Imagine life is a video game called Emotional Development. Sure, the title ain’t snappy, but the graphics are great. In this game, you play out romantic entanglements. You can only ‘level up’ when you’ve grown positively from your experiences. Think of G4RL as the online instruction manual. People refuse to read it and wonder why they’ve been left on read by Brad at Level Two.
Welcome back to G4RL’s collaborative posts and ‘A Tale of Two Talkers’.
Allow me to introduce my true pal, Kate. She’s an operations consultant by day and a YouTube personality by night. You can find her over on Instagram, where she serves raw emotional honesty and elevates the colour yellow to gorgeous new heights.
I have green eyes. In some lights, they look blue. An ex-boyfriend once said he’d “never seen such depth of colour”. I store this compliment on a brief listed titled Nice Things Men Have Said.
I’ve been a green-eyed monster. In the second of the Big Scary Word series, we’re talking about jealousy. One emotion: three questions. Find out more about the girl behind G4RL. Allow me to confess to my past sins. Let me explain how I overcame jealousy and blossomed into a blue-eyed babe.
The world is shrinking. I’m just a simpleton without an astrophysics degree, so maybe it’s also expanding. Let’s all agree on this instead: we live inside the internet-machine now. The internet-machine laughs in the face of city walls. We co-exist with an online and offline life. Offline, moving around is easier than ever before. You can fly from New York to London in six hours. The barriers which traditionally separated communities are being eroded. “Cool, I didn’t realise I’d clicked on an A-Level Sociology essay, isn’t this meant to be about sex, mate?”
The friend zone isn’t real. You can’t jump on the number 18 bus, ride six stops to the friend zone and buy yourself a KFC Zinger meal. The friend zone is a fairytale and KFC has run out of chicken. Welcome to the world, baby. For the benefit of those without Google and my wide-eyed mother, I’ll quickly describe the friend zone.
At primary school, friendships were easy. You befriended the person who sat next to you in registration. This secured your bond for the next seven years through the alphabetical order of the British schooling system. You slowly killed your Tamagotchis together. You traded Pokémon cards illicitly on the playground. You stole pick ‘n mix from Woolworths, thus ensuring the collapse of the franchise. Then, breasts, Twitter and iPhones happened. We’re not on the playground anymore, Dorothy.