Night one of egg freezing, I planned to channel AOC and handle my hormone shots like a girlboss™. Instead, I’m sleep-deprived and sweating through my spray tan, spiraling over whether everyone else is simply better at pretending. Which brings me to unpack the performance of it all. From political theater to algorithm-approved identities, and why a gloriously messy night of gay karaoke might actually be the last sign of humanity left.
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