I'm Bragging
832 words about how cool I am
It was 2019. My thick thighs were sticking, rubbing, chafing, scraping, abrading, and triturating in dank late summer heat. I was 21 years old, but mentally and facial-follicularly 18 due to a pubertal delay. I was in a bad mood -- not just that day, but most days. I had graduated college and moved to New York and I felt lame. I didn’t have much money. My apartment was infested with mice and amateur filmmakers. I felt strange saying I was a “comedian,” because based on how I used my time, I was really a bespoke SAT/ACT tutor and binge drinker. I was spending at least three hours per day on the subway and at least four just walking around.
I was on my way to tutor a kid. His dad lived in SoHo, which is the middle-aged man equivalent of a dramatic haircut (a desperate cry for help). Our sessions were sometimes difficult because his step-mother had DJ lessons at the same time. I had to pee extremely badly, as I always did, because I traveled around all day long like a railway tramp. SoHo was filled with its usual crowd of experimental plastic surgery survivors, Brazilians and Italians in Polo shirts with the jumbo pony, and rappers who pay for followers.
A line stretched all the way down an entire block of Mulberry Street. Guys with jewelry, guys with stubble, girls in big shirts and big pants, Jewish guys in Aaliyah shirts, and Black guys in Katz’s Deli shirts, expensive versions of the plastic sunglasses they sell in St. Mark’s, hats from a World Series before anyone there was born, tattoos of cowboys on people who have never ridden a horse, $350 second-hand hoodies that they pray to their god someone recognizes.
So this was my enemy. These were the people who knew what to do and where to go and who to do it with. These were the people with mysterious, stylish no-show jobs that allowed them to shop for luxury streetwear on a weekday afternoon. This is what I wanted to and was failing to be. I wished a sinkhole would open beneath them and swallow them into the Earth’s gaping maw. I wished I was not on my way to ghost-write a tenth grade essay about The Scarlet Letter.
I didn’t know it then, but that store is called Aimé Leon Dore. According to their website, “Aimé Leon Dore is from Queens, NY,” but their only physical store is in Manhattan. This is known in the industry as a “Morfogen Switch.” The clothes are honestly cool. A little expensive and self-serious for my tastes, but well-made and not atrocious, which is more than a lot of brands can say for themselves. I have a pair of their shoes which I like and I got my dad one of their hats.
What changed? My girlfriend works there now. I know the other people who work there, too. I cut the line that once made me so mad. I walk in and shake hands, bump fists, nod chins. I order coffee off the secret menu and get it for free. I get a “friends and family” discount -- only losers and goyim pay retail.
So, what’s the moral of the story? Always ruthlessly exploit your relationships for access and material gain. But that’s obvious.
This story is really about belonging. Walking past that line, I was the lamest, smallest, most pathetic version of a hater -- so insecure about my own life that I was jealous of people whose lives I didn’t even want. Now I have not just their life, but the life they want. They’re still standing in line and I’m walking right past them! I’m spilling gochujang and red wine all over the clothes they want so bad! My dad -- my dad -- is wearing their precious hat!
The coda to this story is that I’m actually proud of my life now. I am actually a comedian. I am making a movie. I make enough money at a job I don’t hate. I love inviting people into my apartment. I have countless real, good friends. The takeaway should be that if you are patient and work hard on your own life, you don’t get jealous of random hypebeasts on the street for knowing about something you don’t anymore.
But that isn’t the lesson. It feels good to feel Cool. It’s great to be in the club. Cutting lines is fun. Getting things for free is fun. Knowing people is fun. I only get to do that at one store in one city. Can you imagine what it’s like to do that everywhere, all over the world? I imagine it’s pretty great.
So here’s the point: Make friends. Fall in love. Travel the world. Have success. Find yourself. Live your dreams. That’s all well and good. But the second most important thing in life is to get things for free. And the most important thing is to brag about it.