Coca-Cola Couture vs. Soup Faux Pas
There’s this ever-growing criterion of “licks” that today’s generation uses to judge who’s “smart,” who’s “with it,” and who’s worth having in your inner circle.
I
t’s like some twisted version of a reality show, where the wrong brand of shoes can get you voted off the island.
Enter my buddy Tommy.
For anonymity’s sake, let’s just call him Tommy. Tommy and I go way back to college, where friendship was forged in the crucible of fraternity dodge beer tournaments and impromptu all-nighters at the library. Tommy wasn’t exactly a Mensa candidate, but the guy had street smarts that could navigate the New York subway system blindfolded.
Tommy’s life choices, however, are nothing short of contrarian, to say the least. He’s carved out a career path that’s as unconventional as a vegan butcher shop, and his fashion sense is a rebellious middle finger to societal norms and weather conditions alike. Tommy also has a penchant for conspiracy theories that makes you wonder if he’s got a direct line to the Illuminati, Area 51, and QAnon, but with a heart of gold that makes Mother Teresa look like Ebenezer Scrooge.
Here’s the kicker:
Tommy has a thing for Coca-Cola that borders fanatical. I’m talking about a passion so intense, it’s like he’s training for the Cola Olympics. And not just any Coke—no, no, Tommy swears by Costco’s farm-to-table, artisanal Coca-Cola. He’s convinced it tastes better, and he’ll debate you on this with the fervor of a flat earther at a NASA conference.
In today’s culture, Tommy’s Coke devotion is what many of today’s cool kids might call an “ick.” Let’s dissect this madness. Last week, I’m at my local bodega, about to order a sandwich, when the person in front of me orders the soup of the day.
Picture this:
It’s a blistering New York spring day, temperatures clawing their way into the 80s with humidity that makes you feel like you’re swimming through the air. This person, though, couldn’t be more excited about their steaming bowl of bodega soup. Not just any soup, but piping hot soup, in a heatwave. They’ve got AirPods in, yammering away on the phone about their upcoming trip to Tulum and how this soup fits perfectly into their 30-day juice cleanse prep. Juice cleanse? For a vacation? In Tulum? This is the kind of twisted logic that makes M.C. Escher’s drawings look straightforward.
This person is decked out in Golden Goose sneakers, Alo yoga gear, and a Louis Vuitton fanny pack, because apparently, irony is dead and buried. Since they’re conversing at a volume as if they’re in the privacy of their industrial floor-to-ceiling window Hudson Yards apartment, I hear them mention they’re to hit up Cha Cha Matcha afterward for their favorite brand of oat milk. And they’re dropping social bombs like “I’m not inviting Karen to Montauk because she liked a Joe Rogan post on Instagram.” Reality, for them, is as much of a suggestion as the end time of a Gorgon City set at The Brooklyn Mirage.
So, who’s the real crazy one here?
The guy sweating bullets while sipping scalding soup, or Tommy, our Coca-Cola connoisseur, living his best life with zero regard for societal judgments?
In my book, Tommy’s got it all figured out. Give me his Costco Coke wisdom and unapologetic zest for life over the soup-in-summer insanity any day. True coolness isn’t about fitting into some arbitrary mold; it’s about being bold, genuine, enthusiastic, and not giving a flying frock what anyone else thinks. And if that means enjoying a Coke from Costco, then sign me up.
Next time you find yourself questioning what’s normal and what’s not, ask yourself: Are you living for the ‘gram, or are you living for yourself?
Because the real crazies are the ones who think going to Joe’s Juice in the latest line of Golden Goose sneakers that look like they were plucked out of Chernobyl is the ultimate goal.
Me? I’ll take Tommy’s Coke and his unfiltered joy over an overpriced Cha Cha Matcha Macarena oat milk latte with a hazelnut whip nonsense any day of the week.
