I wana write like a hot girl,

Aloof, scathing, poignant.

Depression that renders me immobile, unable to eat for days.

Secluded skinny waist, under floppy vintage tees.

Carelessly forgetting responsibilities, knowing that when I come to in a couple of days, weeks or years, it will all be a distant bender. Everything paused for me. Everyone sees me, understands me and pities me despite my shuddering at the thought. And when I come to, I’ll be filled with words I just have to expel to complete my metamorphosis.

One night, spent chain-smoking in front of my computer screen, leads to a New York Times feature-worthy story. People gobble that shit up. They love seeing that hot girls have troubles too. Valid ones, complex ones, ones that make them all the hotter. Troubles that are uniquely relatable to them, but aspirational to others.

Eventually, I’ll get a book deal. With a bold, sans-serif font, all lowercase, overlaid on a disheveled party girl photo of me.

My bio will read something like:

_______ is a Columbia dropout with an honorary degree in Renaissance Literature. She lives in Brooklyn with her cat Priscilla and is currently a staff writer for The New York Times. This is her first book, and hopefully last one like this.

So talented, I’m able to  fuck up massive amounts of opportunity and still “make it.” They’ll call it pretty privilege, and I’ll argue that’s not the point.

When that is the entire point. It’s the thesis of writing like a hot girl. To begin, you must have pretty privilege. And on top of that, a jaded sense of the world, coupled with trauma.

The “Who deserves to experience depression” game isn’t pretty. Thus, hot girls’ writings are sheltered from that line of questioning. Because they are, well, really, really pretty. 

But everyone deserves the freedom of expression, the ability to feel their feelings and write them down. Hot or not— wrong question. You’ve heard the expression: “Point a finger and three point back at you.” That goes for the content you consume. Hot girls put it out. You choose to pick it up, like it, repost it, emulate it, romanticize it, watch it, eat it eat it eat it. Their privilege is looks, yours is choice. Fucking choose and be hot about it.