I saw that other girls post about her flesh walker of an ex stealing her matcha habits to breadcrumb new willing victims into dating him, so I figured I'd add to our local cryptid stories.
A couple of years ago I met a guy who I ended up dating who it felt like was trying to suck any of the last dregs of 'pick-me' energy I had left in me from my early Uni years and use it to make a collage of his own self interests. You know that Gone Girl monologue that talks about the image of the 'cool girl' that every woman feels like they need to be at some point in their life? Yeah, that was me for a couple of years. I studied the blade of Japanese Whiskey and used my casual alcoholism as an excuse to be a messy indie sleaze party girl for a couple of years.
Honestly, when you're facing crippling self-debt from trying to pay the bills while going to school it's easier to romanticize it to yourself and others by cobbling together a personality of going to cheap shows and drinking craft hipster ales. All terrible things come to pass though, and I eventually realized that the cardboard cutout of a personality I was using to lure in intimacy didn't really matter if it meant me putting down others and all the interests I had didn't bring me any joy. I started drinking less, going to only shows I wanted to go to and started being less apologetic about letting my own interests show.
Some men love to suck on cardboard though. I dated this guy for a couple of years that felt like he was trying to make some kind of Pinterest collage out of my ‘pick-me’ traits to make it into some kind of performative male bible. At the time I just assumed that I’d met a kindred spirit. Someone who could laugh along with me at the shitty emo bands we liked in highschool and how we used to wear fingerless gloves. Tip: if a guy offers up right upon meeting him that one of his favourite artists is Phoebe Bridgers, run! Early into the relationship he confided in me jokingly that he just played the indie top 50 once a week and that was his music taste for the month. Once I moved in with him though I quickly realized he wasn’t joking
The whole reason I’m writing out this naval gazing post is because there’s a part of me that’s still pissed off knowing that all his friends and future girlfriends will think that his taste in old vinyl, thrifting and Nikka Coffey Malt is him. I get that a lot of it is just him wearing the skin cells I shed but there’s parts of me that were still actual genuine interests of mine that he’s still wearing around like some weird Michael Meyers inspired horror mask. I inherited my family’s old vinyl stereo and it’s beautiful. My dad taught me how to wrap the copper wiring for the speakers and how to setup the stereo. Whenever people used to come over to our place, they always assumed it was his setup and not mine and it made me want to scream when he didn’t correct them if I didn’t. The damn thing is still at his place since I moved back across the country once we broke up (fuck me for moving the first time to go live with him). For some reason whenever I try and get him to ship another stupid box he always ignores me or finds an excuse not to ship it.
Anyways, to my ex who I know I know might read this: SEND ME MY GODDAM MURANTZ BACK.
Meal: Breakfast of champions. Birdsnest cookie with peanut butter and jam.
Edit: Post Formatting