I’ll preface by saying, that I have never, not once, in my centuries of self-discovery and tedious compiling of knowledge of the utterly confounding human species to which I belong, conformed to a single widely accepted norm. No sir. I don’t believe in limitations, stereotypes, ideals blah blah blah.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again about my beloved weapon that is Sarcasm: live it, love it, and if you don’t get it, get out.
Much like bawling uncontrollably at the end of Steel Magnolias (try it, dare ya. No tears=no heart) we have all succumbed to the popular, accepted behaviors that dominate society. You can’t avoid it.
I’ll correct myself on that point by acknowledging those exceptions to the rule: hoarders, guy who fucks his car, Dance Moms, Lady Gaga (God bless her), and the Amish. Just to name a few.
These freaks of nature, along with the soulless monsters who sit stoically unimpressed by the emotional magnitude portrayed by Julia Roberts are on my list of people I would like to probe with uncomfortable questions.
REGARDLESS, you and I, we belong to the masses, the cruel monster that is society.
Before you jump down my throat about this observation that you no doubt believe is a harsh accusation of your character, chill out, slut. Sit your happy hipster (wannabe) ass down and think about it for a sec.
If you don’t live in the woods eating tree bark and drinking your own urine, or some equivalent to that, we own you. Sorry, deal with it.
By we, of course, I mean society. I am a member of it and I have no trouble admitting it. I also have no trouble admitting that I used to have trouble admitting this.
Before my epiphany, where I realized that saying you don’t ‘conform to society’ (which is a lie anyhow) doesn’t actually make you any better than the ‘society’ from which you are trying to disassociate, I was like all of you out there who can’t stand this “soul-sucking ideal” either.
Back then I would tell you it’s because society doesn’t foster individuality, it’s judgey, it’s impossible to fit their mold, I JUST DON’T BELONG DAMNIT!!!!! I could filibuster on the issue probably, but politics are boring and those involved are fat, which I refuse to be. And to some extent, I still don’t believe I was totally wrong.
Sure, the extremes are out there. I’m looking at you, sororities/fraternities, private schools, Bunco groups, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Orange County, Atlanta, New Jersey, DC, the United States in general. (Mostly women…how curious.)
Now if you’re like my main bitch, Olivia, (*names have been changed to protect the innocent, or at least those without a criminal record*) your goal in life is to become just like Kyle Richards or NeNe Leakes, perpetually hosting charity events (about which I have my theories that the funds are being funneled into an offshore account, but that is neither here, nor there), shooting up BOTOX, and working tirelessly to mask a troubling addiction to Xanax.
She’s not quite there yet, in terms of all the legal blunders that are inevitably bundled with this status of reality show royalty, but I’m proud of her accomplishments thus far. Also, I expect nothing less than a regular guest spot on her Real Housewives of (Insert ridiculously materialistic city here) series, which she is fully aware of.
The appeal is hard to resist, and I get it completely. Money, fame, lunch on Rodeo Drive every day, and a career that doesn’t involve desks and papers and drab suits, but a harrowing quest for eternal youth. Which, by the way, is usually completely disastrous, and more often than not turns a beautiful woman into some sort of monstrous, cat-like, mutant Dolly Parton clone, except a lot scarier.
They expect, of course, to come out looking like their daughters, or at least like the 20-year-old their husband is fucking. What I don’t understand is how people continue cutting up their faces even after they see all the things that can go horribly, terribly, agonizingly wrong.
But, as usual, I’m deviating from the point. Don’t pretend you don’t appreciate my insightful rants; you’re not fooling anyone.
Back to the issue at hand: society, human beings, conformity, yes, right. What I’m about to say may sound a little whacko (did you expect anything else from me?), but here I go: Conforming to society is not a bad thing.
Just hear me out. Society means rules, rules mean order, order means peace, and peace means happiness.
It is necessary if you want to be able to live in the world with other people. It is impossible to have any sort of social interactions without society norms. If there weren’t guidelines to follow, we would all be running around eating our neighbor’s dogs or some shit. I don’t know, but anarchy is not the answer, I’m sure of that.
The other side of this coin, is too much conformity. We’re becoming clones, which is cool if you’re a sheep named Dolly, but otherwise creepy, not to mention pathetic.
Little Suzie Sixth Grader wants to look just like little Betty Big Boobs because she got felt up by Sammy Soccer Stud at the Spring Fling last weekend, so one day she goes home, stuffs her training bra and dumps a whole bottle of peroxide on her pretty brown hair.
The result? Well, after she goes and gets her hair colored professionally because her mom beat her with a blow dryer after seeing the vomit-orange disaster on her head, she goes to school. Her boobs are big, her hair is blonde, and she has the attention she wants.
Do you think it stops there? It doesn’t. She goes tanning after school that day because pasty skin doesn’t work with bleach blonde so well. Then she discovers bronzer. And honestly, that’s probably where the real problem starts for little Suzie Sixth Grader (Snooki, anyone? Yeah, you see my point). Before you know it, all the girls (and that special boy or two) who just last week didn’t even know what Maybelline was, are painted head to toe in tacky globs of orange and black. Cute, right?
You remember your phase. And you can’t honestly look back at those pictures that somehow survived the bonfire that was supposed to be the final resting place for all that evidence, and tell me what an adorable middle-schooler you were. I know I wasn’t the only freak sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating lettuce with no dressing, and making up stories about how my green beans fell in love. Or maybe I was, but I tell myself I wasn’t that strange.
Some of us are fortunate enough to grow out of this horrific stage (in which lettuce may or may not have been involved), but we all know the ones that never really did, and there are plenty of them out there. Sure they toned down the orange paint and got some lowlights, but they never really stopped trying to be prettier than the prettiest specimen around, regardless of how pathetic they looked trying so hard. Their battle cry, though subtle, is something along the lines of, “I have to fit in or my life is in the fucking toilet.” (To which I say you haven’t seen toilet life until you’ve seen my string of terrible choices that have led to me writing a pathetic and mean-spirited blog)
Are you annoyed of me telling you all how stupid you are yet? Not to worry, I offer a solution, cliché as it may be.
Be yourselves, people. You really have no other option if you don’t want to continue on the miserable path you’ve been on since you discovered Facebook, the epitome of what it looks like to be desperate to fit in.
Honestly, do any of you really know who this Joseph Kony character is? Or did you want to seem involved in world affairs? I for one will never pretend I am when I’m clearly not. I’m looking at you, 12-year-old girls who posted a status something along the lines of “KONY2012 SUPPORT THE CAUSE PEOPLE HEARTSSSSSS!!!!!” (I’m not cruel or apathetic to others’ pain, the cause is great. But those “supporters” who “support” by posting about it all over the Internet, won’t do shit. Sorry).
There is a fine, practically invisible, line between non-conformist and social outcast, as well as between normal functioning member of society and “do you have a personality…at all? Because I feel like I’ve met you before. About a million times. Today.” Be raspberry, be vanilla. No one really gives a fuck anyway.
It may also just be the gushing slew of inspirational quotes you people are trying to shove down my throat that make me hate pretty much everyone, normal or not. Which, by the way, are definitely part of a mass conspiracy to make me vomit every time I check Facebook or Twitter. Don’t try and tell me otherwise.
Whatever. Let your freak flag fly. I could have just posted those five words to get my point across, but I love to hear myself speak. Or type. Or maybe I just think I’m hilarious, which is totally true. Regardless, here’s my contribution to society; my apologies for poisoning the Internet further. But not really.