how it felt to be online in june
words on identity + internet fatigue, rhubarb shrub, tomato pie
These words are coming from Burlington, VT. I took myself here on a self-proclaimed solo “retreat” when I learned I would have an extra day off and that family friends had a place for me to stay. I’ve been finding it funny and silly to keep ironically referring to my simple act of purchasing travel tickets as a “retreat.” A joke on the millennial cringe of it all, etc. Before I’d even left for LaGuardia, the funny captions and Close Friends stories I’d soon post about my little trip were swirling around my head. *Local Woman Brings Two Books on Self-Funded Vacation and Calls it A Retreat,* you get it. Soon enough, there I was on my first afternoon, sunning on a quick-dry towel on the sandy shore of North Beach, repeating each quippy, tweet-length joke in my head, busy determining which landed the best.
The sand was red-hot, Lake Champlain was crystal and still. It was a perfect day. And I was lying there, head under my t-shirt to prevent screen glare, flipping through the day’s camera roll, wrestling with which line would communicate my little trip most accurately and make me seem most “in on the joke”—most relatable, most likable. I was aware of the absurdity (and sadness) of the moment: I’d just escaped to this relaxing place I’d been so excited to return to, and I was already concerned with…how I’d package it up for the world to perceive and categorize. But that awareness only led to more questioning. Is the only way to rid myself of these rotten thoughts to disconnect entirely? Is there a middle ground? One that allows me to still connect with my community? As goes the spiral.
As a true Gen Z/Millennial cusper, my early years were spent obsessing over my Xanga, Myspace, Polyvore, Tumblr, and Facebook pages before I owned a smartphone. And with many of those platforms offering space for re-blogging and re-sharing trending media, there’s little surprise my need to create and regurgitate content in alignment with every fleeting fad is still hard to shake. And that it’s tied to my self-identity and self-worth. An ex-boyfriend used to poke fun at the way so much of what I spoke and texted seemed to warrant the use of a “™” — the dinner I was making, the plan I was proposing. After nearly two decades of Being Online, I get it.
Online, the tides will always turn fast. But this summer, being online has felt especially frenetic. Every time I log on, there’s a constant stream of new and fresh terms, trends, and “vibes” that I must adhere to and add to my lexicon. It’s summer 2024, baby, don’t you know that cottage-core is long gone and it’s a brat summer…“rodent” “men” are in… and abstinence is hot? If you’re scratching your head reading that, I’m giving your beautiful, uncontaminated brain a wet kiss right now and deeming you a *lucky one*. For the rest of us, though, the labeling, micro-trending, and meme rinse and repeating are at their max, and it’s hard to keep up.
Erin Schwartz’s recent Cut article discusses our current hyper-craze for “aesthetic” labeling in particular. They actually express that they find the specificity fun and the documentation of otherwise ephemeral aesthetics practical. Why say a dress looks pretty when you could say, “‘Your dress is giving Lana Del Rey 2014 girlie’ (specific, thoughtful, heartfelt, affirms a shared social world).” I see what they mean and agree. But diverting away from that particular discussion on aesthetics, I’m more focused on how our desperate need to catalog and label feels.
We are so quick to set a name to nearly everything we experience because we’ve been raised on it. A feeling, a moment, a funny situation… It’s second nature for us to reduce our experiences to something easily digestible and shareable. Nameable. Purchasable. I hear it in the reductive ways we use “therapy speak,” how my friends gravitate towards astrology, and how we all approach dating and finding mates.
I think we’re trying to bundle our developing early adult selves into these prescribed types to give us clues on how we should spend our time. But these boxes and types, our ever-changing lingos and lexicons, shift the way we understand ourselves and go on to tell our narratives. I sense my ability to grasp the grey areas in life—to dig deeper, past the types and judgments to make my own conclusions—grow much weaker because of it. It feels increasingly difficult to remember that life happens in the in-between. To be inundated with these readily packaged and well-marketed aesthetics and types to choose from is simply a way to distract from the scary (but liberating) reality that there is no one path, one label, or one right answer to these bigger life questions.
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I’ve been equally stressed by the recommendation culture none of us can seem to avoid or stop perpetuating online. With every second of scrolling my Main Socials, I’m left darting between my Outer Socials—Beli, Letterboxd, Goodreads—(are you getting this?), furiously noting every new cafe I need to visit, every book I must buy, every travel outing that’ll change my life. They’ve come to feel like threats. The 100 Best Sandwiches in New York. The 10 Hardest to Snag Reservations. The Pasta Salad Recipes You Better Make This Summer If You Want To Make It To Heaven. In a post-vacation newsletter, Alison Roman touched on this.
“I want to bash recommendation culture and also give you recommendations because I think they’re helpful (and you asked). I want to take a trip knowing nothing about the restaurants I’m supposed to go to and also will feel DEEP longing and regret if I do not go to the restaurant I am supposed to go to. I want to be a unique gorgeous creature in this world and also buy the sweater you look so good in so I can also look so good…above all, I want to be free from my own expectations that if I buy those pants I’ll look like that (I won’t), and if I go to that restaurant, I’ll have a life-affirming meal (I probably won’t).”
I, too, foam at the mouth for a well-curated list of recommendations. If you, an expert (or really, someone I envy in some way), can tell me what will make me look good and feel good (read: BE GOOD ?!), of course, I’ll beg for it. I’ll give you the clicks. I’ll feed the marketing budget that is at the core of it. And I’ll probably share it in this newsletter to try and reclaim some of my own ego and authority on the matter, too.
I’ve lamented to my parents about how my ability to process memories happening in the present has been irreparably fucked by this sentiment. In front of them, they see a plate of greasy, piled-high potato chips and thinly sliced jamón iberico on vacation. They think: I’m hungry; how tasty and wonderful that my daughter has taken us here and ordered this plate. I see the same deliciousness, but through the framework of all the people I’ve already witnessed enjoy similar kinds of things before me. And at the same time, like sitting there on the shore of Lake Champlain, I’m already looking ahead and visualizing how that moment could be perceived in the future. It’s a disorienting sensation, and it boggles my brain how irreversible this wiring seems to be, even if I’m on a social media “hiatus.” My parents may intellectually understand how the Internet enables us to copy and paste each other's experiences over and over—but they don’t feel their ability to experience the present distorted in the same twisted way.
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Exhales. Looks at a single leaf on a single tree.
Many of you are reading this, rolling your eyes, and saying “sheeeesh, I’m glad I’m not in my twenties” (jealous! lol!). I’m keenly aware that this recent uptick in frustration is probably more of a comment on my current state of affairs than anything. More likely, I’m feeling especially vulnerable to the internet FOMO, and the “you are not enough”-isms I’ve historically felt quite fortified against because … I’m 28.
And being 28 isn’t easy. It’s foggy and confusing; I’m perpetually overwhelmed with “life” and understanding my role. I’m not a partner. Not a mother. My role as a daughter is changing. I’m no longer a performer. I’m not quite a professional. I don’t mean to conjure Britney Spears here, but… I’m trying, quite hard, to understand and put the pieces together of who and what I am. But how can I damn do that when I’m too busy stressing that I haven’t tried the newest Spanish wine bar that will deem me *Cool, Young, and Fertile*? It’s silly beyond belief, but it seems that’s part of this phase of life. The packages we see all promise some version of a life; online, we see glimmers of what we want and don’t want to be. And that holds a lot of weight when feeling lost.
I’ll presumably forever oscillate between wanting to crawl into a cave device-less and needing to be firmly inserted into the culture to stay relevant, youthful, and worthy of something. Lately, I’ve been extra desperate to get off the hamster wheel, craving quiet, space, and time to dive inward without getting blown by the winds of everything I scroll past. In taking directly from the Internet Speak, the Therapy Talk of it all, I guess all there is to do is, *take what will serve me and try my best to leave the rest*. Maybe in doing that, I’ll gain a little bit of understanding.
Anyways! Lol! Summer! The days are long, and everything is lush and wet. In case you missed it, I created a warm-weather mood board a few months ago — recs for summer cooking, reading, dining, watching. I’ve been chipping away already, and I hope you’ll enjoy, too. Below are some of the June things that pulled me off social media and somewhere nice instead 💌
Everything I Cooked
Sweets, Brekkies, and Baked Bites*
A repeat breakfast of cottage cheese with grated Granny Smith apple, drizzled with both olive oil and raw honey.
Chez Panisse’s Blueberry Cobbler with cream.
Rhubarb Compote stirred into yogurt.
*A dessert note for the OOSFruits: my baker bestie is finally on Substack! Please give him a warm welcome by subscribing to . You’re in for so, so many treats 🚨🚨🚨
Soups, Salads, and Sides
Momofuku’s Soy Sauce Eggs, and then my variation for the rest of the month.
My fav Purple Cabbage and Shaved Parm Salad (that I’ve shared several times).
Family friends prepared the following salad for me, which I’ve been obsessed with ever since: mixed greens tossed with chopped roast almonds, grated fresh parmesan, toasted breadcrumbs, and an EVOO + rice wine vinegar dressing.
Proteins, Pastas and Mains
The same family friends made this dish, and it was delicious: Coconut Salmon + Tomato Bake.
Beverages
Rhubarb Shrub, mixed with seltzer by day and shaken with gin and lemon juice by night—both are perfect beverages. I’ll say it with confidence.
Everything I Ordered
NYC
The wagyu beef cheek + pine nut hummus at Sawa in Park Slope.
A mid-day feast of coconut curry, wings, and crab fried rice at Fish Cheeks.
A three-minute stroll for a few glasses of chilled wine at Crown Heights’ newest and sexiest: Rodeo.
A very excellent tomato pie with garlic + fried capers from Wizard Hat Pizza.
Martha’s Vineyard (for a wedding)
A BLT wrap and a cookie from the place down the street, 7A.
A cheesecake brownie and a maple bacon scone from Rosewater Market.
Heavenly coffees and mediocre eggs at Behind the Bookstore.
Burlington (for no reason)
One glass of an extra mineral-tasting orange from Dedalus Wine.
A pickle tini and a blue crab-new potato dish that blew my mind at the bar at Frankie’s.
The grilled halloumi, eggplant, and zhoug ciabatta sandwich from a favorite spot, August First.
Maple Creemees from Little Gordo and Ice Cream Evans.
Solo strolling and people-watching while nibbling a Folino’s slice at Burlington’s Friday night summer food truck festival.
Solo strolling and people-watching while nibbling several cheese samples at the BVT Saturday Farmer’s Market (dairy heaven).
Everything Else!
Reading:
Rayne Fisher-Quanne’s outstanding essay, no good alone, resonated. Modern culture glamorizes solitude in the name of healing, “loving yourself first,” and really, at the end of the day, self-optimization. A great read.
I really dug Brittany Ackerman’s short fiction piece, Club Rush, for
.The State of the Bush! I’m grateful we’ve largely moved past the grim Brazilian waxing era so many of us were taught to subscribe to in high school. I submitted my own views on pubic hair months ago when Jessica Defino put out this data request, so it was cool to see the results.
My friend
’s newsletter , which he has penned in the aftermath of not one but two corporate lay-offs, is a must-read for anyone feeling a little lost in life right now (all of us?). This section from his most recent post hit me like a ton of bricks:
“I’m not above admitting that I hoped the answers to my existential questions would reveal themselves along the Open Road or In Nature….But it turns out you can’t stare at a mountain or a canyon or a geyser and expect it to tell you anything….I wished it could. I wished that someone or something, be it a geyser or a friend or a therapist or a girl in line for the bathroom, would tell me exactly what to do. Tell me the right decision or at least tell me some wrong ones and don’t tell me there aren’t right or wrong decisions because I feel like there are!
I had the agency I so badly wanted before all this. Between working for a big corporation and living in a small city, I often felt like I was just going with the flow without knowing whether I even wanted to be where the flow was going. I was always “ending up” places. Ending up at a party, ending up on a project, ending up with pickleball as a not-insignificant part of my social life….I felt like a passenger in my own car, along for the ride but anxious about the destination. Nervously snacking on Peanut M&Ms in the backseat. Now I was behind the wheel all alone, with no one to take over. And I knew that, despite my pleas to this ancient geyser, I wanted it that way. So I drove.”
Watching:
Ayo Edebiri Settles Your Petty Disputes for Vanity Fair made me cackle.
Snack Shack is a new favorite summer watch. Cigarettes, bathing suits, money-making schemes, and making out at the public pool… big fat yeah. A joy of a little film that didn’t have to be this good?
I am once again begging you to watch Couples Therapy. A new season came out this month, and……. please! Just watch it! For Orna!
Two movies I found quite flawed but nonetheless feature men that make my tummy hurt: Paterson and The Bikeriders. Hate when I’m reminded I am indeed into men. Ugh!
Listening:
I’ve officially begun my Eras Tour Prep. By that, I mean I’ve queued up the 293742938498 songs that have seemingly been released since I last listened through to learn. Taylor, girl, couldn’t you have waited just a few more months?!
StraightioLab…two gay comedians + a weekly guest exploring core themes in straight ‘culture’…. perfect. The ep. on Weddings with Hunter Harris and Peyton Dix is a must.
Buying:
Excellent summer sandals for city gals. Very comfortable! On sale!
A fun, long-hair purchase for me: a crimper.
Lucy Laught’s stunning photography book, Il Dolce Far Niente, is my best purchase in a while. Italian summer dreaming to last me all year long.
