Saturday, November 27

How was the summer of 2021 for you? | Life and Style


HHow is your summer going? Is it the wild and fabulous festival that you were promised? Do you tan all day and dance the night away, enjoying the warm breath of your colleagues on your neck flaps while in person in a dusty area? Have you been on vacation in a place of extraordinary beauty? Have you repeated the word “vacation home” so many times that it has become rubber on your tongue, now even more insignificant than last winter? I’ll tell you what, here’s a fun game: how many of the following can you mark? Let’s go:

You’ve looked out your window in August at the rain and clouds, and then your app suggesting thunderstorms at tea time, and then a number of weather forecast websites until you find one with the slightest glimmer of sun, which screenshot, as a kind of totem. But, of course, the weather is no longer just weather. In school you learned the term “pathetic fallacy”, but in adulthood its meaning has changed, so that the weather no longer reflects the mood, but the mood reflects the weather. Today’s weather is the most immediate indication that something very, very wrong is on its way, the planet hanging wrong, at an angle. You have looked out the window at the murmur and have thought of the heat waves, floods and forest fires ravaging distant cities, and you have felt that dark and indigestible haggisey feeling in your gut, and you have decided to assign that feeling to your disappointment. for not having had the opportunity. to wear the strappy dress you bought in June instead of, well …

You have considered the Mound. The Marble Arch Mound, part of Westminster City Council’s plan to attract people to the city after all that pandemic uproar had died down. The Dutch firm that designed it posted a tweet in February in which it painted a poetic picture of its intention: “It’s August 2021. Met up with some friends on Oxford Street to buy new sunglasses; now they are together at the top of the new Marble Arch Hill, looking for the sunniest spot in Hyde Park, where they will share a drink later. At this point, you feel a slight breeze on your skin … “Except that August came and with it a small £ 2 million hill with patches of earth, supported by rickety scaffolding and the cries of disgruntled Londoners asking for his entrance from £ 4.50 … With each passing day, the Mound becomes a different metaphor for its waterlogged summer.

You took a break from social media. Half because of the appalling, simply dire and deeply bad responses to the crumbling situation in Afghanistan, including critical gender views on the plight of Afghan women (sir), but also half because the news that Nando’s has had to close stores because Brexit meant it ran out of chicken and did you… good.

He Googled “PTSD lockdown” one long afternoon, when school holidays had started to take on the flavor of those first few weeks of pandemic shortly after schools closed, when children bounced like eager fleas from one feeling to another. Time spreads like cold butter during these long summer days, and you find yourself saying words like “crafting” in a high-pitched voice and praying for the bony touch of September.

You have come out, after a year inside, with the same yellowish plants and the same reddened family. You’ve donned a luxurious blouse and flamboyant lips and trotted into town. You were touched by the care with which a waiter placed the bowl of pasta in front of you, and inappropriately raved about a taxi driver, and then the next day, guilt came. He looked for a lateral flow test and blew his nose. This wasn’t your typical hangover, it was an existential thickening, the concern that by choosing to go on last night’s joyous little excursion, you might have triggered a series of aerial events that would result in someone’s death. You have agreed to carry this guilt with you like a big bottle of water, spilling a little more with each stumble.

In a single night you saw a complete reality series and you keep finding opinions trapped between your teeth like poppy seeds. My unorthodox life is the latest piece of pop culture to focus on Orthodox Judaism (after Heterodox and Shtisel), an in-mold Kardashian show about the Haart family: We meet them after the matriarch, Julia, took her children out of her ultra-Orthodox Jewish community and moved to Manhattan, where she is now a millionaire CEO and dresses, for example , a tiny romper to buy cakes from the kosher supermarket. You saw her preach her new religion, capitalism, while you were eating Skittles, and when she insisted that wearing sexy clothes is a sign of liberation, and you kept thinking about what freedom is like.

Email Eva at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @EvaWiseman




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