Betches don’t have awkward stages, unless they’re 22. Preschool bullcuts, pointy bud tits and full-on juicy tracksuits were all pulled off seamlessly by us. It’s the transition from camp college to the real world that is causing us to sprout our first ever pimple.
Everything about leaving the sacred holy grail of the collegiate lifestyle is awkward AF. You’re pretending to know how to play adult while still not knowing how to not blackout every time you enter a bar. You obvi can’t wear leggings to work but you also look like you’re dressing up as your grandmother for Halloween in your “no jean policy” work pant. Whereas you used to give fucks about whether or not you should go to Cabo or Cancun for spring break, now you have to give fucks about keeping your job and filling out your tax returns. Calling your dad for basically everything is at a whole new level.
Work is only the start of it. Post grad living situations is when the real weirdness comes in. In college, the classically selective Greek system was a great way to pick your bestie group with care. You had a full two years to test the waters between bitches and betches before you signed a lease. Now you’re trolling Diggz.com for someone you have one mutual friend with and are willing to sign a binding contract with them if it seems like they’re relatively normal on Instagram. Hey, at least they’re going to end up either being your next BFF or the person who murders you in your sleep. YOLO.
All of a sudden, dating is not just for fun either. Since you graduated you’re officially allowed to hook up with any pro under 30, which also means you might be subject to a real relationship. Yeah well I thought things were going great but then he asked me what shape ring I like.
Then there’s the whole actual #107 branching out thing, where you have to make new female friends somehow. Like, do you just approach a chick at the bar and ask for her number? Message your Aunt’s friend of a friend’s cousin and see if they want to get drinks? LIKE WTF DO I DO IN MY LIFE. Back to calling Dad.
So next time you actually find yourself relating to Taylor Swift (…again), find relief in knowing that it’s just an awkward stage. Cause I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22.