The Look
Posted: Thu Dec 12, 2024 10:34 am
Oh, hiiii!
Yeah! How are you?
Aww, that's good to hearrr.
Oh, thank youuu. They're from Fiottegna.
Okay, are you ready?
Let's begin.
Picture this.
You're walking on the second floor of a shopping mall. The air has a subtle, sweet scent. You hear a high-pitched, electronic hum, like an old television. It's comforting. The floor is a grid of polished tiles, checkered white, beige, and black. These track halfway up the walls in some places. You aren't sure if they're plastic. Sunlight beams in through ornamental windows in the ceiling, glossing over the great big leaves of plants that look like they belong somewhere else. These are plastic, this time you can tell. Your mother stands to your right, holding your hand. You're small and you don't know where you're going, but you trust her. You look to your left. A few feet away is an outlet store, inlaid in black velvet. Something catches your eye. Rows and rows of diamonds shine in a glass display case. You stare. You've never seen light bend like that before. They're like a real-life Disney movie. People have killed for these, and you're close enough to touch one.
Stop.
Next slide.
Picture this.
Letterman jackets, pom-poms, prom dresses, cardigans, sweater-vests, tie-dye, sunglasses indoors, leather jackets. Lockers, linoleum, swimming pools, cul-de-sacs, lawn flamingos, all-American jawlines, hairspray, station wagons, red solo cups, smirks, sideways glances, neon glows, loud bass. What decade is it? You can't tell. There's someone who, when you look at them, their lips look shiny. They're beautiful. Not you. But them? Maybe you'll get there soon. Am-fucking-brosia. Vaseline covers the lenses. Maybe if you're lucky, one of them can show you how.
Stop.
Next slide.
Picture this.
There's an acrylic city in the desert, lit up like a huge diner. It calls itself Las Vegas. Its real name is Paradise. People travel here from all over the world. It gobbles them up like an anglerfish. Money makes money, and the house always wins. Everybody already knows this, yet they still come. If anything it strengthens their resolve.
Stop.
Last slide.
Sometimes, one of the things you've gotta learn early on to thrive is that people don't care about proof. They care about what feels real, and they work backwards from there. There is no neurological basis for truth. It's about creating white phosphorus flashes of recognition, nothing more. The world is not around because of you. No. No, there are patterns of behavior, of visual culture, of social capital.
Stop.
Sooo, how do you feel?
Oh, you can just relax.
STELLA NYQUIST: PREGAME START
Yeah! How are you?
Aww, that's good to hearrr.
Oh, thank youuu. They're from Fiottegna.
Okay, are you ready?
Let's begin.
Picture this.
You're walking on the second floor of a shopping mall. The air has a subtle, sweet scent. You hear a high-pitched, electronic hum, like an old television. It's comforting. The floor is a grid of polished tiles, checkered white, beige, and black. These track halfway up the walls in some places. You aren't sure if they're plastic. Sunlight beams in through ornamental windows in the ceiling, glossing over the great big leaves of plants that look like they belong somewhere else. These are plastic, this time you can tell. Your mother stands to your right, holding your hand. You're small and you don't know where you're going, but you trust her. You look to your left. A few feet away is an outlet store, inlaid in black velvet. Something catches your eye. Rows and rows of diamonds shine in a glass display case. You stare. You've never seen light bend like that before. They're like a real-life Disney movie. People have killed for these, and you're close enough to touch one.
Stop.
Next slide.
Picture this.
Letterman jackets, pom-poms, prom dresses, cardigans, sweater-vests, tie-dye, sunglasses indoors, leather jackets. Lockers, linoleum, swimming pools, cul-de-sacs, lawn flamingos, all-American jawlines, hairspray, station wagons, red solo cups, smirks, sideways glances, neon glows, loud bass. What decade is it? You can't tell. There's someone who, when you look at them, their lips look shiny. They're beautiful. Not you. But them? Maybe you'll get there soon. Am-fucking-brosia. Vaseline covers the lenses. Maybe if you're lucky, one of them can show you how.
Stop.
Next slide.
Picture this.
There's an acrylic city in the desert, lit up like a huge diner. It calls itself Las Vegas. Its real name is Paradise. People travel here from all over the world. It gobbles them up like an anglerfish. Money makes money, and the house always wins. Everybody already knows this, yet they still come. If anything it strengthens their resolve.
Stop.
Last slide.
Sometimes, one of the things you've gotta learn early on to thrive is that people don't care about proof. They care about what feels real, and they work backwards from there. There is no neurological basis for truth. It's about creating white phosphorus flashes of recognition, nothing more. The world is not around because of you. No. No, there are patterns of behavior, of visual culture, of social capital.
Stop.
Sooo, how do you feel?
Oh, you can just relax.
STELLA NYQUIST: PREGAME START