Which Sad White Woman Will I Invoke Today?

It's a toss-up.

Ladies and gentlemen….her.

I’m in my Betty Draper era. My weekdays are spent cooking, cleaning, picking up a kid from school, smoking, feeling sorry for myself. And like January Jones, who portrays America’s Worst Mom, I maintain an incredibly sexy and unhinged social media presence while doing it.

All things considered, nature is healing. I recently accepted an admissions offer from Pfizer University!!!! I have a remote screenwriting internship lined up for the summer after a semester of doing nothing, which is equal parts impressive and ridiculous. It’s also time for my swan song as a woman in STEM (everyone knows what my job is, so I won’t be discussing it here). I’m on a new SNRI that appears to be working (I get out of bed before noon now). Still, like a white woman, I find myself dragging my feet over nothing, heartbroken and disinterested in the abundance in front of me in favor of false memories.

Then I must be in my Samia era? My bestie Fitz generously put me on to her debut EP The Baby—several times over. It was released late last year, but when you’re chronically depressed, you can’t be bothered to consume media on anyone’s timeline but your own. Here are some lyrics from the opening track “Pool” on which you (like me) probably need to meditate:

I said, "Loving you is bigger than my head" / And then you dove in

And then I said, "I'm afraid that I need men" / You said, "Need me then"

I ain’t got nothing to say re: that.

At the core of my being is someone in her Sky Ferreira era. Everyone is asking me to produce, produce, produce, and I’m like, “just listen to ‘Everything is Embarrassing’ again.”

Now that I’ve gotten this particular literary manifestation of white supremacy out of my system, I can exclusively set my sights on Summer of Tinashe—more on that to come.

One thing I know for certain: a Lana Del Rey era lies beyond justification. I attempted a top-to-bottom listen of Chemtrails Over The Country Club more than a week after its release, and I couldn’t get past “Let Me Love You Like A Woman”—track 4 out of 11, for those following at home. This can’t be the same Lizzy Grant that ensnared 13-year-old me in the PacSun fitting room.