If in 2009, college-aged humans feared a zombie epidemic, in 2015 the mongering has surely turned to the transformation of the basic bitch. And dear readers, with the final sunset dawning over my apartment-turned-Starbucks, I must inform you with deep regret that I, too, have merrily joined the ranks of Lush-purchasing, pumpkin spice-consuming, scarf-adorned basics, and for that, I cannot apologize because I now communicate exclusively in emoticons.A very birthday cake winky face teapot smiling poop to all of you.
It started a few weeks ago, at the grocery store- a package tempted me out of my rigorous anti-sugar campaign, a new product from Celestial. Surely something so titularly tantalizing so as to share a name with a Coppola masterpiece couldn’t steer me wrong, right? I’m mature now. The dark side of 25 is kind to me in a Faustian fashion, delivering unto my wizened features Junior Gaultier glasses, chiseled fat, and prepackaged coffee beverages that squeeze neatly, Tetris-like, between my expired eggs and organic egg substitute. Damn, this looks mature. I’ve been getting tired of single-origin koala-shat coffee beans and snow-picked Taiwanese tea leaves with notes of yuzu, game, and Yahtzee. But for a product that ought to be relatively stripped down; espresso, Chai tea, and chocolate, it’s loaded with other ingredients in a spiffy-looking, fauxganic package that begs you to spend $6.99. Yeah, I bought it.If you’re socially inhibited and have an irrational fear of baristas mangling your monosyllabic name, this is a miracle product. It’s like having a coffeehouse in the middle of your own apartment, complete with a half-finished novel and an automatic sense of self-loathing. Enjoy our IKEA furniture and tasteful Ansel Adams knockoff prints. And it tastes very good, with the customizable benefit of existing in concentrate form to accommodate not only for whatever nut milk of the now your body is craving, but the ideal ratio, too. Despite my more refined tastes, my sugar-adaptive body weakens at the source and I inevitably succumb to its temptation in a pile of hashtags and avocado toast. You knew me well.