Confessions of a Contextless Queen

And ditching the pressure of knowing everything

That’s it. Tomorrow, I’ll go to that bookshop, grab every Booker Prize winner from the last twelve-something years, every heavyweight from the crème de la crème of feminist lit, communist discourse, and every possible issue that’s got the internet in a chokehold, and read one every week… or month. That’s it. I’ll be that know-it-all girlie with stubborn opinions who makes wine glasses tremble when she enters the room. Pass her the joint because she’ll spill the know-how of 16th-century theatre and also obliterate little boys who think feminism is misandry. Here she is. We love an intellectual queen. Big brain energy. Yaaaas, girl.

So many eyes, so many ears, and big mouths in tiny rooms. Luigi Mangione, corporate capitalism, the new hollywood bozo we just cancelled, social justice, meritocracy, Colleen Hoover, Marxist feminism — I feel my ears fold inwards sometimes, my lung capacity shrinking with every bit of “oooooh” I let out when they discuss anything i should know about and have an opinion on. Like all the latest TikTok discourses. The new coded personality i must know — “Which girl are you?” I’m a “wanna go home and die on the pyre of my literature degree” girlie. Do i have no roman empire of my own? Wait, i do have that Navier-stokes reel saved on my instagram somewhere…