I’ve been thinking of myself lately as being Dan Humphrey and occasionally Blair Waldorf, without her impeccable taste and without her obsession for control.
I feel strangely and strongly close to all these rich and beautifully damned people. I haven’t finished the series yet but I think it has little to do with fairy tales about Upper East Side queens with unbreakable hearts and porcelain skin, or at least it has the courage to challenge our ways of easily judging “their world”.
Maybe there’s a reason for their world to be forever closed, maybe we’re part of the reason we’re not in and never will be. I’ve never hated anything more than poor people who think they’re better just because they’re poor.
There are things I cannot even dream of having yet and it makes me sadly watch my piles of second hand clothes. There’s nothing shameful here.
I’ve always felt tempted to assume an ideal Dan Humphrey position and now I’m quite ashamed of that. There comes a time when you have to face the fact that maybe you’re the person responsible for not having what you wish for and not the people who seem to always get what they want.
What I’ve learnt from Dan Humphrey is that you can write, but you shouldn’t judge too hard. What I’ve learnt from Blair Waldorf is that you may be strong even though you’ve fallen so many times. I’ve also learnt that just because you happen to look perfect all the time it doesn’t mean you’re taking things for granted.
I’m not ashamed anymore of those moments in which I imagine myself dressed in the silkiest and most carefully tailored clothes. I, I sometimes think of my eternal and mad love Manhattan and sigh and imagine myself eating out everyday, going to parties and shining in the most honest and profound manner, getting trapped, losing control, cheating, hurting myself or others but somehow coming back up and embracing my true self , discovering with surprise parts I thought would never start to grow.
I am not afraid of myself anymore and I pity those who still are afraid of themselves, standing outside forbidden windows, claiming they don’t need what’s inside. I don’t think richness corrupts as much as our own devious and shallow ways of not accepting our whole selves, hiding behind rags, eating clay and claiming we’re saviors of the world when we can’t even save ourselves. Our own bitterness and hypocrisy are toxic, so don’t hurry with those gas masks , you might find your own breath to be unbearable.