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Let me describe two women:
The first one lives in a fifth floor walk-up apartment. She shares the apartment with another woman she met over Craigslist. It’s small but big enough for her to paint while laying on the kitchen floor. She works at a museum. The museum isn’t the normal, run-of-the-mill, museum. It’s one of those modern museums that has an exhibit that lights up based on human emotions. She has no use for TV because she has Apple TV and Netflix and she urges you that “it’s all online anyways.” She uses bigger words that you don’t understand but they might mean something about a blowjob, so you just go with it. She dresses different. It isn’t ugly but it’s absolutely different. Rings on random fingers and big long necklaces. One with a gold sabertooth at the end. There’s an Instagram picture of her in a shirt that exposes one nipple. She’s not on Facebook or Twitter but loves Instagram. Her posts are the pictures that would have gotten thrown away because the lighting was off. She loves to cook but it’s stuff you’ve never really thought of eating. And when you guys get coffee, you’re going anywhere but Starbucks.
The second woman lives in a doorman building. She has a roommate who’s her college “best friend.” This seems to be the theme with every friend — they’re all “best friends.” She works in PR. You don’t know what that means but you know it includes being really busy. She loves everything on Bravo, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Breaking Bad, and “got really into Serial.” You could guess her outfits based on the time of day and the weather. When it’s cold, it’s the long black jacket that looks like she’s a sleeping bag with two brown boot feet. When it’s warm, she wears that long dress that goes to the ground. When it’s nighttime the sweats are out. And she has a rotation of sweatshirts that seemingly smell like other men. Her social media profiles are all there and kept up from the day most people got on these things. You can go back and see how all her friends have aged on Facebook. You can read her tweets that link to the blog she gave up on. Her Instagram posts are like a repeating flip book of memories. New Year’s, St Patrick’s Day, collage of her real “best friend’s” birthday, summer vacation, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, repeat. And when she gets coffee, she has a Starbucks order that’s very much “hers.” It involves pumps and steams and a specific temperature.
Woman one isn’t basic. She’s actually exhausting. She’s the one that makes you go to her museum galas. The one you nod at as she says the word “scrupulous” so she’ll still blow you. The one whose long necklaces keep hitting you in the face while she’s on top. The one whose artsy Instagram posts always include a womanly looking man that you make fun of and she sternly responds with, “Arturo’s amazing.” The one who isn’t vegan or gluten free but all the food she eats seems to be anyways. And the one you just spent hours with looking for a coffee place where the baristas look down at you even though this is the only job their English major is worth.
Woman two is basic. And no woman seems more enticing after reading about woman one. She’s the Macarena. We know the moves and roll our eyes at it even as we still have fun doing it. Sure she has all these best friends we know aren’t best friends but she complains about their schedule, love life, family life, and sleeping schedule and talking shit is the most fun conversation. And we know full well she isn’t actually busy but that just gives us a chance to go hang out with our friends. And, yes she loves Starbucks but at least you’re not going on excursions for coffee places and she even knows the guy behind the counter so the line moves quickly and he throws you an extra shot.
I know we all want to be interesting and different but sadly we are not. Every day I see girls playing this part that they saw on TV. The quirky girl who rolls to the beat of a different drummer. But to most guys, it seems fake. Especially in a time where you can go online and buy a Ramones t-shirt in every color. And when they can’t uphold this level of interesting, these girls apologize for being “basic.” Honestly, we never even noticed how basic you were until you kept pointing it out. I’m going to ask you to stop. It’s okay to be like everyone else. Apologizing only makes you sound like you’re trying to be above it while still being in it. The joke isn’t even funny. The basic girl is the one we want. She’s the one who’s honest. She’s the one who agrees that Arturo’s scarf looks like a puffy vagina..