For individuals in this era, nothing is more interesting, and nothing is more authentically representative of self, than the things you simply don’t do.
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t have a Facebook account.”
Translation: “I am an invisible Facebook creeper who spends 11 minutes of each hour refreshing Twitter. Yesterday I pretended I’d never heard of the show How I Met Your Mother even though I watched half a season on a plane on my way to my uncle’s funeral—even though there were two Kubrick films available for viewing. And a Fellini. And Game of Thrones. And I laughed. ‘Til. I. cried, man.”
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t eat meat.”
Translation: “I eat a lot of pizza. Like, tons of pizza. And chicken here or there when no one is looking—but only chicken breast—and maybe a burger because of my, you know, anemia. I love, love, love baby carrots in ranch dressing. And bacon doesn’t really count when it’s that finely chopped.”
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t have a television.”
Translation: “I have a $1700 notebook computer and I once lost a week of my life in a Hulu-exclusive-series spiral and Bangs-videos vortex.”
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t drive.”
Translation: “I make $47,000 as a graphic designer. But I mostly spend money on 90-pound DJ equipment and rare German singles. And taxi rides to my DJ gigs when I can’t get a ride from my roommate’s girlfriend.”
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t define myself by labels like ‘feminist.’”
Translation: “I went to college with a feminist and she wasn’t very attractive. She also dressed poorly. Blech. But I definitely believe in equal rights for men and women and, like, any other gender and it definitely wouldn’t be fair if a man and woman did the same job equally well and the woman was paid less just because she was a woman.”
What you say you don’t do: “I don’t really read a lot of contemporary literature.”
Translation: “Hmm, I was thinking I had this one but you are definitely going to win this category. I did, however, page through a New Yorker three weeks ago and I do, however, have at least three vintage-y copies of each Salinger novel. Or am I thinking Fitzgerald? Crap.”
Non-action: “I don’t know who Kim Kardashian is.”
Translation: “I am a liar. I tell lies. I am lying.”
-Summer Grimes lives in Minneapolis. She tweets and writes Hobo Siren. She does not have a cat.
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