by Grace Helbig
Wow.
I looked at G-Wind, who was applauding with a look of adoration. It gave me a clear glimpse into the social-justice-based romance they must have had, like, back in their heyday. G-Wind caught my eye and shook herself out of her love fog, shrugging her shoulders at me like she couldn’t believe Dr. Scholls had it in him.
Just then Rees leaned into me and whispered, “I feel like I just watched a scene from Braveheart.” I looked at him, confused; he clinked a buckle at me and smiled. I nearly pissed my pants right there, Diary! But instead I contained myself as much as I could and smiled back.
Dr. Scholls then introduced my G-Wind, who at that point needed no introduction. “Let me introduce you to an old friend of mine,” he started. A smattering of “oohs” and “ahhs” came from the crowd, because even though we considered ourselves intelligent progressives, we were still a bunch of immature high schoolers. “Okay, settle down,” he went on. “I’m sure many of you know who she is. But you might not know that Wind is the reason we’re all here in this room today. It was her unyielding desire for outfit equality years ago and her passion for pricing impartiality that founded the MWOA. Unfortunately, her fight for fairness forced her to surrender her student status.”
Again, G-Wind grabbed the mic. “But I’m back, motherfabrics! Let’s show these Brooks Brothers what a real family can do!” G-Wind pointed directly at me. “Let’s sweat the mall stuff!” The crowd went COMPLETELY nuts!
Suddenly Birk ran to the podium holding up an old iPhone 5. “You guys, YOU GUYS! Look! It’s happening!” She held the iPhone to the microphone so we could hear the video that was playing. It was a YouTube video called “Black FriSLAY” and it had been posted twenty minutes earlier by Tyler Oakley.
“Hi, everybody, my name’s Tyler Oakley and welcome to another edition of Q and Slay.” He began clapping along with an unheard beat. “Rosie on Twitter asks Tyler how’s your Christmas shopping going? Well, Rosie, let me tell you that my Christmas shopping just got a whole lot merrier because my favorite shopping holiday is back. And we all know I like my shopping holidays like I like my coffee—cheap and black. That’s right, y’all, Black Friday is back!”
OMG. Tyler Oakley just told the world that Black Friday is back. We all looked at each other, silent and stunned. Until G-Wind got on the mic and yelled, “God bless that beautiful twink! You heard ’em, y’all! Black Friday is back!” The room erupted into controlled chaos. Everyone knew their job and everyone was going to work. We were a well-oiled machine. Walkers got into their formations, led by Rees (swoon!), and headed out into the mall, posting signs exactly as planned. Stalkers, organized by Dr. Scholls and with their backup signage in tow, manned their battle stations. Our talkers were already all over social media. Birk was at the helm making sure we were blasting Tyler’s video everywhere and alerting any contacts we had at local radio stations and local publications. “Hannah Hart just reblogged Tyler’s video on Tumblr,” one of our talkers yelled from the back, and the room cheered.
Black Friday was really happening.
We had one hour until the MOA was set to open and everything was in motion. G-Wind and I had maintained our postings at the BFF vision board, communicating with the heads of each assembly, overseeing all of the activity, and making sure we were on target. The time flew by, and before we knew it, most of our signs and stalkers were stationed and there was only fifteen minutes left until doors opened.
“Brooks Brothers have been spotted in Brookstone!” yelled a misshapen Forever 21 sports bra from her talker station.
“Shit!” I responded without thinking. But my G-Wind didn’t seem to catch it. “The Brooks Brothers aren’t supposed to get out of their mahogany chest for at least another hour!”
We had been monitoring the Brothers’ schedule for weeks. Every morning they arose from their classic mahogany chest at seven on the dot to start their predictable schedule of starch, polish, repeat. Luckily a lot of the MOA security members had recently become MWOA members, so the plan had been to set up our sales overnight and have the doors unlocked at 6 a.m. before the Brooks Brothers even had a chance to button up. But it was now 5:50 a.m. and the Brooks Brothers were already up and about. This was a Code Red!
“Where’s Scholls?” G-Wind asked.
Scholls’s voice came in over a walkie. “I’m being prodded by some Prada at the moment. I’m out of stock at the moment!”
“Shit!” my G-Wind responded without thinking.
I jumped in. “Rees, what’s your status?”
Rees responded with a broken connection. “Sweat, I’m . . . stuck . . . not . . . lucky.”
“His coordinates say he’s in the Lucky Denim store,” Birk chimed in.
“They must have trapped him in it,” I said.
“Brooks Brothers are said to be on the move toward Nordstrom,” said the F21 sports bra.
“Oh, yeah?” G-Wind said. “Well then, let’s party.” G-Wind started to make her way out of the room.
“G-Wind, where are you going?” I shouted, but she didn’t respond. “G-Wind! I’m coming with you!” I raced after my G-Wind and out the door. Her old MWOA legs kicked right back in because she was a goddang speed demon. I could barely keep up with her.
We raced through crowds of confused clothing and clearance signs. More and more students were starting to wake up. I looked up at the giant clock in the food court: it read 5:55 a.m. We weaved through the wardrobe and made our way to Nordstrom. “What are we going to do?” I asked G-Wind.
“Just stay close,” she responded. She rushed through the entrance and headed straight for the shoe department. In the middle of the department was Dr. Scholls, strung up by his heels with an old pair of shoelaces, surrounded by Prada pumps.
“Dr. Scholls!” I screamed.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he choked out.
“Well, well, well, there she is. That cheap pile of polyester I thought we got rid of years ago.” We turned and saw the Brooks Brothers standing by the register.
“Hey, fellas! Well, would you look at that? You know, I doubted it, but it’s nice to see you two assholes finally found a girlfriend,” G-Wind replied, gesturing to the cash register. I couldn’t help but giggle.
“We knew you’d be back,” they sneered.
“Did you now?” G-Wind said.
“Of course we did! Because you’re a bargain-basement-rack basic.”
“Take that back!” I yelled.
G-wind placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Just let them finish, Sweat.”
“That’s right. You’re a wannabe, Wind. Look at you: your colors are faded, your design is outdated, and worst of all, you’re completely synthetic.” The Brothers continued to vomit their gross, elitist nonsense and I couldn’t understand why G-Wind was just taking it. Until I spotted Birk in the corner of the store with a security guard. She pointed at the clock, which read 5:58 a.m. G-Wind knew exactly what she was doing.
“Don’t forget the annoying noise I make when I walk,” G-Wind said.
“Yeah! When you walk it sounds like a garbage bag falling down a trash chute. How appropriate.” The Brothers got closer to G-Wind. “The MOA gave you a chance to better yourself, to evolve yourself into something worthwhile. You could have been just like a velour Juicy Couture jumpsuit or a high-end Puma track jacket. But you took the opportunity that was given to you and you wasted it. Why? Because you’re waste. You’re a low-cost, commercial garbage bag, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” they hissed.
“You’re right,” G-Wind replied. “I do come at a low cost. But I’ve got high value. And somewhere in that high-quality cotton and overcompensation, you have value, too.”
“Yeah, we start at one hundred and twenty dollars,” said one of the Brothers.
“Not today,” G-Wind replied, sticking a 60 percent clearance sticker on each of them. “It’s Black Friday, gentlemen! Let’s party!”
G-Wind whistled and the doors burst open! Crowds of bargain hunters be
gan to flood the MOA. It was a beautiful pandemonium of price cuts.
Everything happened so fast it was hard to keep track of what happened until the dust settled. And I know you won’t believe the outcome, but just trust me, it’s all true.
My G-Wind got scooped up by a redheaded Southern firecracker named Mamrie Hart, who kept muttering to her tiny hairless dog with its tongue hanging all over the place that it’d be great to use in a video. She also ended up grabbing Dr. Scholls after her friend joked with her about fixing her foot odor. That friend was Hannah Hart, who wound up purchasing Birk after she won a game of rock-paper-scissors with their third friend, who also wanted Birk—Grace Helbig. But it’s okay that she didn’t get Birk (no offense, Birk!) because Grace purchased something almost as cool . . . me!
Black Friday was a complete success. And as G-Wind, Dr. Scholls, Birk, and I started to leave with our new owners, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness that something was missing. But just then Mamrie said, “Grace, these are so you.” I looked up and saw that she was holding Rees!
“Yup. Done,” Grace said, and quickly made the purchase, tossing Rees into the bag with me.
“I think this worked out pretty good, overall. Don’t you?” Rees said. I stared at him until he finally said, “That sounded real dumb, right?”
“Big-time.”
“I know. I’m new at this.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
“I guess I should probably buckle up, then, huh?”
“Okay, stop this.” Rees and I joked all the way to our new home.
Rumor has it that the Brooks Brothers were bought by some nerdy MIT botany grad student named Tim who wore them to a job interview once, then lost them to the gross shadows of his closet in his Boston apartment.
I guess you could say the outcome of Black Friday was wonderfully fitting.
Sorry, Diary!
Sincerely,
Sweatpants
last looks
Sometimes you wake up and you just don’t want to face your face. Or your hair. Or your body. Or your closet. Or the day. Sometimes you wake up and you just don’t feel pretty. And it feels petty even wishing you felt pretty, but you can’t deny that you’re distracted by your own depressing mind-set.
And in those moments of repetitive, negative thoughts, it’s almost impossible to allow yourself to feel good (trust me, I know). But if you have one ounce of try in you, I ask you to try saying one or some of these mantras to yourself and see if it makes a difference. If it doesn’t, congrats, you’re still depressed, how much familiar fun are we having? If it does make a difference, congrats! Breaking cycles is as difficult as trying to break a bicycle with your bare hands! You’re doing it!
ELEVENTH-HOUR INSPIRATIONS:
1. I’m not the worst! Yes, I’m talking to myself out loud and alone, but I’m not the worst!
2. Today doesn’t have to be the best. But as long as I don’t sh*t in my pants in the pantry section of a Target, everything will be okay.
3. Even Beyoncé gets bloated.
4. Judge my body all you want, society, but what you don’t know is that inside this body that you deem unattractive is a brain thinking about a bunch of happy puppies rolling down a hill. Just try to judge that.
5. I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and daggone it, we’re all going to be dirt in the ground, so who cares how many likes I get on my Instagram photo.
6. Compassion is high fashion.
7. Good intentions are great accessories.
8. Today, my purse will be my only baggage.
9. Today, I will be like my face powder: even, available, and translucent.
10. Fashions fade, but dumb is forever.
Congratulations! You made it through this fun thought-swamp of senselessness! Are you the better for it? I can’t say. But I can say thank you for activating your curiosity and for reading this book.
Beauty and style, though at one point destructive and difficult topics for me to reflect on in isolation, have now become fascinating and funny things for me to think about openly.
In the past few decades I’ve learned that it’s wildly unfulfilling to measure someone’s worth by looking at them. But it’s ridiculously exciting to discover someone’s self by soaking in their perspective.
Don’t get me wrong, bodies are beautiful and confidence is striking, but balance is key. If you’re ever feeling physically inadequate, remember that at the end of the day we’re all just a herd of human sock puppets. If every single human being on this earth were a “perfect” specimen of “beauty” as defined by current magazines and fashion shows, this would be THe DumBesT PLaneT eVer. Please, I BeG you, take a second and really try to imagine eVerY sInGLe Human On earTH as a Victoria’s Secret model. Babies to men in their eighties. aLL VIcTOrIa’s secreT mODeLs. Your father-in-law, Victoria’s Secret model.
Bodies are beautiful and stupid. Surround yourself with souls that inspire you.
They say beauty is only skin-deep. But over time skin sags. And SAG is an organization for professional actors. Therefore, beauty is all an act. And let’s be real, none of us are getting Oscars.
I know what you’re thinking. You think I forgot about the five tips for preventing camel toe that I promised you in the introduction of this book. weLL I DIDn’T FOrGeT. So you can delete your scathing Amazon review right now because here are . . .
FIVE WAYS TO AVOID CAMEL TOE
1. Panty liners. I’ve worn a surprising number of spandex suits over the last two years. Like, more than three. More than enough to know that they show everything. Trust me, you don’t know how stupid your body can be until you jam it into some spandex and see what tries to escape. Invest in some panty liners; they make molehills out of mountains.
2. Low riders. Only wear clothing with low crotches.
3. Wear a wooden barrel as clothing like an old-timey town drunk.
4. Look into medical operations to smooth over your crotch region like a Barbie Doll.
5. Use a time machine to prevent camels from getting on Noah’s ark.
thank you to...
. . . my editor, Lauren Spiegel, who has an incredible soul and coped with my months of writer’s block by doing the only thing I would understand: getting a dog. Also by being a wonderfully patient, nurturing, and collaborative human being.
. . . my photographer, Robin Roemer, for blindly accepting and completely dominating the challenge of photographing a book that wasn’t written yet. You’re an amazing talent who’s too humble for your own dumb brilliance!
. . . my amazingly talented designer, Shawn Dahl, who has elevated this book (and my first book) to levels of charming and delightful adorableness that I could have only ever imagined ogling on Pinterest.
. . . my assistant and the major reason I operate anywhere close to “normal” on a daily basis, Diane Kang. God bless your young, high-functioning brain and affinity for snacks.
. . . my parents for always wondering where I am and if I’m okay. And for being so supportive and excited about the things I’m doing that don’t make sense.
. . . my mom for, again, sprinkling her personal words of wisdom throughout this book and for unknowingly allowing me to compare her makeup-selling days to drug trafficking.
. . . my 100 percent for being you.
. . . my professional team, Ken and Erin, for all the supportive (Erin) and distracting (Ken) emails.
. . . YOu who reads this book and watches my videos and supported any of my previous endeavors. YOu f*cking rule it—and I can’t thank YOu enough for taking any of YOur time to pay attention to my dumb. Thank you.
. . . YOu who reads this book and doesn’t know me—thank you for listening. It’s a very rare thing to experience with strangers, so truly, thank you.
. . . any dogs that have evolved with the ability to read, thanks for choosing my book to test out your cool new brains.
Endnote
1. Go-see: a meeting/interview set up with
an important designer or company that’s supposed to help elevate your career.