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At about noon every Thursday, something in a girl’s brain goes off. She’ll go from sitting at her desk, Nordstrom and Madewell tabs minimized until the next moment she needs a ten minute procrastination break, to immediately sending out texts to the Caroline’s, Alex’s, and Megan’s in her life. “Saturday plans – we’re brunching. No exceptions.” Then the ringleader of the group will start Yelping away or looking for the cheapest bottomless bubbly in town to immediately make an Open Table reservation once she’s gotten a final headcount to make sure she scores those points.
Until 11:30 that Saturday, it won’t really come up again. She’ll probably mention it in passing to the guy she’s been seeing so he knows she has a life that doesn’t revolve around waiting for him to text her, and maybe throw it into the conversation during Free Lunch Friday at work to make her work frenemy have FOMO. But come Saturday morning, take a look at how she shows up to that table with unlimited André. You’ll know exactly how much prep went into her “look” after sending a “Yes! Love brunch!” on Thursday to her arrival and, by proxy, which member of the friend group she is.
Wedges, Sundress, Fresh Manicure.
She’s the one who says, “I’m so bad” after having more than one glass of champagne and is going to make sure to show off that OPI paint job by holding her flute out “Cheers!” style in the Instagram. She’s the one suggesting that they split avocado toast as an “appy” and turn tonight into a girl’s night. But come late night happy hour she’s going to be pissed when Alex tries to go home with the bartender instead of playing wing-woman for her even though she wouldn’t even bother actually responding if a guy Alex helped her pick up from a bar texted her.
A-Line Skirt, Matching Crop Top, Red Lips.
She definitely listened to “Blank Space” and “Style” the entire walk there on her Ice Blue Bose earbuds. She’s not risking getting even the littlest food baby by eating at this brunch; she’ll just have some tea, thanks. She’s probably going to talk about being on a cleanse. Really she’s just here because TSwizzle is making it cool for girls to be friends again and she’s gotta be there for her #squad.
White V-Neck, FitBit, Leggings.
She’s going to spit some bullshit about how she’s already got half of her steps in for the day and be the one who has the audacity to suggest they all go get wheatgrass shots after this. But really nothing else in her outfit is relevant because everyone knows that all leggings mean are: “Look at my butt!”
Ripped Jeans, Aviators, Tank Top.
Every group has a “bad girl” friend who sits down, ready to say “I’ll pass, what do you have on tap?” when presented with bottomless mimosas, and regale all of her girls with whatever debauchery she found herself in the week/night prior. She does not care about the calories in the eggs benedict and may or may not have a bra tucked away in her purse right now. She’s probably only really friends with one of the girls, but has a soft spot for breakfast potatoes and losing at midday tipsy games of Never Have I Ever.
Maxi Skirt, Loose Tee, Plenty of Orbit gum in her bag.
She is here to eat and doesn’t really care how you feel about that. She’s probably going to keep asking Crop Top if she just wants a bite, not because she’s mean, but because she doesn’t understand how anyone could say no to a goat cheese flat bread with sunny-side up eggs.
Men’s Tee Half Tucked, White Converse, Cuffed “Always Skinny” Jeans from the Gap.
Every single girl at the table wants to scream, “WE GET IT. YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND.” When she comes in saying, “I spent the night at David’s, does anyone have any mascara?” In six to eight brunches they will either be toasting her engagement or saying, “I always knew he had a small dick,” because she and David have broken up.
Messy Bun, Baggy Sweatshirt, Sunglasses, Short Shorts.
She may as well have not grabbed an Uber home to change after her night because we can all smell the alcohol and poor decisions coming out of her pores. That girl is basically still walk-of-shaming it and she needs to go back to bed. Is that last night’s makeup? Absolutely. Is that a hickey on her neck? Unfortunately. Is she wearing a bra under that sweatshirt? You’ll never know. .
Image via Shutterstock
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Kendra Syrdal
Once in college John Cusack asked Kendra to sing for him. She said no. Visit her website to ogle at her face and send hate mail // kendrasyrdal.com
@kendrasyrdal
@kendrasyrdal
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I wonder what Brian wore to brunch
Success.
*Wears, the Bri-Guy will never die
Hate on my ripped jeans, aviators, and tank top all you want. I’ll have whatevers on tap after my morning margarita. Give me the steak and eggs and a side of hash (either, or both).
Later hater.
via GIPHY
Don’t get me wrong, I like a mean-spirited hate mob as much as the next guy, but this made me chuckle.
Oh how I long for CFB season when I can gloss over all of these examples in search for my soulmate draped in my collegiate colors head to two, ray bans, and anxiously looking for the waitress to bring the next round.
Can I be all of these at once?
You can actually. I think the medical term for that is schizophrenia.
You do you, Kendra. #ISupportKendra
I’ll just got ahead and take care of saying it for everyone else. You’re unoriginal, we don’t appreciate your writing. Go to elite daily or buzzfeed. #FireKendra
Says the guy who has never written a column. Yeah, her columns tend to linger on wardrobe and boys, but it’s refreshing to have a stable writer that talks about something besides shitting their pants. We can’t get McGannon back and we’re just going to have to deal with it. WHY DID YOU LEAVE US BRIAN!? And seriously where the fuck is Knox?
#HireShibby
#HireShibby
Already written for both.
As in this article was or you previously wrote other articles for both?
Damn you guys are jackals lately.