Friday, June 13, 2014
I am a clichè.
With my gallery walls and my trips to the farmer's market.
With my kids' names and my television habits.
With an incredibly unsurprising vinyl collection.
I have always been a clichè.
In college, I wore patchwork and had a nose ring. I listened to Phish and flirted with Buddhism. I dabbled in political activism and stopped eating meat.
Add ten years to the equation and you have whatever I am now.
I like all the things that people like me are supposed to like: old flags and cameras, Bob Dylan and Wes Anderson, coconut oil for everything. Now I dabble in minimalism and try to avoid gluten.
Sometimes I feel bad about it. I feel so unoriginal and expected. "Of course Rachel would like that..."
But then other times I remember that everyone is a cliche. Everyone is a type. And I happen to I like the type that I am. To hell with it.
I like my gallery wall and my deer antlers.
Bring on the fancy cocktails and artisinal cheese served on a rustic, farmhouse table. I'm hungry.
Posted by Rachel Weaver at 6:45 AM