Yes, we have all been there: the stomach-dropping,
self-doubt-inducing combo of being blindingly
attracted to, and intimidated by, some hyperliterate untouchable. Or, if
not hyperliterate, some other hyperbole, some apex of whatever kind of “cool”
it is you’re chasing, someone whose every snarky insight makes you weak-kneed. Cult Worship,
Ada Calhoun’s
exacting personal essay takes on the perils of venerating these paper people,
and with words as sharp as they are ultimately comforting, reminds us how much
better off we are without them.
“That guy in the club liked me just
enough to trade books, to tell me about Will Oldham, to go out for dinner, even
to sleep in the same bed a few times, but would never leave anyone with the
impression that we were dating. Whatever we were doing, it was in some
miserable limbo between platonic and romantic. I tried to talk him into liking
me, but that never works, and it really did not work this time…In frustration, I smoked a
lot of cigarettes, drank a lot of deli coffee and slept with his best friend.
Check out
the entire
essay here, Chumbawumba included.
— Caitlin M.
