(Photo: Ruby Gonzalez)
It’s hard to imagine a life without labels; it’s human nature’s lazy way to put our beautiful, complex and messy lives into a tidy box. Nerd, jock, punk, artsy, flirt, oldest, youngest, black, white, weirdo, asshole… Hey, “I’ve been called worse things by better people.”
When we’re short on time, when our reflexes kick in, labels help us write our fables. But what happens when you know the backstory? When you know how the wicked witch became so wicked? Your label is no longer enough to tell a really juicy story.
Whether we’re talking about the stereotyped kind or that little Polo character on your chest that represents a life of mint juleps and charity balls (it wishes), we’re looking at monikers and monograms this week.
The ones we’re okay with and the ones you’d better not say unless you want a sock in the jaw.
- Nancy Gonzalez won’t apologize for being a “soccer mom.”
- Amy Barr wonders if she’s “retired.”
- Sharda Sehkaran juggles dual ethnicities as an “inside outsider.”
- Wendy Goldman Scherer attacks her labels with a seam ripper.
- Kathleen Warner reflects on life as “The Good One.”
- And I’ve got a few things to say about Pop Music.
Don’t fence me in,