Fear of Being Cliché

Ever since realizing that many of the characteristics I’d always assumed to be unique and special to me were, disconcertingly, not, I became chronically terrified that my entire existence is nothing more than a cliché.

I’ve always wished that I was a Gryffindor.

I’m unwarrantedly and anxiously traumatized by the thought of turning 25.

I love a good uplifting key change, (but will settle for a gut-wrenching bass drop).

I’d choose dark chocolate over orgasms; baguettes over boys; puppies over humans; Ryan Gosling.

I turn to Whitney Houston when I’m drunk, Billy Joel when I’m driving, and I often talk about the prospect of getting a subtle tattoo on my foot in a different language that’s understated-but-also-super-cute-and-still-totally-timeless.

[Insert emoji of someone gagging him/herself here.]

Moral of the non-existent story: I am that which I fear — nothing more than a 24-year-old series of walking clichés.

And yet, believe it or not, the most disturbing part about the above realization is not the plethora of identifiable “cliché” examples within myself, but instead, the intangible mystery surrounding the idea that maybe everything I’ve ever done and ever will do is, in fact, a repeat.

For example: remember in 5th grade, when Danny went on an awkward movie date with your best friend instead of you, and you ran to your basement (where your collection of pop star-themed blow up furniture lived) and listened to “2 Become 1” on repeat while clutching a transparent, glitter-filled plastic pillow — convinced that you were the first/only/last one to ever feel so much pain?

Remember how alone you felt?

Everyone nod in unison.

What does it mean? Are we all resigned to accept that every seemingly-independent impulse we’ve had was an unavoidable rerun of someone else’s earlier experience? Will it always be the case that the insightful quote I frantically typed into my iPhone Notes in a moment of wild inspiration (so philosophical), or the sporadic romance I had with the introspective bassist from a foreign band (real free spirit), or the impulsive, impractical move I made to run away to NYC from Wisconsin (Midwestern girl gone rogue) have all been said/had/done 1,000(,000)(,000) times before?

Could this inherent fear be the impetus behind the American millennial’s “Basic” phenomenon?

Maybe we’re all just so unbelievably relieved to be able to transform the abstract and deep-rooted fear that our whole lives are cliché into a few, very distinct and simple offenses. Maybe naming these items (seasonal Starbucks lattes, leggings) reduces self-doubt: if we were cliché, surely it would manifest itself in one of these key forms.

It distracts us from having to consider that the originality of every thought we’ve ever had could be called into question.

And yet, maybe the solution is not denying that the majority of my life is derivative of others and thus using inane attributes (like an affinity for pumpkin) as scapegoats for my anxieties. Perhaps it’s most cathartic to accept that while singular thoughts and desires (team Gryffindor) are certainly “cliché” in isolation, contextualizing them within the framework of my entire life and personal experiences eliminates the “cliché,” and makes them…me.

Check out author Gabrielle Pedriani’s website here. Illustrations by Cedric Villain, Wildfox Couture, and Tim’s Prints

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When does style become “you?” If you’re not sure either, these women and men may have it figured out. Moms seem to have it figured out, too. Speaking of basic, can bros be basic too? Join the convo.