SUPERficial

You know what word I hate? Superficial. And most of its synonyms (which, I’ll admit, I totally just Googled)–shallow, skin-deep, sciolistic. Now, I now there are a lot of meanings to these words, some of which are terrible, like being self-absorbed to the point of ignorance. But when most people toss out the word “superficial,” it’s regarding a girl who is obsessed with fashion and makeup and clothes, because these are “shallow,” “superficial” things.

And you know who is someone who’s obsessed with fashion and makeup and clothes? Me. So I take offense to that, thankyouverymuch! Because here’s how I see it–a stamp-collector, or a basketball fanatic, or an avid woodworker, or a surfer who never leaves the ocean–are all obsessed with something particular, and no one calls them “superficial.” Why? Because style and cosmetics are related to one’s appearance, and woodworking–not so much.

But why does loving these things have to make you “shallow,” when no one would say that to a fat guy in a Nets jersey who DVRs every game? Why can’t people separate the fact that “superficial” things relate to¬†aesthetic¬†with the “superficial” person’s love of these things? Loving clothes doesn’t mean you love them because you are self-absorbed regarding your own appearance, it could mean that you appreciate the artistry in a fashion designer’s work, or that you love the experience of pairing and styling clothes to create outfits. It’s all fine and dandy for a nerd to bore your face off about Dr. Who, but if you breathe a word about Chanel, you’re suddenly a boring, shallow bimbo.

So, people-who-label-and-shame-others-by-calling-them-superficial, the next time you decide to write off a makeup junkie or a shopaholic, realize that it’s just a hobby or fixation like anything else, and then go back to your bird-watching or scrapbooking.

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A Work of Living

Jobs are a bleak dreary horrible thing. If you are some kind of freak who likes their job, then you can just go sit in the corner with some construction paper and scissors and cut yourself some confetti. Otherwise, you are probably a normal person who wants to die for 8 hours a day.

Cats make the wanting-to-die thing a little better.

Do you know that movie The Island, where everyone lives on a secret hippie commune island and they all pitch in for food and shelter and get to live in a beautiful paradise together? That is what life should be. Instead, people work all day to survive, but they are wasting their lives at work. It’s a paradox, or a circle, or something smart-sounding: you work to make money –> you make money to enjoy life –> you can’t enjoy life because you’re working.

But what if you could have any job ever? What would you be? I never really gave this any thought because the obvious answer is “independently wealthy.” I am not at all ashamed to admit that I would gladly sit around and shop and drink tea and travel to exotic places and do nothing of value to society if I had the G’s. But if I had to have a dream job not titled “rich bitch,” I’ve figured out what I would be.

  1. A stylist. You get to shop for a living. And hang out with celebrities. And if you hated them and they were obnoxious and self-absorbed, you could put them in something hideous and call it “cutting edge.”
  2. A magazine editor. You get to put together a book full of shopping ideas. Plus, you get to make Anne Hathaway do your bidding, and I don’t care for her so I would make her do stupid things like fetch me lattes whilst on a unicycle.
  3. A museum curator. You get to shop for art for a living. And, you can help up-and-coming artists become the next Andy Warhol but less creepy and rude.
  4. An artist. I can’t think of a quip for this one because I would absolutely love making art for a living.
  5. A blogger, which if you get paid for it, is just like being independently wealthy while taking lots of pictures. (Hey there WordPress, wanna pay me?)

Rich and famous people always say you should “be what you love” and all that shit, and I am for chasing your dreams like a My Pretty Pony prancing through a field of daises, but in my opinion that only applies if you love garbage removal or difficult math. “I love to shop” doesn’t exactly translate into a stellar job.

So, the best I can hope for is the zombie apocalypse (totally not influenced by The Walking Dead playing in the background right now) so that I can steal all the clothes I want from abandoned malls and then go live in some former stylist’s mansion.