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Megan Marie Sullivan
The Stylist
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you found a better Halloween costume than mine!
You’d have to be some sort of a D-list celebrity douchebag mimic, like a professional Pauly D impersonator, and topless, wearing a rosary as jewelry (which is totally blasphemous, by the way) dragging along with you, as human accessories, two very fine, built ladies; built like at least one of them could hoist you up on one bicep. Don’t forget a hat and a bandana, and if your abs aren’t absolute, you might as well give up. In fact, you might as well give up now, you don’t look like the kind of person who looks good when you’re sweaty.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you were to embrace the air and lifestyle of an outrageous female diva star known for her wit more than her vocals, someone who was maybe popular only up until about 30 years ago.
And shave your eyebrows.
The only way that you would ever be cool would be to get a segway and drive it everywhere you could, especially steep driveways with high walls on either side so that pedestrians can’t see you coming around the corner. You’ll pick up speed downhill and when you almost knock people over scream at them for being in your way.
Every morning you’ll wake up and redecorate the sidewalk vehicle with torn fabric ribbons to match your outfit.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you wrote a hit song glamorizing body horror, performing this song wearing a large toupee and a fashionably colored suit jackets with rugged jeans and aviator glasses: pinstripe velour, and the color pink, preferably.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you were to organize a snuggie bar crawl and then wander away from the group, leaving your snuggie sheep to fend for themselves in the deep dark city.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you went to Pitchfork and it was raining and you and your best friend rolled in the mud in front of The Very Best, decorating your hair with leaves and little flowers, and then going to a bar and letting the mud dry and cake on your vintage leather vest.
The only that way that you would ever be cool is if you were to wear flip flops through the winter months, forcing all the other girls to feel inferior to you because you were still showing off your sexy little toes-ies while everybody else was covering up like dour old grandmas wearing swimsuits with skirts on the beach.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if you infiltrated a fascist homophobic organization and when it came time to make the banners for the annual pride parade protest you slipped a pro-gay rights artist who specialized in goth metal band cover art a thousand dollars to make a painting of two bears in ass-chaps making out. Then when you all showed up to the protest the gay boys would point and laugh and your “cohorts” in protest would be completely embarrassed.
The only way that you would ever be cool is if all those tattoos were either souvenirs from the libertarian sex cult you joined as a teenager or the Siberian gulag that your parents sent you to after the cult was disbanded.
The only way that you would be cool is if you were the first one to fall asleep at a party, and instead of doodling all over you with a pen and writing horrible, horrible things all over your face (because that’s what my friends would do) your friends dress you in an overly-formal three-piece suit, big thick-rimmed glasses, and a large red bouffant wig that’s gotten a little frizzy over the years. Then they cover you with a comforter so that you don’t suspect anything.
Those fuckers.
About the writer:
Megan Marie Sullivan graduated from Northwestern University with an MA in Creative Writing in 2012. She lives in Chicago and trains robots for a living.
Image: Adam and Eve by Yuri Pavlovich Annenkov (1889-1974). No medium specified. No size specified. 1913. Public domain.
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