What Your Gmail Theme Says About You
By Jimmy Chen
Not only are personalities passively exerted by Gmail themes, but more so, they are a concession to the motif we choose to live with daily. Find out who you are in the following.
Wood – You are a wasp-y New Englander who grew up in an upper middle-class lakeside house, spending long summer afternoons by the dock with your blonde girlfriend in your Tommy Hilfiger shorts and Sperry Top-Sider boat shoes (w/o socks), yes those were great pre-Princeton days, and the planks of wood in this theme remind you of such quiet pastoral repose, your mother’s unconditional love emitted through the kitchen window yonder.
Desk – In 2008, you purchased a writing desk at Pier 1 Imports for $760.00, as subtly encouraged by your adamant spouse, who you were trying to placate. Now every time you see this theme, you think of the alimony checks you write to her every month, for that is the only time you use this stupid table. By the way, you got divorced, in case you weren’t paying attention.
Beach – Corona is your favorite beer, you who live a sad bland existence. You are lonely. You wish you could be hanging out on the beach all day in a recliner next to a beautiful woman, a mirror image of yourself, except she has boobs marked with beads of shimmering sweat. The lazy leaning palm trees in the distance are a funny reminder of your neglected inbox at work, and the office you will never go back to, is what you think, in your office.
Wasabi – You are a coke addict who needs this flat wasabi green color to heighten the constant burn in your nasal cavity. This month you spent $58.00 on French house music and blew out your left eardrum in a manic state listening to it on maximum volume with cheap headphones on your iPod. You’ve publicly urinated in places you have no recollection of at least eleven times in your life. You may have herpes.
Mountains – You are 40-50 lbs. overweight, from in the Midwest, and only curious about seeing Brokeback Mountain. Your fantasies about climbing Mt. Everest meld into another one in which you enter the Coors logo. You gaze at the stark mountain top and imagine a tiny happier version of yourself, the generous arc of your beer belly as some sideways smile.
Pebbles – You are a mid-level corporate executive on anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. Your therapist suggested that you start a Zen rock garden, but you rent a single bedroom apartment in a congested urban city and do not have the floor space. You would ask your landlady if you could do one on the roof, but she’s in a coma. These pebbles remind you of a spiritually vague calmness that you have yet to experience. You notice that your therapist is “available” to chat, and you type “hi,” and wait.
Graffiti – You are a 14-year-old Caucasian boy residing in a suburb in Ohio. You taunt neighborhood cats and squirrels. You like thug rap aggressively conveyed by African-American men with semi-distinct abdominal muscles. You think that a girl will see your theme and deem you “hardcore,” but you are deeply mistaken. You throw away the orange your mother has put inside your lunch because fruits suck.
Planets – You’re a man in his mid- to late-thirties who’s never been married and has had only two girlfriends, relationships which expired in part due to your unsexy fascination with space. They patiently watched the Discovery channel and Nova with you while you impulsively yet unnecessarily chewed on chili. At least you have that cool unnamed huge planet to look at all day.
Cherry Blossom – You love sushi, the film Lost in Translation, and expensive non-applicable things no bigger than 5 x 5″ designed by neurotic Japanese men, manufactured in China, and sold in various Japantowns throughout the United States. This theme seemed the most Japanese to you, evocative of Basho’s or Issa’s haiku, yet with contemporary graphic design sensibilities, so there you go.
Tree — You are like Morgan Freeman approaching a large silhouetted oak tree off in the distance. You just got out of prison and your friend Andy Dufresne, some years ago, told you to find some crap under a large rock. “Is it cuz I’m black,” you think. Then you see Inbox (1) and notice a new message from Netflix. They received Shawshank Redemption, thank you.
Zoozimps – You are insane. Who are Zoozimps? How do they not scare you?
Terminal – The neon green on black interface is totally Matrix bro. Are you like Neo or something? You seem deep in the rabbit hole, like deep down in the spam folder with all those Nigerian dudes. Did you actually spend a third of last month’s paycheck on that black leather trench coat you are wearing indoors in front of your multiple gaming consoles? How’s that Proactiv® acne treatment coming along? Who even emails you?
Orcas Island – Nothing will fade your optimism, you retired lady living in Washington state who owns thirty-five sweaters, and perhaps in the onset of her senility thinks that a jovial orca whale will suddenly breach the calm water’s surface to perform some anthropomorphic à la Free Willy back flip for you. It’s a screen lady. This is called the internet.