How to be cool.

I stalk too many hipsters on Instagram. Are we still calling cool people hipsters? Do we just say they're extra now?

I get so carried away sometimes I have to pull myself out of a full blown hunchback position. Look around. Squint into the light and remember who I was before I was a mouth-breathing freak, ravenously staring at posts of shitty, astoundingly basic poetry, Crosley record players spinning the coolest hippest sad songs and small dogs who are missing eyes or legs. (Note: Dogs like these have excellent personalities, really understand humor and look great in Silverlake bedrooms... on InstaStory.)

I'm obsessed with coolness.

Once, in 2006, a girl who was technically a superior of mine because she was in the Act I Company when I was an Apprentice #Williamstown2006, told me she thought I was so cool she was sometimes too intimidated to talk to me. Eleven years later, I still think about that. I'm never letting that go.

In 2006, I was intimidatingly cool.

In 2017, I have a small stuffed animal ostrich that sits on my bed and an extraordinarily creepy doll called HairDoll hanging on my kitchen wall. I have a rock garden on top of my fridge and an elf on a shelf in my freezer and I like to put on wigs and make videos. I think I'm cooler now than I've ever been actually.


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