Questionable trends in modern society are concepts I just simply do not understand.
Some are hilarious, while others are just downright ridiculous. My brother Nolan, a 15-year-old at Mount Michael, has always been one to follow the trends. To him, existence is only possible if he has Nike Elite socks, top notch baseball gloves, and perfectly swooped and sculpted hair thanks to Axe.
A few nights ago, I was sitting on the couch, enjoying a quiet evening. Just when I thought Nolan couldn’t be more of a “basic white boy,” he zoomed into the family room on a Hoverboard. Poof. Gone. Out the window went my faith in humanity.
Marian has prepared me for life. I thought I was ready to go out and conquer the world. Reality slapped me in the face when I realized how completely wrong I was. I started experiencing the confusing species more commonly known as a “high school boy.”
Growing up with a younger brother, I thought I had a pretty good idea of how complex, and sometimes difficult, the young male could be. While I was learning how to do makeup, my younger brother was religiously watching WWE wrestling every second of the day. Contrary to his belief, the couch was not actually high-flying ropes, but good try.
My brother Nolan has now matured, and even though we have grown close, his typical boy persona still astounds me. His obsession with cologne, preppy clothing, and constant use of the word “dude” has driven me insane. Congratulations, brother, you have inspired me to write a column about your questionable habits. Don’t say I never did anything for you.
First of all, if anyone could answer these questions of mine, that would be greatly appreciated. Here are a few reasons why I’m thankful I attend an all-girls school.
I know that Lily Pulitzer and Kate Spade are popular name brands at Marian, but what is with teenage boys and their obsession with name-brand shoes?
Males have two reasons to kill. The rst reason is if you mess with their woman. The second reason is if you even think about touching their Jordans. To them, it’s life or death. I hope you don’t like that finger, because if you touch my shoes, it’s coming off.
Stalking my brother’s Spotify, like any good sister, I realized that my brother’s entire playlists consist of hardcore rap. Whenever he is in my car and asks for the aux, he blares loud bass and senseless words. I feel slightly embarrassed to be driving around jamming to 50 Cent and J. Cole in my Ford Fusion, more commonly known as my soccer mom car.
I have nothing against this genre, but it’s slightly humorous to watch my brother rapping like the next Lil Wayne. Sorry to slam the brakes on your totally realistic dream of fame, but you are paler than Casper the ghost and wear Sperrys. I think this argument is over.
I had never experienced so much emotional and physical turmoil until I started watching sports with my dad and brothers. During a football game, my family screams plays and calls out every single mistake a player makes (as if he already doesn’t know). I grumble with half the energy, “Dad, quit yelling; they can’t hear you through the TV,” a solid 30 times in one quarter.
I will never understand the importance or signi cance of naming cars, turning hats backwards (because this obviously serves many useful purposes), or uttering the words “bruh” or “dude” every second of my existence. I could not imagine a life where I didn’t binge watch “Say Yes to the Dress,” obsess over a jewelry sale at Francesca’s, or religiously organize my future home though coordinated Pinterest boards. Even though my brother and I have different interests, I can respect our opposite lifestyles. If everyone was the same, the world would not balance out like it should.