There are always those things in this world you positively lust for, because to you, they scream the epitome of elegance. You think if you can only go there, eat that, own this, then you will somehow be a better person or be in a better place than you are now. For awhile now, two of those things for me have been rosé and French macarons. I saw them everywhere (on the internet) and could not find them anywhere (in my real Minnesotan life) so of course I yearned for them more than a four year old yearns for a pet unicorn. And, as the world teaches us constantly, it’s all about the thrill of the chase.

Recently I was cruising around Trader Joe’s and after weeks, nay, months of constant searching, scouring, and impeccable vigilance, I came upon boxes upon boxes of frozen macarons nestled in the freezer section. I snatched them up, filled with an elation I had not felt since I got $2,000 back on my tax returns. Similarly, a week later, I was at Total Wine stocking up for my birthday/apartment warming party and I saw an entire row of rosés, shimmering pink-gold in the fluorescent lights. I picked out the staff favorite and brought it home to keep my macarons company while I prepared to have the fanciest effing night of my life. I settled down in my favorite old school button up PJs, made sure to take out all of the cookies and place them carefully on the fancy plate (i.e. The gold floral one from Savers), and poured the Rosé into a champagne glass (because everything is fancier when you put it in a champagne glass).

Then I feasted.

And I absolutely hated it.

Seriously, I spit out the cookies and had to force myself to finish the rest of the bottle. It was then I had to admit to myself that no matter how much nicer and elegant those $400 shoes that you saw Taylor Swift wear once and have been obsessed with finding a cheap knock-off of since seem to be, I am just more of a barefoot kind of girl. I’m mixing my metaphors, I know, but my point is this: I discovered I would rather take a Capri Sun and Chips Ahoy cookies over fancy wine and French cookies any day, and I’m actually happier because of it. Elegance is in the way you stay true to the things that you love, not pretending to be something you’re not just because you think it will make the rest of the world treat you with more respect. I’m afraid this is a lesson we will all most likely be continually learning for the rest of our lives. Or at least the rest of our twenties. I hear we’re supposed to get a lot wiser and do less stupid shit after that.

Au Revoir!