So! You’ve graduated from school/ ran away from home/ are in the middle of your mid-life crisis. You can move anywhere in the country and the options are limitless…just be aware, wherever you land, TV and movies have got your number, not to mention your forwarding address. Here’s what pop culture has armchair diagnosed you with, based on your new zip code.
Ah, the Big Apple! The noise! The trains! The beat! The drive!
You are manic, and probably more than slightly delusional with visions of grandeur. Like the girl who pops of the bus in Annie singing “Three bags, two bucks, one meeee!” But 30 Rock was very clear about what the reality is for that type of wide-eyed ingenue.
Regardless of your gender, my advice to you: get out and go home before you contract four new strands of HPV and Seasonal Effective Disorder.
Oh, this one is almost too easy. I’ll let Messrs Robert Downey Jr. and Shane Black break it down for you:
You are literally batshit. Like, Manson crazy. “Well, let’s not judge Dianetics before seeing if it works for ME!” crazy. You have all of the New York-transplant’s delusion of grandiosity, but none of their drive or motivation. You really believe in fate, karma and your ability to drive whilst high on edibles.
And if you think that’s a sexist interpretation, don’t worry, I’ve got something for the dudes as well:
You are Gus from Love. Sorry, I know that sounds harsh. But chances are, you moved to the city of angels to become a writer/director and the closest you can get is being an on-set tutor for Witchita. You keep wondering why you always fall for ladies you internally qualify as “mentally unstable,” and while that may be sometimes the case, the irony is that you’ll never really know. In three months these women will inevitably downshift you into the friend zone before ghosting entirely. You will be left alone, probably forever.
Option 3: You’re Bojack Horseman. Good luck with that.
If you’re a guy, you are one of the Silicon Valley beta-adjacent weirdos. Best case scenario? You are Jared.
If you are girl…sorry. Pop culture has yet to portray you in any fashion, so you technically don’t exist.
Actually, I hope those two superfan archetypes actually find each other and fall in love while working as drones under the watchful but benevolent gaze of Jeff Bezos. May you Annie Wilkes each other into a blissful but hobbled eternity.
Speaking of which…
You think you are the next Stephen King, but in actuality you are more like a dangerously unhinged King character. And not even a MAIN one. You are like the town’s resident door-to-door bleach salesman who is secretly gone insane because your mother put clothespins on your dirty place. Or else you ARE that mother, in which case: Yikes-a-doodles!
You need therapy, but are instead spending your time robbing banks, solving math equations or cheering about sports.
What’s wrong with you, there is literally no diagnostic term for. You are evil, or aspire to Cersei Lannister-levels of behind-the-scenes manipulation. You think you are the Underwoods, but you are, at BEST, Jonah or Amy from Veep.
You know that famous Coco Chanel quote about leaving the house with one less accessory? Well, you’re having a real hard time deciding between your two favorites:
You moved here because you have a flair for the kooky and dramatic, but it’s hard to look around every day and be reminded of your vampire/witch/Maened/shapeshifter/serial killer privilege. You are probably depressed.
North Dakota/Any other place in the Midwest:
You think you are gosh-darn good person. You’re pretty unfriendly, actually. But it’s the way you’re unfriendly. How you’re so polite about it.
Like Jon Snow, even though you know conceptually what winter means, you have totally underestimated its ability. This will be your undoing, probably. That, or your appearance in a Dick Wolf spin-off.
You’ve got a bad case of Nicholas Cage. But you knew that already, didn’t you?
You moved to Florida? Willingly? Your dream is to be a giant mascot at a theme park. That’s not so bad, right?