See You At the Club

Images via AP.
Images via AP.

Above, you can see me stomping into the club, eyes shielded, hair firmly tucked inside the stiff striped cloth of a hat shaped like bow-tie noodles. The crowd parts, agog at my elegance, my sensuality, my ability to walk without eyesight while balancing a large sculpture on my head. “Thank you, Mulberry,” I whisper, as I am approached nonstop with firm handshakes and invitations to grind.

Here I am again, also at the club:

Me stomping into the club.
Me stomping into the club.

From afar, as you can see, I am transformed into a literal cupcake that has been smushed flat—a longtime dream of mine. “YEEESSSSS!” I roar. As a bonus, I will never get lost because my friends can see me from very far away, like a shooting star or a Sim. This is good because I, again, cannot see a thing.

What are you looking at???
What are you looking at???

I am confident. I am sexual. I am 109 years old.

Ellie is a freelance writer and former senior writer at Jezebel. She is pursuing a master's degree in science journalism at Columbia University in the fall.

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All Hail the Glow Cloud (aka kazari)

On the other hand, I love the fabric it (and the top) are made from. Admittedly I don’t understand the metrics by which fashion buyers choose what will be the new ‘in’ thing, so who knows, next year we could all totally be wearing smashed-muffin hats as the coolest, trendiest thing.

(As long as cold-shoulder tops go away forever.)