“Do you ever feel so, so small?” Gracyn asked as we slumped on the couch sitting ‘round a polished brown coffee table topped with paper scraps and a tin bucket of markers. It was art night at Polly’s house. I was two, maybe three glasses of wine deep. Gracyn and Pol had taken a few bong rips while Yan and I doodled away semi mindlessly.
“All. the. time,” I said. It’s hard not to feel so teeny tiny in a place like New York. It’s not even a bad thing, though. I think there’s something comforting about being anonymous. No one gives a fuck who you are or where you’re going dressed up so nice late at night.
Do you ever look around at strangers and imagine them at the lowest point in their life? Balling their eyes out, laying in the fetal position, wishing for death, perhaps? I do. All. the. time. I do this mostly with people who look like life just beat the shit out of them. People on the subway. People with worn creases in their faces from permanent frowns. People with dead eyes and looks of contempt for the world around them. These are the people who you really don’t want to accidentally bump into or graze with your oversized tote bag when the J rocks you like a rag doll for fear that they’ll either implode or explode. Or maybe hit you with a death stare so vulgar that you yourself want to implode.
I like to imagine these people so vulnerable because it makes them more human. You can forgive their jaded auras because of all of the hypothetical misfortunes that potentially brought them there. For a second, you can relate. I’ve cried myself to sleep too many times to count, so I can forgive when a stranger’s obviously had a bad day and makes it your problem. I wonder if anyone’s pictured me this way before..
Sometimes, I also try to picture them as children. What were they like at 3 years old? 9? Were they a giggly baby? Did they have shit parents or were they loved? Are they exactly where they thought they’d be at 9am on a Wednesday at 42 years old? – My phone vibrates. I’m back in my body reading an automated text message from DOLLS KILL reminding me about their HOT BOGO deal and urging me to RUN, NOT WALK to their ONLINE FALL SALE which is happening TODAY ONLY.
Yeah, I click the link. I see boots I NEED and immediately click the little x in the corner so I don’t fall into a dissociative twenty minute virtual window shopping vortex. I feel slightly good about myself for avoiding a very unnecessary spending spree on my way to work. But I immediately end up on Depop anyway searching for something I just have to have because I noticed it on a well-dressed stranger/fellow train car passenger. For some reason, I never picture those fashion-forward people as happy babies. Just the sad ones.