Thought Catalog

Belle and Sebastian

While Deliliahs, Eileens, Emilys, Marys, Carolines, Johannas and Barbaras are out inspiring aspiring musicians to pen amorous and randy tributes, Jennys are the muses for songs about women who are loose, victims of abuse and/or have been either on the instigating or receiving end of criminal behavior.

That’s one thing I’ve noticed while indulging this melancholy: the best songs for weepy introspection always, always, always reference coffee. Below, the best “sad-coffee” playlist in the world. Put it on, wait for it to drizzle outside, brew a fresh pot and curl up in a window sill. It’s time to stare out into the street, sip some joe and feel super sad.

Go to work, open your iTunes, and play this song continuously at the lowest volume possible. It’s been a few months, and you don’t feel any more fulfilled. In fact, your condition is worsening. You wake up every morning with a dull ache in your heart, the one you feel when you know something is over.

Pat your love interest’s head when they say something you approve of. Pet the underside of their chin and whisper four letter words like “soft,” “nice,” and “face.” Lie on the floor listening to “1979” by the Smashing Pumpkins and make irrelevant commentary about forest animals before making out. Wait till the song ends before moving to the bed.

This was a misjudgment. Not growing up — that is, the refusal to put away childish things and indeed to maintain and affirm one’s inner child, even to the extent that it may blossom into an outer child, though with the wrinkled face of a seeming adult—this is in no sense a problem. Childhood is the only source of authenticity in America.