America can consider itself #blessed that it has a word like “bro”— three letters that convey to most people a specific image about a specific regionally varietal type of young premarital, often preppy man characterized group socializing and over-imbibing. But the English language giveth, and the English language leaveth you waiting at soccer practice long after the other kids have been picked up by their moms. So while it’s not perfect, the best word we have to describe the female equivalent of the “bro” is the “basic.”
I realized this the other day, while smushed up against a strange bro’s sidepec on a crowded L train, and the thought hit me like a wall of hot garbage smell during a heat wave: with their uniform socially enforced, boring sartorial style, preference for a specific set of slang words, propensity toward proud liver abuse, and tendency to roll at least four deep on weekend nights, the only difference between a “bro” and a “basic bitch” is gender. Bros are just male Basic Bitches. They’ve been basic all along! And just as there are bros in every corner of America, there are corresponding regional varietals of female basics. (Because they’re a lot less likely to throw an empty Jim Beam bottle at your flower pots, I’m hesitant to use the phrase “bitch” to refer to them. They’re usually too nice for that, at least after graduation.)
Basic-ness should be acknowledged and owned because there’s nothing wrong with being “basic” except, maybe, that “basic” people are not very interesting on an individual level. It implies that a person is still stuck in their collegiate socialization pattern, dressing pretty much exactly like their friends, and they hesitate to deviate from what’s comfortable yet despite the fact that they can probably afford it. But that’s okay. In fact, the very existence of the phrase “basic” as an insult is a symptom of our generation’s pathological obsession with their own special snowflakedom. Being called “basic” implies, literally, “similar to others in a predictable manner.” There are six and a half billion humans on earth. We all have our own DNA, but beyond the very tiniest organelles in our cells, we are all, to one extent or another, basic as fuck. None of us is Rihanna. Rihanna is barely Rihanna sometimes.
Herewith, America the Basic.
Chicago Trixie Basic
Habitat: Traditionally Lincoln Park/Lakeview, but her territory has expanded to include Bucktown, Wicker Park, “West Town” (a made up neighborhood), “Near North,” and the “South Loop.” Rarely south of Roosevelt or north of Irving Park, almost never west of Western. If there is a street festival in a white area, she will be there in wedge heels and big sunnies.
Her jewelry is: David Yurman.
Most mystifying behavior: Buying three-day passes to Lollapalooza every summer even though she of all people should know from experience that it is horrible and that is the one summer weekend that you leave Chicago and do other things like maybe go up to Door County.
Loves: The Cubbies, bags (the game, not purses, although purses are also excellent), that hot dog place on Clark where they yell at you.
Celebrity aspiration: Jennifer Aniston.
SEC Sorority Girl Basic
Wears: Pearls to job interviews. But not just pearl necklaces or pearl earrings — she wears the whole set. Everything, everything, everything is monogramed. Things are monogramed that you’d have no idea could be monogramed. If she hasn’t already, she will one day throw a party where every guest leaves with something monogrammed.
Dream vacation: Road trip to the beach.
Votes: Republican.
Most mystifying behavior: Has stopped going to tanning beds years ago, but still lays out in the sun all summer with the lowest SPF suntan lotion on the market.
Biggest pet peeve: Anyone who thinks she’s not a “real” football fan because she’s wearing Lilly Pulitzer dress and heels to a home game in September. Bless their hearts.
Celebrity aspiration: Reese Witherspoon.
Manhattan Basic
Job: Public relations.
Her purse is: Let’s be honest with ourselves — if her bag is real, she didn’t buy it herself. Her yoga mat is definitely real, though (she’s going after work).
Her rent is: Astronomical, especially considering she lives with 18 people in a hallway that has been divided into a series of coffin-sized bedrooms. Real estate broker said it was “cozy” and it’s such a good deal for the West Village. Luckily, one of her roommates has a dad who makes enough money to cosign the lease.
Most mystifying behavior: For someone who insists that Manhattan is the best place in the world, she’s been going to Brooklyn an awful lot. Has a very expensive membership to Equinox and only uses the elliptical for 20 minutes.
Most impressive skill: Doing everything while walking. Eating, texting, crying, studying, reading, ordering takeout, navigating a messy breakup, negotiating a new contract at work. A Manhattan Basic is like a shark: If she’s not walking somewhere in Sigerson Morrison flats she might die.
Celebrity aspiration: Anne Hathaway, who got married, moved to Brooklyn, and acted like that was her plan all along.
Dallas Basic
Job: Real estate. Maybe marketing.
Drives: A massive SUV her dad bought for her.
Wears: Kendra Scott jewelry, Tori Burch accessories, 7 For All Mankind or Citizens of Humanity jeans. A statement necklace if it’s a special occasion.
Listens to: 106.1 KISS FM.
Spends her summers: Being a bridesmaid. She has been a bridesmaid like 15 times.
Celebrity aspiration: Jessica Simpson.
Brooklyn Basic
Pretends to love: Roberta’s, Smorgasburg, TV On The Radio, her boyfriend’s tattoos.
Pretends to hate: Vice, racism (kind of loves racism a little bit), non-Beyoncé pop radio, traditional weddings.
Wastes a lot of time: In line for free outdoor events, peering angrily down the G train platform, ordering cocktails that take forever to prepare, pretending to consider buying $700 reclaimed wood coffee tables at Brooklyn Flea, instagramming graffiti, waiting for brunch at a place that is like two doors down from another place that serves food that is just as good and has no line, writing essay-length Yelp reviews that do not get to the fucking point until like four paragraphs in, wandering aimlessly around vintage stores.
Wants to be: A writer/comedian/street style star/internet celebrity/muse/It Girl.
Most mystifying habit: Tells people she lives in Williamsburg but actually lives in Bushwick. Tells people she lives in Fort Greene but actually lives in Bed Stuy. Tells people she lives in South Slope; actually lives in Sunset Park (the 36th Street DNR train really isn’t that bad, though).
Celebrity aspiration: Lena Dunham.
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