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.