“Women” do tend to say a lot of dumb shit, let’s be honest. Even despite the fact that they do so want to topple the patriarchy, it’s a bit difficult to achieve when you’re spouting heinous catchphrases tailor-made for hashtagging and captioning an Instagram post (since Facebook is evermore cancelled due to plummeting stock value, as if that’s going to stop the over twenty-five set from using a platform that has been indoctrinated into their daily lives for so long). To be sure, the most ironic thing about saying “living my best life” when referring to an image of an avocado toast or some such other basique fare is that the “woman” in question is very clearly living a waking nightmare.
Harkening back to that old cliche, “Are you living or just existing?,” the “living my best life” non-aphorism is contrarian to what it says right in the text: “living.” But no, it’s “existing in my mediocre life” that ought to be the phrase. These are the “women” who are so convinced that to spend money on bullshit (usually pertaining to food at overpriced New York restaurants) is to connote true happiness because it can be flaunted in a way that genuine, often intangible happiness cannot. Then, of course, there are the outdoor, nature-oriented, “activity” posts deemed worthy of the “living my best life” assignation. But, like everything else, the more you insist something is happening the less likely it probably is to be true. Because if you zoom in on the avocado spread closely enough, you can just make out the trace of a dead fly’s wing.
In any case, the only way for a “woman” to truly live her best life, evidently, is to proudly declare she’s been lobotomized by wielding this phrase so unabashedly.
Missing A Clit 
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