She listens to a lot of it. Like Phoenix and Sigur Rós before they started getting their music played in commercials. Like Arcade Fire before they started winning stuff. Like—well, like any band before you hear of it, at which point the band is probably over. Now you don’t even know what she listens to, and figuring it out is intimidating, so you don’t bother.
You haven’t updated your iPod playlists since 2005. Kings of Leon is the band you listen to with the most cred. Maybe that one song by 30 Seconds to Mars, but only because it was in a lot of commercials and that lead singer guy used to be Jordan Catalano.
You live at home with your parents for over a year after graduation, just because they live commuting distance from NYC and because living on your own wouldn’t be worth it if you had to live in, like, Bushwick. You finally move out, pay astronomical rent to live in what amounts to a shoebox, just because the building has a doorman and a gym.
She gets a job at a wine store in the same city where she went to college, a plane flight away from your parents, whom she can’t stand. She makes just enough to rent a one-bedroom house (!!!!) with a friend of hers who is an “artist.” From what you can tell by stalking her Facebook photos, they spend a lot of time frolicking in parks.
She and her college friends only drank PBR and whatever horrible moonshine they drink in the South, because it’s cheap. When she studied abroad in France, she learned a lot about wine.
When you go to beer gardens, you refuse to drink beer and instead order a vodka cran. You happily pay $15 for a cocktail because it’s pink.
You work in PR because there are like no jobs in journalism anymore.
She works at the aforementioned wine store and gets hit on by hobos and her boss. In September, she will leave for France to teach English for a year.
She goes “thrifting” a lot and seems to shop exclusively at Salvation Army. The last time she walked into Forever 21, she threw up.
You buy everything from J. Crew factory sales. If it has a polo pony, an alligator, a whale or a palm tree on it, you froth at the mouth until you own it.
You have a Type, and he wears Rainbows, khaki shorts, button-downs and his Duke lacrosse baseball cap. If a guy walks into a bar and looks like a date-raping Kennedy type, you swoon.
She dates either mild-mannered, weirdly smart philosopher types or musicians. Her last boyfriend literally hid behind her when confronted at a bar. She thought it was cute that he “didn’t get Cro-Magnon.”
She thinks not spending it makes her a better person.
You think if it’s on your credit card, it’s not real money. You still accept lots of it from your dad on occasion.