About the author
It’s Sunday and you’re hungover, angry at the world, at bartenders and most of all: yourself. No worries, we feel the same. That’s why we’ve invented Sunday Roast. A bi-weekly conversational ‘column’. A written one. Online. Every other Sunday, Mark and Sabrina vent about the horrible burdens and ungodly mishaps of their 21st century life. Usually reserved only for bars, we bring our problems right into your home. Sharing is sexy, and a problem shared is a problem halved.. You are cordially invited to our pity party.
Previous Sunday Roast here.
Dear Sabrina,
Your fantasies about Ryan Gosling are reassuring and unsettling at the same time. Reassuring because it shows that even the most begossled of begossleds can still manage to put some relativity to the situation and understand that this iconic superstar would not have been the slightest bit interesting if he didn’t play in movies but happened to live next door and drove around forklifts for a living. However, I’m kind of worried by this as well. What happened to the true stars? The untouchable and unearthly coolness of James Dean and Elvis Presley, the impeccable and indestructible beauty of Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn. They were, and still are, unquestioned. Have we lost our ability to idolize?
No. We definitely did not. The problem is that we figured out along the way how this form of ‘bubble glorification’ works, and integrated it in our very own lives instead of projecting it on others. Our generation consists of bubble building experts, and we love it. I have friends on Facebook that put hours and hours into shooting photos of themselves that best highlight their good features and, very convincingly, hide their blotchy larger-than-life double chin or their miraculously flappy arm fat. There’s even a god damn guide on how to decipher these photos and find out if your ex-girlfriend really started looking like a Victoria’s Secret model* after you stopped dating her two years ago or if she’s just fooling you with a run-of-the-mill ‘angled knee trick’.
That’s why they invented waterproof lipstick, and until we can fuck profile pictures instead of the people behind it, that will have to do.
It’s quite unfair, but at least you know everyone is doing it. It’s kind of like make-up and fancy clothing in a way, except that you can’t keep looking like your profile picture when you end up in bed with someone. That’s why they invented waterproof lipstick, and until we can fuck profile pictures instead of the people behind it, that will have to do. I just don’t understand why people aren’t underplaying their looks on Facebook. If you look like a crackhead on your profile picture, you will wow the crowd with your finesse and sophistication flaunting through the bar. That might be a lot better than the other way around, or am I completely misunderstanding this?
Enlighten me, Sabrina, I know you can. Even though the last time I saw you, you didn’t quite wear the 5 inch heels, the Amy Winehouse hairdo, the fake eyelashes and the black glitter cocktail dress with long gloves your profile picture got me to expect.
Love,
Mark
* Speaking of Victoria’s Secret models: oh my god. I know all about your lesbian Candice Swanepoel fantasies, and I completely understand, but please stop your imaginary groping her and leave her to the boys. It’s crowded enough in that daydream already, and we’re not mind-touching your Gosling either. Capiche?
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