She told me that when she goes to class every day, she makes it look like she’s going to workout at the gym. One small caveat: she never actually goes. Instead, she’s comfortable in her yoga pants and sweatshirt.

I have taken her devise and formed a step-by-step guide so you’ll never have to worry about what you’re going to wear to class again.

How to Get Dressed for Class — A Three Step Process:

1. Put on your favorite pair of leggings (Lululemon, Athletica, Lucy, Target, anything is fine)
2. Put on a ratty old t-shirt (add sweatshirt for when it’s chilly outside)
3. Put on sneakers (usually goes well with calf socks – see Nike)

Voila! You have created the Illusion of the Workout Clothes. If you’re like me, the idea of going to the gym overwhelms you, thus making it an infrequently visited location. But with this illusion–dressing as if you’re going to workout at the gym–people will think you’re… well… going to workout at the gym.  They’ll think, “Wow, she must be so busy, but she’s extremely committed to her physique that she wears her workout clothes so she can head right to the gym after class.”

Bonus–-elastic waistband on leggings means no muffin top!

Also, when you’re indulging in excessive amounts of your desired junk food of choice, people will be like, “Treat yo self girl! It looks like you just had a hard workout!” And you’ll be like, “Hell yeah I’m going to finish this cookie the size of my face!” My mantra: getting dressed for the gym is half the battle, right? So reward yourself by not actually going.

You may be asked several times, “Hey, are you going to the gym?” You should lie, “Of course I am! Today’s butt and quads day!” Then that person will look at you with disdain for your dedication to healthy living. To go further with the illusion, pinch your cheeks and splash some water on your face – you will make people feel even guiltier with the idea that you already have gone to the gym and they haven’t. Or, hold a Naked Juice – people will just automatically assume you’re healthier if you’re drinking one (my personal fav is Mighty Mango – it’s so delish!)

Little do these people know, when you’re done with classes, you run (this is the most you’ll exert yourself) back to the confines of your room to watch Netflix and finish the bag of popcorn that’s been sitting out for weeks.

The Illusion of Workout Clothes will save you countless hours from stressing over selecting the perfect outfit. Also, HELLO, you’re comfy ALL THE TIME! It’s truly a win-win situation. No need to thank me.

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Life & Other Drugs, Satire

Expensive Ice Cubes for your Overpriced Drink!

October 26, 2014

ice cubes

Earlier this week, I stumbled across an NPR article bearing the horrifying title “Can Hand-Cut, Artisanal Ice Make Your Cocktail That Much Better?” I had to double-check to make sure I wasn’t on The Onion website.

The article reads: “‘If you’re gonna get a drink that’s $15, it better have the best ice,’ says Joe Ambrose, a bartender at the W Hotel who co-founded Favourite Ice, the company that’s hand-chiseling frozen water for about 30 restaurants and caterers in the D.C. area.”

What a great idea for a start-up! Nice job finding a synonym for ‘ice.’ How anyone could possible think it’s a good idea to sell something that can be made for free by anyone with electricity and running water is beyond me. The fact that Ambrose managed to get other people on board is even more astonishing, but hey, I guess it’s working.

“Regular ice is cloudy because of the minerals like calcium in tap water, Ambrose says […] So he filters water, and then puts it in a big machine made by Clinebell — the same machine that makes those huge blocks for ice sculptures. The machine churns out 200- to 300-pound blocks of crystal-clear ice.”

Shall we make the ice cubes emerald cut to show off their purity?

“…A restaurant called Second State will charge $1 per “hand-cut rock” if you order from its rye whiskey menu.”

Are we still talking about ice here? This whole thing would make a lot more sense if it was really a drug front all along. Pass the hand-cut rocks.

The article ends with an attempt to ascribe real value to artisanal ice. With some material goods, you really do get more value for more money (one-ply toilet paper, I’m looking at you), but I’m pretty sure i  ce doesn’t fall into this category. Anyway, here’s the claim: “Artisanal ice is pretty, but the real selling point is that the super-sized cubes melt more slowly, which gives you more time to enjoy the flavors in your fancy drink.”

Sure it does.

I’m actually surprised they don’t make more unique shapes. Dinosaur-shaped artisanal ice cubes for a kid’s birthday? Such a tasteful detail! Octagonal ice pieces? They catch the light beautifully! I guess a big, square, roughly hewn cube has a certain rustic appeal, though. It’s a timeless look.

I’m also surprised they haven’t started making flavored ice cubes. I mean, they could be lavender infused! Salted caramels, make way for the salted ice cube. Artisanal sea salt only, of course. Which brings me to an awful possibility…

Brace yourself for the pumpkin spicecube. It’s coming.

Image via.



October 26, 2014


Winter is coming. No, this is not an article about everyone’s favorite medieval dragon porn soap opera, “Game Of Thrones.” I’ve never even seen the show, and I’m staying strong for as long as I can, though I realize that the end of my revolt is nigh. I can resist the aggressive haranguing and crazed ravings of everyone in the entire first world for only so long….But I digress. What I want to discuss today is a different, most essential sign of the changing season, a classic harbinger of the coming Siberian cold front.

They’re cute. They’re warm. Sometimes they’re weird. And as of late, they’re everywhere!

I’m talking about socks.

There are all sorts of socks: old socks, new socks, red socks, blue socks. All right, I’m clearly no Dr.Seus, but seriously, soooooo many socks! With oodles an oodles of choices, what might your sock selection say about you?

The Basic Footie: I think I can safely say that the vast majority of us rely on a hearty supply of these little socklets to get us through life. These fabric-conserving foot coverings are the perfect recipe for just about any activity: going to the gym in your fancy new Nikes, pretending to go to the gym in your fancy new Nikes, or even just taking your trash down to the basement because it seems gross to go barefoot and you’re too lazy to lace up. If you’re a footie-er, you probably like flexibility and versatility. You like to live life on the edge and are constantly on the go. Maybe you are environmentally sensitive and like a variety of color options for your foot garnishings.

Lacrosse Socks: Let me start out by saying, that I’ve always envied you a little, Lacrosse-Sock-Wearing Girl. You look so cool with your socks that stretch to the perfect height without the cumbersome necessity of folding. The one problem with your choice of sock is that they can only be worn with gym shoes. That’s not a problem for you, though, because you are most likely ultra fit and go running a minimum of twice daily. Maybe you even play for the lacrosse team. If you don’t, though, you have all of us fooled. As much as I, and probably many other footwear misfits, desperately want to be part of your athletic-sock-donning crew of cool cats, I just don’t have the calf muscles to rock that look.

Themed Socks: You, my friend, are the very best kind of person. You possess a certain spark, a real zeal for life and all its wondrous possibilities — like socks with ghosts on them, or the upper half of an ostrich, or ones that are designed to look like a reindeer is eating your foot (I have these and they are fantastic… they’re perfect for Christmas and we can twin!). I would very much like to be your best friend, because it is clear from the crazy pattern of animals on your feet that you are spontaneous and like to have fun. You probably have a sunny sense of humor and smile all the time. You definitely also love the element of surprise. Because everyone knows the best thing about wearing wacky socks is the moment of reveal, and the corresponding oohs and ahhs of all your admiring onlookers. That’s how you win people over.

Fuzzy Socks: I commend you, wearer of fuzzy socks. You aren’t a very common commodity because your levels of courage and self-confidence are rare. If you are wearing fuzzy socks out in public, you either have poor circulation in your feet, or you are a badass bitch and no one messes with you. In truth, though, each and every one of us has a pair or two of fuzzy socks that we wear in secret. Deep down we all resonate with your love of comfort. But you make us proud with your fearlessness and poise. Keep doing you, you sassy silly sock señorita (With alliteration of that caliber, maybe I am qualified to be the next Dr.Seus).

No Socks: It’s forty degrees out. You’re either very weird, partially insane, or suffering from a severe case of pinched nerves in your lower extremities. Or maybe you just really want to show off your gorgeous new pedicure. In any event, unless you are praying for a nasty case of pneumonia, you might consider investing in one or more of the endless sock options available to you as first snow quickly approaches.

There you have it folks, your sock personalities explained like never before. If somehow you were left out of these categories, don’t fret. You need not be broken sock-ed forever. There are plenty of socks in the sea (try Urban Outfitters). Happy hunting!

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