#i remember last summer when black kids were gathered downtown for a party and the news referred to them as 'juveniles'

[afro-elf]

do you ever watch something and they're like 'so and so was flirting with minors' or 'so and so was trying to initiate sex with minors' and just want them to allow themselves to say the words 'child' or 'children'?

"oh but it was a teenager" so... a child

[claybefree]

Seeing as it's the twentieth anniversary, I guess I should post this again

September Third, Two Thousand and Nine

For years whenever anyone asked me when my son Henry was born I’d start to say September instead of August 25, 2001. Sunday he had his eighth birthday party at his mother’s house, and I stayed here. Most of his mother’s friends don’t care for me much. The feeling is mutual. Tonight coming home from work I started stitching what I’m about to write together in my mind and suddenly got very afraid. I thought for a moment that I was about to go get drunk, which might very likely be death for somebody like me. I was sure I was going to change direction of the truck, that I’d drive the same route I always did back then, that I would stand by the register and stare at the bottle in my hand without really knowing I where I was. I think it has to do with the weather finally changing and perhaps that Henry’s mom and I are no longer together. I sat on the porch of my little house and called a friend and told him all this. He listened and after a while I felt better, which is exactly how these things should go. When we decided we were done he told me I should go in and write all this down.

I worked on through that whole day. Most everybody else on the job had stopped and listened to each of the radios on the different floors or cried. The asshole Turks I was framing a bathroom for wouldn’t let me quit. They had tile to run. I found it made me feel better to keep going anyway. The laborers cussed me when I asked them to move so that I could use the table saw, a natural gathering spot on any job. They seemed to think I was calloused or hard-hearted and it was because I was from Tennessee. It just now occurred to me that maybe they were right.

That afternoon, when it was determined safe to walk across the bridges, most of the job, the other carpenters and trades-people, wandered home to Brooklyn or Queens. Me and the two left to close everything up had it different as we lived in Jersey. Anthony, the boss, was big and red-haired, red faced and lived in Hoboken. Duane was in charge of demolition and waste, was a little shorter and darker, and lived in Secaucus or maybe somewhere west of that I think. They squared off on each other frequently. It always reminded me of two walruses going at it on a beach.

Whenever we went out to the bar afterwards Anthony would have a Bud tall boy in each hand at all times, the waitress would come up with four for him whenever we sat down. On the job we liked to yell at each other, I once told him I was doing him a favor by giving him such an easy target, and he never missed an occasion to oblige me. Duane was a single dad, dark haired with deep sunken yet kind eyes that always seemed to have bags under them. One of the black laborers told him once he was the most Uncle Fester looking motherfucker he had ever seen. I tended to agree.

We locked the job up at four I think, humped it across the park through the smoke to the A-train. There was smoke forming a mist around the trees of central park that day. There were no flower children loitering at Yoko’s “Imagine” monument to barge through. Our thinking was to get downtown to the Path train. We had no idea that two of the stations had been destroyed. It didn’t matter, we were underground fifteen minutes before Anthony vetoed the idea. People were running wild through the stations, on the trains, everything was panic and Oh Fuck and Anthony had no intention of being underground. He had a funny look on his face that I couldn’t figure out. It wouldn't occur to me until later that the big man was very afraid.

In the years since I have always wondered why people have reacted so strongly from that day. Later we would go to war because of a something that happened one day in New York City and this has always seemed really strange to me. I guess what I mean is that I was there and never wanted to kill anybody because of it. Most of the time I just thought it was very strange and sad and mostly just very interesting. I only remember ever crying about it twice. The first time was a few months afterward, I had quit Anthony to stay home with Henry. Part of our routine was to watch Sesame Street. One day in the winter there was a skit where Elmo got very scared because of some smoke and noise that was never identified. I suppose in this case it was a nameless fear. A New York City fireman came on screen and hugged him, told him it was okay to be scared, Elmo, and that everything would be alright. I remember little red furry Elmo hugged the fireman tight. I held Henry in my lap and cried into his fine blonde hair.

It was the fireman that did it. I still get upset when I think about the firemen. I have had a lot of trouble with cops in different times in my life, but I never had a problem with any fireman I ever encountered, drunk or otherwise. They seem to me to be a different animal entirely.

Anthony, Duane and me ran into two firemen on the deck of the cruise boat that carried us across to Weehawken. They came in and collapsed on the painted metal floor, shedding boots and letting their helmets roll away. Some people applauded weakly, others asked questions, they just stared at us and said nothing. It didn’t occur to me until much later they were probably the only ones from their station who lived. Other men that for years they worked with, ate and fought with, got drunk with were dead. There was a bar I frequented in Jersey City a few blocks from our house where a couple of weeks later I saw three firemen in dress uniforms. One was between his partner on a stool and the third who was older and may have been a captain. The captain was clearly upset, swaggering and poking the other two in the chest. Everybody else was trying hard not to pay attention to what seemed about to develop into a fight. I think later I saw the old man leaning against the bar and weeping openly, he must have been sixty at least.

I got drunk in this bar Sept. 10th while my wife and kid slept back home. She’d start nursing and pass out with him and I’d head out to roam. The thing I liked about this place was the Sinatra on the jukebox, so that night I loaded it up and sat at the bar listening. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard “Summer Wind.” The tattooed brunette tending bar must have thought it was cute because she serenaded me, singing along with a couple of the songs. There was another man with a mustache further down the line who was putting the blast on her and didn’t seem to like me much so I got the fuck out early. By “early” I mean I didn’t close the place.

I won’t tell you what we saw on the boat ride across the Hudson, you’ve seen it already. We unloaded at Weehawken and everyone, thousands of high end refugees really, started walking south towards Hoboken where we had been told there were buses waiting to take us home. I noticed that even wearing boots, the three of us walked faster than the others. We were construction workers living and working around Manhattan and we were very good at walking. I remember being comforted by walking with them. Hundreds of buses lined the streets of Hoboken and the three of us walked the length of that town. Anthony broke off about halfway to head home. A couple of weeks later I showed up having laid out drunk for two days and told him I had come for my tools. He looked at me and didn’t say a word. He mailed me my check. I haven’t seen the man since.

Duane and me trudged the rest of Hoboken together. I heard that not soon after I left he was let go to cut costs and that not long after that he got into a bad time with a prostitute on rt. 1 & 9. The smoke in Hoboken was thicker than in the city and the fumes from streets filled with idling buses finally got my hangover to officially kick in. I told Duane about how I’d had “Summer Wind” playing as background music in my head all day. He laughed and began singing the song, each line perfectly. We got through the crowd easily, after hours of walking together we had finally hit a stride together. We were marching, really. There was the giant blue sky of the day broken intermittently by smoke and there was the roar of diesel noise and Hoboken and Duane singing Summer Wind to me; some punk kid from Tennessee who had no business being there.

The only other incident I remember having to cry because of some assholes who decided to fly planes into tall buildings was coming across the Manhattan bridge one night after carrying my sister-in-law home to Park Slope. She would come over most nights to hang out with the baby, and around eleven or so and in various states of sobriety I’d be asked to drive her back home. I never hated the terrorists for invoking a War of Terror, I hated them for causing enough terror that it fucked the roads up. Shit got closed for what seemed no fucking reason whatsoever. One day coming back from the pediatrician’s office, Henry got stuck howling in his car seat for four hours because the Holland Tunnel was handling too much traffic and we were too afraid to take him out of it because of the cops everywhere. My sister-in-law and I spent a lot of time in the Saturn together on the nights I drove her home. I can’t remember what we talked about, probably everything. I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law since I moved out last summer.

This particular night the Brooklyn Bridge was only operating east-bound into Brooklyn so after I dropped her off I was diverted back across the Manhattan Bridge in order to get back into the city and eventually home. The Manhattan Bridge back then was still under renovation and I guess has always been the ugly, cross-eyed cousin of the Brooklyn Bridge. I got stuck on it, moving slower than shit, and staring at trash and old faded plywood encasing the little bit of wrought iron and Neo-Classical elements that were left up by the arch. Off to the left t seemed as though the entirety of Downtown was illuminated from the work lights that were set up down by Ground Zero. Downtown glowed with lights that were set up to look for people that weren’t there anymore. The DJ on WFMU that night was playing a super slowed down cover of the B-52’s Song for a Future Generation. If you’ve heard it, you’ve probably laughed, it’s a ridiculously chirpy pop song. I’ve always loved it. The lyrics go a little like this:

Wanna be the ruler of the galaxy

Wanna be the king of the universe

Let`s meet and have a baby now

In between each stanza, the different members give spoken-word tidbits of information about themselves. For example Ricky, the original guitarist, was a Pisces and “loved computers and hot tamales.“ Ricky also died from AIDS back in 1985 when people still had no idea what the disease was.

The version I heard that night had slowed the tempo to that of a blues song. The dip-shit ironic hipster that sang it reflected this. Stuck on the bridge it felt as though I was listening to a lament. What reduced me to tears, smoking Winstons in my little Saturn station wagon, was the feeling that whatever was left of innocence had recently been or was about to be brutally murdered by pig-face, ignorant men. Wanna be the first lady of infinity. Wanna be the nicest guy on earth. Let's meet and have a baby now.

[purplecantaloupe]

It’s after arzaylea’s break up with Luke. Luke shuts everyone out and Ashton calls the reader to help out with Luke after he shuts everyone out. Luke reveals his feelings to the reader after she comes over.

The name you can use is Kele

Hello my sweet pea, I hope you’re staying safe and healthy. I throroughly apologize that this took so long for me write so I’m not wasting anymore time, here you go my love, I hope you enjoy xoxo ♡

Warnings: badly written, fluff, mentions of drug use, a few memories from the past, a bit of angst if you squint

Let me set the scene for you: backtrack all the way to the year 2011, you and a couple friends decided to go out to the pub and watch the local bands perform live. It was a normal thing for you guys to try and not only expand your knowledge of the area but also expand your knowledge of the local underground bands in the area. The pub of choice was normally at the Annandale Hotel downtown and tonight was no different, you didn’t know what to think, the different types of bands that they had in and out of the pub was just so different every week and your clique never got tired of the atmosphere and the aura that surrounded you all when you were there was unmatched by the other pubs nearby. As nightfell, you all got ready at your respective houses and told your parents that you were spending the night at each other’s houses which you would, just not until the last set was over. Having such an old personality and easily an adult’s face, you would buy rounds for your friends and find a nice table to sit at before settling, watching the set, sneaking out of the set going to Lachlan’s house whose parents were asleep by 9pm and slept like rocks, then sneaking out of the house by the time they woke. It was a typical Friday night for your friend group.

This Friday was no different, you got ready at your house and met up with the rest of the gang at Annandale, the black and white sign outside showing the band of the night ‘5 Seconds of Summer’. The name hadn’t piqued your interest, “must be some annoying sounding Indie band that couldn’t keep their rent money up,” you thought. Your hopes weren’t sky high as you lot entered the muggy room that your teenage mind craved, got yourselves some drinks and sat at your usual table. You saw a few other kids around your age walking around and you thought that they were sneaking around (Annandale wasn’t well known for a strict policy) it was normal for a few younger-than-eighteen stragglers would show up for the same reasons as your group. The tiny brunette approached your friends with a bright smile and a hand out to introduce himself as Ashton. You all made small talk and as Ashton and your friends interacted, he also brought up that he and his friends were playing a set tonight, then Ashton had to excuse himself to go backstage but not before saying that he wanted the band to meet you guys before the night was over. That fact alone that Ashton was involved made you slightly worried due to your previous thoughts on the ‘Indie-type’ music you were figuring they played. Your thoughts dissolved just as quickly as the conversation with Ashton happened; the four boys gathered on the stage and a couple handfuls of parents started clapping and cheering on the young men, Luke leaned into his microphone nervously,

“Hey guys we’re 5 Seconds of Summer,” the crowd starts yelling out, “I’m Luke. That’s Calum,” Luke points to his left behind him, “Ash on the drums, and Michael,” he talks and the crowd just gets more and more excited. Knowing all the names of his bandmates, you couldn’t be more excited to meet them, their music was so nice, their personalities on stage were mesmerizing, that was the turning point in Kele’s life.

After the set was over Ashton came out and found your group of friends. By this time you were bouncing with adrenaline, no other band that you’d heard sounded quite like them, even though they based their music off of older bands as well as they covered a couple of songs. Nothing truly amounted to anything they played, or maybe that was the little bit of alcohol in your system talking, either way you were bouncing. You could tell your friends were less excited as Ashton led you all to the back, they were stumbling a bit from the liquor and they were moving slowly behind you but once you made it through the crowd they were slightly more aware and had their land-legs. Ashton introduced your friends to his, surprisingly remembering all your names and introducing you to his friends as well. After all of you started talking, you realized just how cool these guys were, they were so passionate about music, they also told you that they post covers on YouTube and that they have been gaining a following.

Charlotte applauded the boys’ performance and said she could totally see them as the next up and coming “Blink-182-type” band. To which Michael smiled brightly and they went off into a deep conversation about the bands that they liked and what they thought 5SOS could become.

You all shared a few facts about yourselves and before you knew it, the pub was closing and you guys had to go to Lachlan’s house before anyone would notice you. The 5SOS boys helped you sneak out of the back before anyone could see you and you all got a clean getaway not before exchanging numbers and waving good-byes.

Getting home in the early morning, you walked into the office in your house and immediately looked the boys up, making sure to share their music on as many forms of social media your parents allowed you at that age. Not long after, your new friends were off to becoming one of the most well-known bands in the world and you got the lucky chance to know them and watch them grow.

--

Fast forward to about two years later in the band’s career, your parents saw that you were not only head-over-heels in love with the band but having met all the guys and getting to know them individually they trusted you and them together. Your parents reluctantly allowed you to go on their first tour with One Direction, Liz assuring them that they wouldn't need to worry about the school work getting done since she was making sure that Luke was doing the same while also performing. The boys and you were practically inseparable: always partying backstage, standing side-stage, recording small little Keeks to keep the fans updated on the behind the scenes stuff, you were always there helping out and trying to keep not only yourself sane but the fans that were in the same boat as you, sane. Liz had become your mother as well, making sure that you were getting fed properly, that you were being safe, and that you were getting the proper discipline that you needed to grow up just the way she brought up her boys. You were the daughter she never had and she was the mother that you needed, especially to keep your mind stable with four boys and a whole lot of angsty, moody, hormonal male energy.

—

Fast forward even more, just around the present time, you were definitely part of the 5SOS team. The boys always made sure you were included in everything they were involved in, they tried to make sure you had the best seats to watch their performances, made sure that you stayed in close proximity when the paparazzi were bombarding them with questions, they especially kept you on the sidelines for interviews. A few interviewers wanted your input on their stories as well, making sure that they were staying honest with their answers as well as keeping them modest. You kept them grounded just as much as they kept you grounded. You all kept each other humble.

2017 is right around when you started to worry about your friends. They started partying a lot more, getting into drugs and sleeping around, moreso Luke. Sure all the guys would party and yuck it up with their musician friends but you couldn’t help but think that Luke was losing his sanity a little more than the rest of the group. He didn’t have his mom behind his shoulder anymore and he was taking that to his advantage, he didn’t care who saw him doing what but nobody truly knew what was going on behind the scenes, not you, not even Luke saw what was happening. Arzaylea brought sex and drugs to the table and that’s all he wanted; Luke brought her to the public eye and had money and that’s all she wanted.

Arzaylea had done nothing but ruin not only his mental but physical state, he was addicted not to just the drugs and alcohol he was consuming, but to her. He was enamoured. In his mind, this girl had brought him nothing but happiness and a new state of mind to his career. He was taking advantage of his life and he finally saw a new light of day. She showed him what he could do with his fame to which he would spend penny after dime on anything she wanted and she drank it up, she was happy and he was high.

His new found love for his girl was consuming him. All the while, the other members would worry about their band mate but nobody could or would stop him. Luke did this to himself and anyone could tell him that it was wrong, he didn’t care.

Arzaylea had the same kind of problem that he did, though she was introduced to drugs and alcohol a little before he was. When they met she saw his potential and thought that he would stick to her like the others had, they started their relationship out like that, they both were stuck like feathers to a chicken.

The day that Luke found out that the girl he thought was the love of his life was cheating on him with another well known artist, was the day that he shut down. Luke went absolutely ballistic. The drugs couldn’t numb the pain, his music couldn’t even come close to dulling the ache. He had barricaded himself in his house and refused to talk to anybody. Even his best friends.

All the boys had tried calling and texting Luke after they had seen Arzaylea posts on her social media, and Luke ignored everything. Kele had even tried to contact him to which he would reply in barely full sentences, she was lucky she’d even get a one- word response. The boys had had enough when Luke had posted a particularly deep tweet the day of the breakup to which they thought it was over for Luke. They knew his heart was hurting and they had no clue how to help him. He had shut them out before the break and now he didn’t know how to cope.

The boys had gone over to his house the day he posted the tweet and let themselves in. They made their way through the halfway destroyed home, commenting on the mess and sharing looks between each other before calling out to Luke and of course not getting a reply. They glanced through all the rooms just to be sure but knew Luke was in his bedroom.

When the boys had walked into Luke’s pitch black bedroom, Mike turned the light on, they hadn’t seen him but heard sniffling coming from the ensuite bathroom. Ashton made his way to the door and saw the gleam of light coming from under the door and knocked gently.

“Luke?” Ashton’s voice was small and gentle.

The only response was a clearing of the throat and another sniffle. Ashton tried the doorknob which he wasn’t surprised it was locked.

“Luke, if you don’t unlock the door I'm going to force it open,” Ash warned and heard nothing from the other side of the door. Ashton sighed and shared a look with the others and they all knew what was coming next, “right you’ve left me no choice,” Ashton pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick message and then made his and the boys’ way downstairs to start cleaning up.

Kele arrived quickly after reading the text from Ashton and entered Luke’s house without knocking. Ashton gave her the lowdown of what’s happened and she nodded and jogged up the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Luke? Hey it’s me,” Kele said, her voice just as gentle as Ashton’s was just moments ago.

Luke’s ear perked up at the sound of her voice but made no move to unlock the door. He heard her sigh and some rustling from the other side.

She was sitting cross legged, her knees pressed against the door frame and forehead laying against the cold divots made in the design of the door.

“Luke everyone else is downstairs, it’s just us, please open up.” She whispers. The other side of the door has gone stone quiet and she sighs, no sniffling, no pitter patter of his nails against the tile flooring.

The only sound that Luke could hear was Kele’s breathing and his heart ripping in his chest. He reaches up and unlocks the door, the sound unmistakable in Kele’s ears. Luke slides out of the way as Kele gently opens the door and they make eye contact, the first time since the breakup just two days prior. Luke’s eyes were bloodshot and droopy, Kele’s were sad and full of pity, brimming with tears for her best friend’s pain. She immediately shuts the door behind her and wraps her arms around him. He buries his head in her neck and the tears were upstoppable from both of their eyes.

The oversized man in her arms clearly masked her small body but neither cared as they hugged on the floor of the bathroom. Luke’s cries were etched into Kele’s eardrums like the lyrics from his songs. She ran her right hand up his back while her left kept a tight grip around his neck, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Why did she do it?” His voice broke through his cries and Kele’s sighed, wiping her eyes quickly before returning her hand to Luke’s spine.

“She wasn’t good enough for you, you deserve the best in the world and she was just a step to point you in the right path.” She replies and lays her head on top of his.

“Luke that whole relationship was built on drugs and sex, you will have phases that you go through before you find the right person that your heart belongs to. You now know what to look for in your next partner, they may not be the right person but even then, every relationship is meant to be a different stepping stone for you to know what you want and need in a significant other so think of this as just another feat accomplished and now you’re onto the next one.” Kele said, running her fingers soothingly up and down Luke’s spine.

Luke let her words sink into his brain and in his vulnerable state he let his actions take over. He leaned his head up and pressed a kiss into Kele’s cheek.

“Thank you. I love you.” He whispers and they share a small smile together. Luke glances down at Kele’s lips quickly before Kele sits up.

“Let get you up and into the shower, I’m sorry to kick you when you’re down but you reek,” Kele says and they both share a chuckle, Luke’s a little more pained than humorous but a chuckle nonetheless.

Kele stands and holds her hands out to Luke, which he takes and stands, gaining his balance and Kele nods.

“I’m gonna let you do your business, I’ll be right outside in your bedroom cleaning up, ok? If you need anything just yell out,” she says and looks up at him expectingly and he nods.

“Thank you,” he whispers and she leans up and kisses his cheek just as he did minutes ago.

Kele excuses herself from the interaction and leaves the bathroom door open a crack, leaving Luke to his thoughts and the sound of water pelting to the floor.

Kele makes up Luke’s bed and reorganizes a few things back the way they were when she’d been in the bedroom when he’d first moved in. Reminiscing on how happy and carefree the whole friend group was when they’d moved to Los Angeles.

**

The boys roughhousing around with the boxes of belongings for Luke, tossing pillows at each other and letting out booms of laughter. Kele was in Luke’s bedroom laying out little knick-knacks and plugging in his television and a lamp, making sure the sockets work and whatnot. She could hear the laughs coming from down below, making her way over to the window she looks down and smiles at the guys and the scene below her.

Kele reaches up above her and grabs ahold of the curtain rod and starts to weave it between the wrinkled curtains from the pack Luke had just bought. Just as she is in the zone watching the trees sway in the California breeze and the sun slowly starting to set she’s brought out of her trance by a pebble hitting the window. She jumps and looks down still pushing the curtains onto the rod she smiles as all the boys are looking up at her making funny faces and waving. She tucks the rod under her arm and opens the window.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair,” Michael yells up at her and she giggles.

“I don’t think my hair will reach, my prince!” She yells back and waves her ponytail in the wind. “You guys better finish getting the boxes out, we only have that moving truck for another hour,” She announces, glancing at the newly hung clock on the wall. The boys shoot her a thumbs up before she shuts the window and reaches above her to hang the curtain rod back on its hinges. A hand comes above her and helps her hang the long rod and another hand sits on her shoulder.

“Thank you for the help,” Luke says as he hears a click signaling the rod’s endings in place.

“Of course I would be here to help! You’re finally moving out of the 5SOS house, I had to make sure that the new apartment was at least half as good as how you were living before,” she says and wraps her arms around his waist. “This place is the start of your adulthood and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else to see you grow,” Kele says as Luke chuckles into her hair. They pull away from the hug just as the other boys wrap their arms around them in a tight bear hug, Ashton’s high pitched giggles heard through the grunts of the others.

**

Kele has her arms wrapped around herself as she looks out the same window, biting onto her lip looking at the spot the moving truck was in, the tree illuminated by a streetlight was swaying in the nighttime breeze. She reaches up and shuts the curtains just as the bathroom door opens with a squeak. Kele looks up as Luke is entering his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping from his shower moments ago. He stalks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers, Kele turns around as he pulls the briefs up his long legs and he hums when he’s done. Kele turns around and sighs.

“You look better,” she says and looks at his clean shaven face. She makes her way over to him and runs the back of her knuckle across the smooth skin and nods. “You’ll feel better with the boys’ and I’s help. We’re gonna get you through this.” Luke tears up slightly and nods.

“I love you… So. Much.” He says and wraps his arms around her, his damp skin warm against Kele.

She was oblivious to the fact that his words meant more than what he was letting off but he knew what he meant.

Kele wrapped her arms around his clammy skin and sighed, “I love you too, Killer,” she whispered and he sighed into the hug. Over the sound of his breath, she could hear scuffling and the boys walked into the room slowly and over Luke’s shoulder she signaled for the guys to join which they did. They all embraced into the tightest bear hug they could muster, letting out grunts and other noises. Luke chuckled into Kele’s hair and they all cheered.

“Finally! Some happiness!” Ashton exclaimed and looked at Luke who still had a small smile on his face as the group pulled away.

“How about we get some pizza and watch How I Met Your Mother? Hows does that sound?” Kele says and the group looks at Luke.

“How could I say no?” He smiles back, the boys cheer and make their way out to the hall to order the food.

Kele starts walking out the room so Luke could get dressed but he grabs her arm at the last second and pulls her back to his chest. The room is silent as Luke just studies her face, biting the inside of his cheek where the lip ring used to be.

“What?” Kele whispers, slightly uncomfortable in the silent room.

“I love you,” he whispers once again. Kele furries her eyebrows and nods.

“I love you too, Killer.” She says, confused and still a bit uncomfortable.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, sliding his hands down around her waist and her eyes widen.

“Luke, I-“ She’s cut off.

“This isn’t a rebound type thing, I just want to try something,” he pauses then bites the invisible lip ring again, “where’s the harm in that?” He adds and looks down at her.

She weighs her options in her mind. Is this something that could ruin the friendship? Could this end up being awkward in the long run? Kele went against her better judgement and surprised the both of them.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes widen as the words left her mouth, Luke’s eyes move to her lips before he shuts them and lets his mind drift into space.

The kiss they shared was something out of the cheesiest romance movie: firework bursting, time-stopping, leg-lifting type cheesy movie. The duo saw stars, the world seemingly spinning around them faster than light speed.

When Luke pulled away, Kele tried to chase after his lips for a moment, causing Luke to chuckle softly as he opened his eyes and smiled down at her. Their hearts practically beating in sync.

Kele smiles up at him, letting out a breath as she pressed her forehead against his chest.

“Wow.” They both breathe out, letting a chuckle slip from both of their lips.

“How do you feel?” Kele asks, raising her head to look into Luke’s eyes, smiles adorning their blushing tomato faces.

“I feel better than ever,” he replies, bright smile never leaving his face.

“I think the boys are waiting for us,” she whispers, detaching herself from his grip. He nods in agreement and let’s go of her, letting his train of thought wander.

@tinymouse13

If anyone actually enjoys this I would consider writing a part two

[catherinecaycewrites-blog]

Forever Southern; Forever Brunswick

Only in the South, as you walk the old streets of any of the historical cities like Charleston, Savannah, Brunswick, can you feel the time around you stand still. The architecture is but a small reminder; the history is but a small reminder; the plaques, the brochures, the history books are all but small reminders. If you walk the streets in the dead of night, you can feel the South living; you can hear Oglethorpe’s men calling, the canons blaring, the slaves singing; you sniff the smell of gunpowder in the air, and see the ships coming in from the sea. For time is on a loop, and for a Southerner, you only have to close your eyes to have all your other senses come alive.  

Only in the South do the Oleander bloom and the night Jasmine fills the summer nights, mingled with sweat that trickles down your shoulder blades as you sit in the fresh mown sweet grass, and all the senses are alight in unison. At every hour of a summer eve in the South are your senses met with a brigade of new delights. 

At dusk, the pink and orange hues cross the skies as God's paintbrush dabbles the horizon with an easel Monet could not mimic. In different waters, dolphin fins pierce the water; trout bubble at the surface; rays fly and skip, and turtles lazily float along. Cicadas sing, crickets chirp, alligators croak, dogs bark in the distance, and music floats through the air. Salty fish smells waif through the air as the tide rolls out; swampy mold earth odor embraces the nostrils of the marshlands; pines, oak, and an array of wildflowers play on the breeze if one's lucky enough to get one. Somewhere, someone is forever cooking out on a grill; saliva fills your mouth. If you were raised in the South, you remember your daddy grilling, your momma’s coleslaw, and your grandmamma’s sweet iced tea, and nostalgia flits across your mind for days gone by. 

In the dark, on a moonlit night, the shadows of the South are even more heavenly. Spanish moss hangs from every tree, dancing hauntingly, swaying like a distant lover enticing you to follow it. Bats fly high and low with their sonar beacons seeking the ever-present emblem of the south, “the mosquito”, who can suck more blood out of you in ten minutes than Vlad ever had hoped to. If you listen carefully, you can hear the mournful hoot of an owl crying out to its mate across the fields and trees; moments later, you may catch a response… or not, but the hooting is an ever-present reminder of ages past, ages present, and ages yet to come.

It is the ages past and present that are being lost and forgotten, that which this byline hopes to capture before they, too, are forgotten memories. I want to find the families of Brunswick and tell their stories, no matter how trivial those stories may seem to them. Who wouldn’t sell ten minutes of their own lives to have their own grandparents tell them an “I remember when I was a child story” just one more time?

When you talk about old Southern families, one name has been amongst us since Oglethorpe’s men. Clan Buie of the Scottish Highlanders is written about in the book “The Golden Isles of Georgia” by Caroline Couper Lovell. Brunswick’s history teaches us that many of the coastal cities were settled by Scottish Highlanders for Governor Oglethorpe, Clan Buie being one of them, and one of its descendants, Howard Buie has lived here his whole life. 

Ironically, Howard refers to growing up in Brunswick in the 50’s and 60’s much like “Leave it to Beaver”, while all the time I’m listening to him tell his story, he is reminding me of Beaver’s older brother, Wally. He has this very laid back, easy going, “well, gee dad” personality.  “Except, my mother didn’t wear high heels and pearls.”

Being in the middle of nine siblings, he describes that was the norm. Families had lots of children.

”People reproduced like rabbits”, he laughs.  And the children always played outside, “playing pretend” They were allowed to play in the marshes and trees, playing cowboys and Indians (he was always an Indian because his mother was part Cherokee) and Tarzan.

“But!” he exclaims, “You never did anything really bad, ‘cause everybody’s mom was your mom,” meaning everybody knew everyone. 

On Saturday afternoons, one would go downtown to Newcastle where mom and pop shops thrived, and the owners lived upstairs. Regardless of that, it is a tree that Buie fondly recalls. 

“Much like Lovers Oak, it was right about where Fox’s pizza is now; it was a national landmark; it was huge, and you would always find at least 20 kids in that tree”.  Buie’s eyes momentarily are lost in the memory.

 “I guess at some point they had to cut it down, because it was such an obstruction,” and he’s back.  

“Oddly”, Buie says “segregation never made it to Brunswick” that he recalls. For him, he doesn't recall a time where there was a distinct separation. Blacks and white folks had always gone to school together at Glynn Academy and he was friends with many of them, especially if they played sports. 

This writer’s favorite story is the “Night all the Rich People Left Jekyll Island”.  In 7th grade, Howard’s older friend was staying at the Jekyll Inn, which at the time was holding all the belongings left behind and abandoned in the Millionaire Village: antique furniture, original Hemingway novels, custom-made pieces that had belonged to the Rockefellers and Goodyears.

 “Even at 14 years old, I knew this stuff was expensive and it was really strange seeing it all collected in one place. I later found out how the Millionaire Village became abandoned.” 

“A man that I worked for in the 70’s had lived on St. Simons on what was called the Waycross Colony when WWII broke out…." Howard begins. One night a friend of his from Jekyll came and got him on his sailboat and brought him back to Jekyll Island. Both being military, they had been taught to look out for German U-boats in the Brunswick waters. When they got back to Jekyll, they found all the millionaire homes abandoned with their clothes laid out and jewelry laid out as if they were going to have a big party, but instead everyone had gotten on a train and headed back to New York. 

“It was the eeriest thing the men had ever experienced; every house was like that, just left with all its contents in place”. 

“I think that’s the last time the wealthy people were on Jekyll Island, and I think that was 1944.” Howard finishes.  Later, the community gathered all the furniture and belongings of the Millionaire Village and stored it all at the Jekyll Inn, which is how Howard came upon it still there 30 years later. 

Finally, one cannot have grown up in Brunswick without knowing about the Peanut Man. In the late 50’s, early 60’s, an old man would dress up like a woman, and paint his face purple. Every Saturday he would have a grocery cart filled with little bags of roasted peanuts, and you could hear him yelling “Peanuts”. “He was very friendly, selling a bag for a nickel, but if you didn’t have a nickel he’d give us kids one. Now, what’s really interesting about this man,” Howard leans in, “is he lived in an old shack, but when he died he had over a million dollars in the bank.” 

He had no relatives; the paper wrote an article about him, and according to Howard anyone who lived in Brunswick in the late 50’s will remember “The Peanut Man”.   This is a piece of Brunswick history that should not be lost. Here’s to the late Peanut Man. 

Thank you to Howard Buie for sharing his piece of history with me. 

[kristannafever]

In The City of Angels - Chapter 17

Rated: M (Swearing, Smut sometimes, this one is always gonna be M)

Woah I had a way this was going to go in my head and it took a 180.  I honestly didn’t see this coming, even to myself, so this ended up being very fluffy....

Chapter Index

The last two weeks of shooting the movie had been brutal.  Kristoff was on set anywhere between 12 to 14 hours a day, and when he came home to Anna, he was too tired to do much else besides fall asleep on the couch.  He knew that she was working hard too, moving all her things in and decorating their house.  She had brought the livelihood of herself into his home, and he loved it.  Every day he came home to a new change, and it was wonderful to watch.  She had taken the stark masculinity that his home was, and turned it into the wonderfully vibrant and sunny home that was now theirs.

She was very patient with him, despite not getting to see him very much, and the fact that he was too beat up from the work schedule to do much of anything else besides eat and sleep when he was at home.  He had made love to Anna only twice in the entire two weeks, too tired most nights even if it was all that was on his mind.

They had filed restraining orders against Sunny and Hans.  Duke’s security team still patrolled their houses, but they had not heard or seen anything from either of them, which they were both greatly relieved for.  Kristoff hoped beyond all hope, that they would be left alone, and they would never have to see them again.

After the shorter last day of shooting was done, and the crew had all hugged and thanked each other, Kristoff drove home with a smile that was impossible to remove from his face.  He was glad that they had finished on time as he was dreading to have to spend any more time away from Anna.  He was also insanely grateful that he hadn’t yet signed on to do any other projects.  He wanted to take some time off, and be with his love.

When he got home he let his body fall onto the couch.  Anna was on him with a smile on her face.  “You done?”  She said.

He nodded.  “Yes, Thank God.  Now all I have is the wrap party on Friday and I can pretty much wipe my hands of this movie... well except for the press tour, and my God those suck.”

“Where’s your party?”  Anna asked, nuzzling his neck with her lips.

“Oh one of those places downtown I think.  I don’t remember,”  He laughed, realizing he didn't even care.

“Is it a couples thing?”  She asked, puling her head up and looking down into his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, of course.  Everyone always brings their significant others.  Do you, want to go with me?”  He asked gently, not wanting to push her.

She nodded  “I’ve been missing you so much I just want to spend time with you.”

“There will most definitely be papzz there.  Are you, uh, okay with that?”

She smiled, but Kristoff thought that maybe it was strained.  “I will be.  I decided I don’t care anymore.”

He laughed.  He couldn't help it.  “Oh, there is so much I’ve come to not care about since I met you.”

“Yes, I know.”  She said laughing with him.  “You know, I think when Elsa gets settled here, and we get to spend some quality time with her in our lives for a while, I might have a half a mind to move into the mountains with you.”  She put her lips on his and he couldn’t help but smile against her mouth.  It was music to his ears that she wanted to move away with him, where they could build a life in the forest in quiet isolation.  He knew that they had both made enough money that they would never have to work again, but he also knew that they would somehow find a new way to channel their creativity.  He knew that Anna would continue to write, and he thought that maybe he could take up making furniture, or something with his hands.  Perhaps he could take up building bikes?  Maybe they could find some way to combine their other loves into something that they could both show to the world.  He had no idea what they would do, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would be happy.

He imagined them having kids, maybe two or three, all running around with wanton abandon.  He wondered what they would look like.  He hoped they would both look like him and Anna, sharing both their traits, like those kids you often see that you can just tell, were made from their parents.

He imagined being snowed in with his family in the winter, when the white stuff would be piled high against their house.  He thought about how great it would be to tell stories by the fire, and read when the kids went to sleep, steeling kisses and making love when they were alone in their bed, hoping not to be disturbed.

He thought about how they might have a garden, and plant things together as a family in the spring, each picking their favorite vegetable and flower.  They could go out and tend it together, making the work light, and the rewards great.

He thought about all the times him and Anna could go riding together on the gorgeous mountain passes in the summer, and how when they returned home, they could sit by a campfire with their kids, roasting marshmallows for s’mores and telling ghost stories.  As the summer drew to a close, they would harvest their little garden and enjoy the bounty in a big feast, where they would invite friends and family to share.

He imagined going on Fall walks with their little family, picking up interesting and beautiful colored leaves to make crafts with.  They could spend their days in the beauty of autumn and return to warm stews and hot chocolate before bed.  He could see Anna constantly staring at the wonderful way the trees changed color in the fall, looking at him with the beauty reflected in her endlessly blue eyes.

“What are you thinking about?”  Anna asked.

Kristoff realized that he had zoned out with his exhaustion.  Anna was still laying on him, looking at him expectantly.  “Just day dreaming of our future.”  He said with a smile.

“Oh yeah?”  She asked.  “How many kids do we have?”

“Two or three.”  He said.

“Two.  A boy and a girl.”  Anna told him.  “Where do we live?”

“In the mountains.”  He said.  “In complete and utter isolation.”

She laughed.  “Surrounded by trees?  Maybe we will have a couple cats and dogs?  Maybe there will be a goldfish in the house somewhere?  And we will be forever chasing our kids around and picking up after them?”

He nodded.  “It sounds like a perfect life.”

She smiled at him so warmly that his heart ached.  “It does, and it will be.”

*****

He sat on the bed watching he in the bathroom mirror as she put makeup on.  It was truly something mesmerising to watch a woman apply mascara and lipstick.  It was somehow sensual.  Her eyes in the mirror flicked to his.  “You like the view?”  She waggled her backside slightly.

He smiled seductively and shook his head.  “You are trouble.” 

She gave him a wicked smile in return.  The doorbell rang before he could say anything about what he was thinking of doing with her.  “Car is here.”  He said instead.

She turned and looked at him, smoothing the front of her black dress.  The same one she had worn when they went dancing with Elsa. His breath still caught at the sight of her.  She oozed sex appeal, and he could feel himself getting flustered at the sight of her.

“Ready?”  She said.  All he could do was nod.

The ride in the car was quiet, and Kristoff could tell by the way Anna was sitting that she was nervous.  He held his hand out to her and she grabbed it, sqeezing gently.  She smiled at him, but he could see the apprehension within her.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, Kristoff saw her eyes widen at the crowd of people that were gathered at the entrance with camrea’s in hand.  She looked at him and he was sad to see panic flash across her eyes.  He was used to the bombardment of camera flashes, but he remembered how disorienting it was the first time he had ever walked a red carpet.  He worried about Anna.  He knew how much she valued her anonymity.  He could see the headlines in his mind;

Kris Bjorgman, Action Star, seen with mysterious red-head

Who is she?  Kris Bjorgman steps out with a new woman on his arm.

How long will it last?  Bjorgman seeks love once again.

He groaned inwardly at the thought.  “If you don’t want to do this, you can take the car home.  Anna, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

She shook her head.  “I want to be with you Kristoff.  Just... don’t let go of me, okay?”

“I promise.”  He said, knowing that she was scared.  She nodded that she was ready, so he opened the door and the furor of flashes began.  He held his hand out for Anna and she grabbed it tightly as he helped her from the car.  She had a strained smile plastered on her face, but she still looked absolutely beautiful.  She wrapped her arm tightly around his offered elbow, and they walked towards the entrance.  Kristoff kept his eyes focused on the door, not wanting to meet the lens of any camera.  He could feel Anna’s grip on his arm tighten and he glanced at her to see she was staring at the ground, seeking solace from the barrage of pulsing light.  He put his free hand on hers and she relaxed a little beside him.

They made it to the door despite the disorientation, and Anna exhaled quickly with relief that they were out of the melee.  Kristoff softly pushed her into a corner before they entered the main part of the restaurant.  He hugged her tightly. “Are you okay?”  He whispered into her ear.

“Yes.”  She breathed.  “I don’t know how anyone could ever get used to that.”  She pushed back to look at him.  “It’s absolutely terrifying.”

He nodded sadly.  “I know.”

Her eyes were searching his, and he wondered what she was thinking about.  She opened her mouth to say something, but he could tell that she changed her mind.  She smiled.  “Shall we?”

He nodded and grabbed her hand with his elbow once more, and lead her into the restaurant.  It was crowded with people he recognized.  The entire place had been booked exclusively for them, of course, and people walked and mulled about on the dizzying array of lounge tables and soft couches.  Waiters in crisp white coats walked around balancing trays of food and champagne.  Women laughed and men chortled all around them, all dressed in designer clothes and wearing expensive jewelry.  He rolled his eyes and turned towards Anna, but the look on her face caught him by surprise.

“I feel under-dressed.”  He barely heard her. 

He stopped and pulled her shoulders to look at him, never letting his gaze leave her eyes.  “You are gorgeous Anna.”

“I, I didn’t even think to wear jewelry, or have my hair and make-up done...” 

“Anna, none of that matters.  Why would that matter?”

“But everyone is so-”

“Fake!”  Kristoff interrupted her a little too loudly, drawing glances from those nearby.  He looked around and grabbed her lightly by the shoulder and steered her towards the hall that lead to the bathrooms and the kitchen.  “Anna, everyone here is wearing a mask.  You have to understand that.  This is why I hate this part of my life right now.  It took me way too long to realize that no one in this business is as they seem.”

“But-”

“But nothing!  You are genuine.  You are not fake.  I am not fake.  People know that about me, and they will learn that about you.  Please don’t feel like you have to stack up to these people.  They mean nothing.”

She searched his eyes a moment before she sighed and shook her head.  “You’re right, I know, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what the hell came over me.”

He hugged her tightly to him and talked into her hair.  “If you want to leave right now I will go with you and that will not bother me one little bit.”

“No, I’m fine.”  She spoke into his chest, nuzzling herself against him a moment before she pulled back.  “I need a drink.”

He chuckled.  “You and me both.”

*****

Anna had calmed considerably after she had met many of his co-stars and the director and producer.  They were all very warm and friendly, something Kristoff could tell that she was not expecting from the way her grip on his hand tensed then relaxed upon meeting every new person. 

He was glad when her smile had become more genuine, rather than nervous.  She was also starting to talk more, after remaining mostly quiet for the first hour.  He wondered how much the alcohol was helping her.

They were talking to the junior producer when Anna quietly excused herself to go to the bathroom.  Kristoff could not help but watch her walk away, her lithe body moving delightfully beneath the fabric of her dress.  He turned back to continue the conversation but Mike was giving him a look.

“Ah, young love.”  He mused.

Kristoff felt himself blush.  Mike clapped a hand onto his shoulder.  “She is gorgous my friend.”

Kristoff mumbled a thanks as Mike walked away with his wife to talk to someone else.  He went to the bar to get him and Anna another drink, standing in line behind a couple who were stealing kisses. 

Kristoff couldn't help but to think of Anna’s lips on his, and his face broke out into a smile.

*****

Anna and Kristoff’s giggles filled the empty house as the stumbled in, drunk and happy.

“That was actually really fun.”  Anna slurred.

Kristoff nodded as he wobbled on his feet.  “It was, wasn’t it?”  He staggered over to her and gabbed her up into his arms.   “I think the only reason I had so much fun was because you were there.”  He said before he buried his head into her neck, giving her large sloppy kisses.

Anna giggled again.  “Oh Kristoff.”

“I love you Anna.  So much.”  Kristoff’s lips moved against her skin.

“I love you too.”  She breathed.  “Make love to me.”

Kristoff moved his lips to hers in answer and took her to the couch, too hungry to make the trip all the way up to the bedroom.

*****

Kristoff woke with a pounding headache.  He groaned loudly, feeling Anna shuffle at his side.  She was so close and warm against his body, that he didn’t want to move, but he desperately needed a pain-killer.  He moved to get up, completely forgetting that they had fallen asleep on the couch, and he toppled onto his stomach on the floor, gasping in surprise.

He moaned into the hardwood, and simply laid there, waiting until his head stopped hammered enough that he felt he could get up without falling right back down.

“You okay?”  He head Anna above him.

He nodded against the floor, not trusting himself to talk.  He still felt drunk.

“I think I’m still drunk.”  Anna said, echoing his thoughts that he could not help but let out a short laugh.

Kristoff sat up very slowly, and leaned his back against the front of the couch.  “I feel like shit.”  He groaned.

Anna slid her hands onto his shoulders and started massaging his tense neck muscles.  It felt exquisite and helped ease the pressure in his head.  “Me too.”  She said.

He leaned his head back into her lap, looking up into her eyes.  “I have a plan.” She looked at him expectably, though bloodshot eyes that he was sure mirrored his own.  “Lets get something for our headaches, get dressed in some comfy clothes, and then go find the biggest, greasiest breakfast we can.”

She grinned at him.  “Now that, is a plan.”

[biofunmy]

A New Startup Called Pattern Wants To Make Millennial Burnout Uncool

Up a skinny stairwell in New York City’s Chinatown on a sweltering late-September night, a private dining room overflowed with downtown cool kids. Some were sipping Recess, the CBD-infused sparkling water in distinctive pastel cans whose ads papered New York subway walls for a brief period earlier this year. Others stood in the open kitchen, making their own ravioli, which were then placed into plastic to-go boxes marked with each person’s name: the promise of a weeknight dinner at home.

The jumpsuited and overalled and fashion-forward mom-jeans-wearers were there to celebrate the ongoing launch of Equal Parts, the first of many planned brands from a new (and newly philosophical) company called Pattern. Equal Parts sells “modern” cookware (sturdy frying pans, mixing bowls, spatulas, knives, and a cutting board turned charcuterie plate) accompanied by cooking assistance. At the party, hip millennial cooks hovered nearby to answer partygoers’ questions, but when you purchase Equal Parts cookware, help comes via text message from friendly “coaches” ready to guide you through making a quick dinner when all you have in your kitchen is a can of black beans, some peanut butter, and a bottle of Trader Joe’s wine.

In its previous incarnation, Pattern was a hip boutique digital marketing agency called Gin Lane, responsible for the look of some of the most prominent brands in today’s bourgeois millennial marketplace: Sweetgreen, Harry’s, Everlane. They were trendsetters who made fast-but-fancy salad happen and normcore sustainable clothes cool. Events like the one in Chinatown are the sort of thing that Gin Lane had perfected: gathering cool kids who could help a product, an aesthetic, or a lifestyle choice spiral forth into the world through their Instagram accounts.

There was a lot to be wary of in that loft: the beautiful people; the gift bag, complete with butcher knife; the photo booth and the invitation to share photos from the night “with your community”; the guy with the T-shirt that read “Due to Physical Violence Shitfaced Mondays Have Been Canceled.”

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

An attendee at the September Equal Parts launch party in Chinatown.

I’d first felt that wariness back in July, when Pattern started tagging me on Instagram. The posts were vague and brand-speaky; the hashtags included #enjoydailylife and #wordsofwisdom. At that point, I was used to random brands tagging, emailing, and tweeting me. In January, I wrote a piece about millennial burnout that unexpectedly went viral. Now, every press release I received with the word “millennial” seemed to also invoke burnout — some more obliquely than others.

In August, I found an email from Emmett Shine, founder of Gin Lane and now Pattern, in my inbox. My article, he said, had a profound effect on him and the rest of his company. And now, big surprise, he wanted to tell me about his new company, which had just launched.

“Pattern’s central mission is helping young adults today ‘enjoy daily life,’” he wrote. “We’re doing this by raising awareness of burnout caused by work culture, the attention economy, and by creating brands that offer a combination of products and personal guidance around simple, everyday activities at home.” Their first product? Equal Parts cookware.

My immediate reaction was Are you fucking kidding me? A cookware brand seemed like the exact sort of expensive burnout Band-Aid I’d spent the last six months railing against, up there with overnight oats and expensive serums and meditation apps. A brand, with $14 million in venture capital behind it, to fix what brands hath wrought. When the first articles about Pattern started appearing, I tweeted a link: “A start-up….to battle millennial burnout?” The responses mirrored my own: “Please kill me,” “I hate it, thank you,” “This article gave me vertigo,” and “What is it? Why can’t I tell after reading twice?”

But I told Shine I’d meet with his team. There would be pleasure, I thought, in telling the people at Pattern that they were part of the problem. And I was intrigued by the question of what an anti-burnout company, operating within American capitalism, might actually look like. There’s a certain elegant symmetry to Pattern’s mission, after all: Who better to counter the anomie of the bourgeois millennial experience than those who’ve not only lived it — but helped construct it in the first place?

“It’s good that people are talking about burnout,” Shine told me when I visited Pattern’s Chinatown office in September, where a handful of Equal Parts mixing bowls had been positioned to capture dripping rain from the slightly leaky ceilings. “And it’s gonna get co-opted, but that’s not bad. Co-opt away. More brands should totally be pivoting to having their marketing language talk about the role of the attention economy and workism and the endless amounts of human capital and personal optimization.”

The charismatic CEOs and kombucha on tap simply distracted from the fact that the cracked foundations of most people’s lives remain unfixed.

Still. The idea that brands “pivoting” to burnout could meaningfully combat a condition that is first and foremost a product of capitalism requires a serious suspension of disbelief — or at the very least, a tempering of cynicism. That’s a difficult proposition at any given moment, but especially now, against the backdrop of the wreckage of WeWork, which inveigled thousands with open-plan shared offices, fruit-infused water, and the promise of actual community and a “work culture revolution.”

WeWork duped countless venture capitalists and employees. But it’s also become an object lesson on the unbridled tech optimism of the 2010s: Even the companies claiming to subvert the soulless capitalist systems are themselves chasing the dragon of everlasting scale and venture-backed money (or, at least, a massive payout to soften the blow of their failure). The ones who preached self-care — Make your life easier! And more meaningful! While spending money! — have perpetuated the systems from which they claim to offer refuge. The charismatic CEOs and kombucha on tap simply distracted from the fact that the cracked foundations of most people’s lives remain unfixed.

It’s easy to understand, then, why so many of us are so angry. The WeWorks of the world were built on an ethos of positive vibes and unity — replete with what tech analyst Ranjan Roy calls “high-minded, burning man-esque self-actualization language” that, today, feels offensively out of sync with people’s lived realities. So why would Pattern, or any company that applies a superficial layer of burnout-conscious buzzwords to its products, be different?

But beneath Pattern’s soothing, bucolic packaging lies a deep, and deeply generational, frustration. The company’s trajectory hasn’t followed the path of a classic rocket-ship startup but that of a striving millennial: hard work followed by deep disillusionment and now, maybe, guarded optimism. Their products, their financing structure, their work culture, their messaging, even their website and social media are engineered in a way that’s not meant to hack, or optimize, or disrupt so much as consider the question: Can a for-profit venture actually help reverse the cultural affliction it helped create?

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

Emmett Shine, cofounder and executive creative director for Pattern, at the office with coworkers.

The first time Emmett Shine remembers feeling like everything was out of control and overwhelming, it was the 1990s; he was in junior high, and his parents had just separated.

“I had to start working to support me and my family,” he told me. “My way of dealing with tough stuff was just working. In America, that’s conditioned: If you want to get out of something tough, you just work your way through it.”

Shine, who just turned 36, grew up in the Hamptons — but think more working-class Long Island, less celebrity summer palace. His mom was an artist; his dad was a fisherman and, eventually, a landscaper. Shine was diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome in the second grade and ended up in a mix of special education and what he refers to as “smart kid” classes. When his parents got divorced, he had to balance work and school. “My friends helped me with food, money, everything,” he said. “Being poor is universal, and it universally sucks.”

Shine looks like any number of white kids I grew up with in Idaho, with a boyish crew cut and an omnipresent baseball cap. The night before, he had shown up at the Equal Parts party wearing shiny, knee-length basketball shorts. “Sometimes I dress like I’m in sixth grade,” he joked, before telling me, in all seriousness, that he sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and searches for No Fear shirts on eBay.

But the packaging is deceiving. Part of Shine’s charm is that he’s not slick and he doesn’t glad-hand. His sentences come out in paragraphs, with a winding intricacy that often makes sense only when transcribed, read once, then read again. He’s bad at sound bites, bad at short interviews, bad at Twitter. “I was talking to someone last night,” he told me, “and he said that he’d listened to me on a podcast talking about Pattern and was like, ‘I finally get it!’ And I was like, fuck, it took them an hour and a half?”

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

A Pattern employee works on a couch in their Chinatown office.

Shine’s official title at Pattern is “executive creative director,” which still doesn’t adequately convey how much of the company’s aesthetic and attitude — and how much of Gin Lane’s success, which laid the groundwork for it — has sprung from his cavernous, curious mind. The first time I sat down with him, he quoted from Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing and Malcolm Harris’s Kids These Days and Jia Tolentino’s work on millennial optimization in Trick Mirror. This is impressive not just because those books are good, which they are, but because I’ve encountered so few people in his position of corporate power who actually do the reading. But Shine’s current thing — and, by extension, Pattern’s thing — is introspection: trying to figure out why he, and the rest of the millennials he works with, feel the way they do even amid profound, seemingly unending success.

Shine’s current thing — and, by extension, Pattern’s thing — is introspection: trying to figure out why he, and the rest of the millennials he works with, feel the way they do.

When Shine graduated from high school, he said, college “wasn’t even in the cards.” But one of Shine’s mentors advised him: You’re a smart guy. You need to get away from here, or you’ll never leave. Shine took his savings and bought a ticket for the place that was the farthest away from Southampton he could find: New Zealand. It was the first time he’d left the country.

It was October 2001. Shine got a camera. He took photos. His mom told him he should think about applying to college, but he only wanted to be in New York City, where, growing up, he’d ride the Long Island Rail Road in to skateboard with his friends. He got into the Tisch School of Arts at NYU, and, upon returning, slowly integrated into the art world of downtown — and began to take on tens of thousands of dollars in student debt. He dropped out before his senior year and started working as a graphic designer for Rocawear; on the side, he ran a photography business. He worked with smaller artists and avant garde designers, and helped promote art shows — work that, over time, would develop into the agency that officially became Gin Lane in 2008.

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An old sign from Gin Lane at the Pattern office.

And he was working all the time. “I would sleep in the office,” Shine recalled. “It was classic brogrammer culture, like, in our twenties: You work, then you drink some beer afterwards, eat some Cheetos, order in.” They had a shower in the office, which made it even easier for the 10 or so employees to never leave. “It was just a bunch of people in their twenties who were lost and would find themselves through work.”

It wasn’t until around 2013 that things began to change. Gin Lane hired an account manager, Suze Dowling, and a CEO, Nicholas Ling. “Because I’ve been working for myself since I was a teenager, I didn’t always have people to hold me accountable,” Shine said. “I’m a man-boy in certain regards. But when Suze and Nick got involved, the place professionalized.” Or, at least, there was no more sleeping at the office.

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Pattern cofounder Nicholas Ling.

Ling, age 34, has foppish chestnut brown hair in the tradition of a young Hugh Grant, and a posh British accent to match. But the accent, he admits, is learned. He grew up solidly middle class in the suburbs of London, where his mother was a schoolteacher and his father was an accountant. He’d eventually end up at Oxford, completing a degree in physics, but only because he tested into an elite school when he was 11. After graduating, he signed on for what he calls a “very traditional job” with the Boston Consulting Group.

Ling’s arrival at Gin Lane was part of the company’s second life, as it transitioned from a company that worked primarily with artists to one that worked with and for consumer brands, producing the marketing strategy that would introduce them to the world — or, in business-speak, “bring them to market.” In practice, that meant creating the client’s aesthetic, vibe, and messaging — the fonts, the subway ads, the slogans, the social media strategy.

“We had this ability to make things that aren’t cool, cool.”

In 2010, the team helped launch Stella McCartney for Adidas, which led to work for Warby Parker, which then asked them to launch their new venture: Harry’s, a direct-to-consumer shaving company that, like so many of the products Gin Lane would help popularize, was positioned less as a brand and more as a lifestyle choice. Same for Everlane, Bonobos, Sweetgreen, denim brand AYR, Hims, Recess, Alma, Dia & Co — the list of names that now haunt your Instagram feeds, largely thanks to Gin Lane, feels endless.

“We had this ability to make things that aren’t cool, cool,” Ling explained. They used the same general alchemy when approaching something like Harry’s razors as they did when designing the campaign for the plus-size styling service Dia & Co. But the better they got at it, the less invested they became. Shine rattled off what they become known for: “You know, clean aesthetics, bold sans serifs, color blocking.”

“What’s the reason people stay doing something?” Ling asked me. “The challenge. Either that or they believe in something so much that they will smash their head against the wall until they get through. Eventually neither of those was completely true for us.”

Pattern Brands

The Pattern team in one of their promotional images, enjoying daily life.

It didn’t add up to something, other than what Ling calls “massive spikes of uncontrollable stress.” The work, sure, they could control. In childhood, at school, the work was always the easy part. It was the stuff outside of work that made everything seem untenable. Specifically, Ling’s mother has been chronically ill for the last 20 years. During one of the most stressful periods at Gin Lane, her leg was amputated. Earlier this year, she survived three strokes over the course of six months. And it felt like there was nothing Ling could do about it.

Millennials have been trained to optimize themselves through any struggle, work through any problem. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that work and efficiency couldn’t fix everything. And Ling and Shine weren’t the only ones who felt that way. Despite the demand for their services, they’d kept Gin Lane purposefully small — just under 30 employees. They didn’t expand to meet demand; they just got more particular about what they agreed to do. The senior leadership had all been with the company for at least five years — and two of them, Camille Baldwin and Dan Kenger, were about to get married. As a result, the company managed to maintain the feel of a small startup or, as Shine thinks of it, an “organism.”

“There’s an innate biological clock,” he said, “and you know when it’s time to shift or change or move. People are like, ‘how did you get your team to buy in on this change? And it wasn’t that we got them to buy in. I think the collective organism was searching.”

People were, well, growing up. Getting married, getting pregnant, getting exhausted. The decision to transition from Gin Lane into Pattern “never felt like a whiteboard session in a meeting,” Ling said. “More of, like, a group of friends talking about what motivates us, what’s happening in our lives, as much as what’s the strategy for the company.”

“We were just trying to be happy.”

It was never them thinking Oh, we feel burned out, we need to solve it. It was Ling talking about cooking, and what it did for him, all the time. Camille kept bringing up Benjamin Franklin’s “13 virtues.” Shine couldn’t shake the feeling that he was like Abe Simpson in The Simpsons: an old man shaking his fist at the cloud, but with no idea what, exactly, he was so anxious and angry about. They kept talking about how they had no skills, no hobbies.

They knew they wanted to do more than just launch a product — they wanted to create it, and control where it went. But they also wanted it to be bigger than a gadget, an app, or a food item.

“We were just trying to be happy,” Shine said. “We were always presenting a good face, and everyone was telling us that we have it so good — but internally there’s just something nagging at you.” They didn’t want to feel the way they’d felt the last decade of their working lives. So they started over.

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

Equal Parts cookware in the Chinatown office.

Outside the door to Pattern’s office, there’s a stack of skateboards; mixed-media posters on the walls bear messages like “What if the future could be more human / Embrace that we’re just sapiens.” A felt message board invites visitors to ENJOY DAILY LIFE. Inside, the office is peak millennial: exposed brick walls, snack cabinets, employees with laptops slouching on couches.

“We were trying to make the knife feel like EVE, from Wall-E,” Shine told me, as we hovered near the office’s display of Equal Parts cookware. “We’re trying to make it approachable. It’s German steel, which is good quality, but there’s one that’s ‘above,’ that’s Damascus steel — but you know, it kinda just looked…Dothraki?” (As in Game of Thrones.) “This one, it has a good center of balance. It’s light.”

He gestured toward the cutting board, which I’d seen in action the night before at the launch party. “It’s solid oak. You can flip it over and use it as a charcuterie board or whatever. It’s like a two-and-one for small spaces.” The cookware is lined with ceramic, which is more stylish than the Teflon-coated stuff most of us buy at Target. It works on convection ovens and standard ones. The cores are aluminum, which makes it more recyclable. It’s all machine washable.

For now, the Equal Parts cookware line is available only in a variety of preset combinations, at price points ranging from $79 for just the EVE-like knife (with coaching included) to $499 for the “complete kitchen.” (For comparison’s sake, an 83-piece kitchen set at Wal-Mart currently retails for $69.97 and includes plates and cutlery. It’s also of significantly lower quality.) This equipment is not cheap, but it’s also not Le Creuset or All-Clad expensive. The imagined customers are people in professional jobs who either want to 1) stock a kitchen for the first time or 2) stock a kitchen like a professional adult for the first time. They’re the sort of people who, instead of stopping in at Williams Sonoma or Target, buy things off Instagram ads — and who responded to the products that Pattern, in its previous life as Gin Lane, specialized in making appealing. An Equal Parts set would be a cool-relative college graduation gift, a generous wedding gift, a “dude deciding he makes enough money to stop eating Easy Mac” gift to himself.

Basically, the brand is marketing to people like Shine. His Instagram account features shots of him saut��ing onions and putting together a simple pasta using Equal Parts, proud in the charming manner of a true novice. Cooking never interested him. What did interest him was how Ling talked about it. When Ling’s mom was in the hospital, he’d only speak to her and the rest of his family in the mornings, because of the five-hour time difference between the UK and New York. And that meant there was nothing he could do, at least for his mom, in those hours after work.

“I was like, how do I manage the feelings I’m having?” Ling explained. “That’s when cooking became a very central thing for me, just in terms of being able to relax.”

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

Equal Parts cookware on display at the launch party.

This wasn’t cooking to save money, or to eat healthier, or through a meal-planning service like Blue Apron. It was cooking even when it was ugly, or when it went wrong. It was cooking just to cook. It felt like an antidote, or at the very least, a form of resistance to the feeling that everything you do in your life should be optimized, or monetized, or packaged for social media.

As millennials, “we’ve been trained to do as much as possible, get into the best school possible,” Shine told me. “And that eliminates a lot of ‘unproductive’ free time.” Time spent exploring, goofing off, staring at the wall and listening to music, just hanging out with your own mind — all of that becomes implicitly devalued.

It felt like an antidote, or at the very least, a form of resistance to the feeling that everything you do in your life should be optimized.

“You work on this 18-year-résumé to go this ‘signaling school,’ which your parents, your teachers, your guidance counselor, and everyone else told you that you have to go to, and then you come out 30, 50, 60, 100 thousand dollars–plus in debt,” Shine continued. “And you need to earn a certain amount to pay down your debt, which you might never get rid of, even if you work your entire life. … And that’s how you find yourself at 27, 28, 29, just like I did, and you have no discernible life skills, except knowing how to work.”

Whatever passions you do have, they’re enveloped by work. “Ten, 15 years ago, they started creating these workplaces to promote productivity,” Shine said. “But they made work the place you go to, to hang out and not be productive. So then to finish the expected productivity, you actually have to take it home.” When you can do work anywhere, you feel the compulsion to do it everywhere — and all the time.

“I didn’t skateboard or surf in my twenties,” Shine said. “I didn’t work out. I didn’t travel.” He joked that it took getting a girlfriend from Denmark to actually start having hobbies again, but it’s not really a joke at all. The story is devastatingly familiar: I’m still trying to recover some semblance of the hobbies that, as an Elder Millennial, I’d cultivated before transforming myself into a work robot.

And yes, sure, a millennial might Instagram themselves baking — when they do it once a month. And those who can afford to, “love” to travel often do it for 36 hours at a time, documenting themselves the entire time as people “who love to travel.” What Shine and Ling envisioned was a more holistic change in, well, the pattern of daily life. Cooking, especially given Ling’s experience with it, felt like the place to start.

“We’re trying to be approachable, attainable, regular, routine,” Ling explained. “It’s not saying you have to do it five nights a week. It’s more like, how can we help this become the rhythm of your life?”

“It’s not saying you have to do it five nights a week. It’s more like, how can we help this become the rhythm of your life?” 

They’re trying to cultivate something for millennials that some younger people seem to grasp intuitively: what blogger Venkatesh Rao calls “domestic cozy.” Rao coined the term to describe “an attitude, emerging socioeconomic posture, and aesthetic,” organic to Gen Z, which “finds its best expression in privacy, among friends, rather than in public, among strangers. It prioritizes the needs of the actor rather than the expectations of the spectator. It seeks to predictably control a small, closed environment rather than gamble in a large, open one. It presents a WYSIWYG facade to those granted access rather than performing in the theater of optics.”

Domestic cozy focuses on the cultivation of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, rather than the performance of pleasure. It retreats from the harsh, combative, hyper-political world, rather than engaging it. You can see the manifestations of domestic cozy life all over: in the popularity of Minecraft, in knitting (but not things to sell!), and in a new “inactive wear” company that markets big, pillowy garments to “improve quality of life in the home.”

That’s where Equal Parts fits in: cookware that makes cooking enjoyable for you, personally — nice to use and nice to look at, but not designed with Instagramming in mind. It’s a starter kit, with a low barrier to entry, especially when paired with a cooking coach who communicates with you via text.

When you “onboard” with the service, you answer a bunch of questions: What day do you shop for groceries? What’s your level of skill or ambition? What are your dietary preferences? Then the coach knows when to text, when you need support, how to provide the sort of tips that’ll actually be useful. The coaches aren’t chefs, just people who love to cook — and they’re all boomers, many recruited from cooking schools, from a broad range of backgrounds across the United States. It’s not unlike having a mom-like figure on call to text you tips, only without the baggage of actually texting with your mom.

“We don’t want our coaches to send people recipes,” Ling said. “That’s the antithesis of what we want them to do. They can be like, ‘Hey, what have you got in your kitchen? And then say, ‘Here’s what you could do with what you’ve got, and here’s what you could do if you got one or two extra things.’ Or they’ll send a text that says, ‘Hey, you’re on your way home. You’re feeling tired. Send me a text and tell me how you’re feeling about dinner.’” Those interactions aren’t oriented toward a specific type of meal prep, but getting over mental barriers that keep you from doing things you actually want to do.

Sure, it’s a bougie solution to a bougie problem. A lot of people who are burned out, especially those who aren’t part of the so-called professional class, don’t have the luxury or time to cook for sustenance, let alone fun or relaxation. But one of the things that Pattern is bullish on is that the bougieness doesn’t obviate the problem-ness. You can maintain perspective — you’re not starving, you have a place to live, you have electricity — and also want things to be, or feel, different.

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

The Equal Parts aesthetic in action.

The day before I was set to visit Pattern’s office, I received an email from a youth-trend forecasting company called Cassandra, a division of the global marketing firm Engine. Over the summer, they’d shifted the focus of their quarterly report from “Free Time” to the more pointed “Burnout,” asking questions about how burnout affects daily life and consumer habits among focus groups across the country. The specific findings of the report are behind a paywall, accessible only to brands eager to know how they can begin to pivot to accommodate their customers, and attract new ones, in the months and years to come.

Back in 2015, Cassandra published a similar report focusing on “wellness” — predicting that the new millennial focus would shift, even ahead of the 2016 presidential election, to various elements of what’s become known as “self-care”: in diet, in skincare, in mental health. They’re predicting a similar wave with burnout, which, according to their findings, is already cutting across class, race, and urban/rural/suburban demographics. As Melanie Shreffler, one of Cassandra’s VPs, told me, “Burnout is the green juice of 2019.”

When I told the authors of the report about Pattern, they said that it was “on the tip of the spear” — the sort of brand with which so many others, especially the less nimble ones, would soon find themselves playing a clumsy game of catch-up. But if anti-burnout marketing is poised to become mainstream, brands like Pattern can quickly come to feel exploitative.

After all, our current iteration of capitalism can’t fix the problems that our current iteration of capitalism has wrought. If we’ve learned anything from all the millennial-oriented books on how to unfuck your life, the meditation apps, the organizational apps, and the profusion of $3,000 exercise bikes, it’s that a thing can’t fix what ails both millennials and society as a whole. Maybe Pattern’s pivot to anti-burnout philosophy is just its way of being, once again, perfectly (and profitably) attuned to millennials’ desires.

When I laid out this argument to Shine and Ling, they shook their heads. “I’d rather be accused of being dumb than having malicious intent,” Shine told me. “The way we got to what we got to with Pattern was a form of self-therapy.”

“I’m gonna try and say this in a way that isn’t like, pullquote-y and bad, but I think we found ourselves in a good wave position.”

“Listen,” he continued, the frustration palpable in his voice. “I like surfing. I like waves. Look around and you’ll see pictures of waves everywhere in this office. If you go on Wikipedia and you type in waves, it’s all math. The entire universe is constructed of waves. If you’re surfing, and you’re ahead of the wave, you get toppled over. If your ratios are behind the wave, it just goes underneath you, and you can’t catch it. And I’m gonna try and say this in a way that isn’t like, pullquote-y and bad, but I think we found ourselves in a good wave position.”

The goal for Pattern is not to move fast and break things in order to disrupt cooking — after all, there’s no shortage of direct-to-consumer kitchenware brands already on the market — but to create something meaningful in the long term. “The number one thing is just for us to keep raising awareness,” Shine continued. “And if we can provide solutions, then that’s a bonus. Of course we have to, like, build a sustainable business that makes sense and makes money. That’s gonna take a long time, and we know that. There’s no expectation of, like, a quarterly return. We’re in it for seven to 10 years, minimum.”

Earlier in our conversation, Shine had brought up what he saw as the three pillars of contemporary American society — the three areas where you can affect change: within the community, in politics, and within markets.

“I just keep going back to the fact that I am not a community organizer,” he said. “I am not a politician. I am a goddamn marketer. And I’m good at it! So why shouldn’t I use what I’m good at for what I think will make things one step better, not one step worse?”

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

A participant photographs ravioli-making during a cookware demonstration at the Equal Parts launch party.

Shine’s argument is reminiscent of recent conversations about various presidential candidates on the progressive left: Can a candidate like Elizabeth Warren, who’s open about believing in markets while also advocating for meaningful, systemic moderation of those markets, actually create change? Is antipathy toward capitalism, and true socialist ideals, the only real solution? Or, given the reality of the political and economic realities of the country, is the most productive change made by renovating the existing system?

The team at Pattern understood that if they were going to try and market this sort of from-the-inside change to a mass audience, they needed to reflect it themselves: individually, but also as a company. Because that’s the other reason for the disillusionment with companies that market themselves with a philosophy, from social justice to feminism. When you treat your women employees like garbage, it doesn’t matter how many feminist T-shirts you sell: You’re not a feminist company. When you keep hiring white men for positions of power, invocations of social justice become meaningless.

That means an anti-burnout company can’t be burning out its employees. On the HR side of things at Pattern, that translates to 20 days of PTO, 10 of which are mandatory; completely closing down the office between Christmas and New Year’s; 12 weeks fully-paid leave for primary caregiver leave and 6 weeks to secondary caregivers; flexible scheduling for parents; cultivating a 6 o’clock end to the workday, with Shine and Ling leading by example. Their sacred text is “Pattern’s 10 Simple Steps to Help You Enjoy Daily Life,” which includes “Do one thing at a time,” “Each morning, do something before checking your phone,” “Let your mind wander,” “Take control of your leisure time,” and “Embrace mediocrity.”

An anti-burnout company can’t be burning out its employees.

Every week since launching this summer, the company has oriented itself toward one of those 10 steps; at their weekly meeting, Shine and Ling share their own experiences and failures with each. If an employee shares their personal experience on Slack, they get a raffle ticket for a weekly drawing for, wait for it, a houseplant. When Pattern posted the 10 Simple Steps on its Instagram, the post was “saved” twice as many times as it was shared or liked: proof, Ling says, that it’s maybe, actually, meaningfully useful.

Pattern proclaims that it’s guided by five core values — which, as the company’s website states, “represent our character, our process, and how we push ourselves to be better.” Some of them are easy: hospitality, curiosity, acceptance. But others are a struggle, or at the very least an area for constant improvement. “Responsibility” means considering the impact of their products not only on the people who buy them, but the people who make them — which, in turn, makes the product more expensive, and/or the profit margin smaller. (When I asked if depending on venture capital might eventually put pressure on the team to focus more on profit and less on principles, Shine and Ling told me in an email that their investors “fully support the time and energy we spend everyday on internal culture and making Pattern a great place to work.”)

And then there’s “Equity.” Each Pattern brand will dedicate 1% of its revenue to a local nonprofit organization (for Equal Parts, it’s the Chinatown-based Two Bridges Neighborhood Council). Shine and Ling also foresee themselves working for and collaborating with politicians who aim to address financial inequality. But the staff, at least in its current iteration, is very white — something that, when the first publicity photos of the staff went public, attracted attention. They’re also very international, and hail from a range of economic and educational backgrounds. But for Pattern to meaningful address what “enjoying daily life” might look like for all different sorts of people, they need those sorts of people in the company as well. In other words, there’s still a lot of “equity” work to do.

Shine and Ling are cagey on the exact identity of the next Pattern brand, set to launch in early 2020. It might be something that helps people learn to sew just to sew, but also to make the things you own last longer. Or products to help people do simple handy tasks around the home, not because you want to make it look like a West Elm catalog, but because there’s pleasure in getting something done yourself — rather than looking at the framed piece of art, still on the floor after two years in your apartment, shaming you every morning on your way out the door. The only real stipulations are that it has to make money, and it has to be part of the company’s overall mission to help others “enjoy daily life.”

“I was looking at this Ernst and Young report about how they’re helping people manage their workplace habits better during peak season for accounting,” Ling said. “And I was thinking, why does that feel like it’s really going to make a difference? You know, Ernst and Young, they’re a great company, I’m sure. But not everything about their being is going to catalyze that change. Everything about their being is going towards whatever their mission statement is — like, making sure people have good accounting practices, or whatever. Which is why I think you need companies like Pattern at the center of things like this — to set the standard that we will drag other people to.”

That’s Pattern’s answer to the critique that cookware won’t fix burnout — especially cookware at a price point that’s only available to a particular type of consumer. The cookware isn’t really the point. The overarching Pattern brand, and what it represents, is the point. In her newsletter write-up of Pattern’s launch, marketing analyst Emily Singer pinpointed this exact tension: “I hope that [Pattern] finds way for people who are not customers to engage with the brand,” she wrote. “Its message is meaningful and universally applicable. It would be a shame if the only way to access it was through a transaction.”

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

Camille Baldwin prepares avocados at Pattern’s offices.

At precisely 5 p.m. on the day of my visit to Pattern’s office, the sound of jazz began to filter into the conference room where we were finishing our interview. The rest of the team began to slowly transition from their workplace postures: Some started pouring a low-alcohol aperitif, previously launched by Gin Lane, that’s marketed toward people who wanted to be social but not get wasted. Camille, pregnant in overalls, peeled an unending supply of avocados on the Equal Parts cutting board using the Equal Parts knife. (When I tried to get in touch with a few follow-up questions for her this month, she’d just given birth — and was really and truly off email.)

Everyone at Pattern told me they loved working there — what else would they tell a journalist covering their newly launched company? But they offered convincing testimonies, and not just from the leadership suite: One employee had worked for a startup “industry disrupter” with ads currently blanketing the New York subway; the management and work-life balance was so toxic that Pattern’s philosophy and policy still felt mildly shocking. A new employee, on the job for just three months, was amazed the office actually cleared out at 6 pm. The mom of a toddler twirling around in an office chair told me that her daughter’s presence in the office at that moment is indicative of the Pattern culture. There’s no compunction to pretend that children have no effect on your life, your schedule, or the number of days you have to work from home. Having a kid doesn’t make you a worse worker, or a less attentive one. It just makes you a parent.

Gabriela Herman for BuzzFeed News

A child of a Pattern employee during an all-company dinner in the office.

I walked home to my hotel that night in the rain, flicking at my phone, barely avoiding the traffic on Bowery. Every time I come back to New York, so, too, do all of my worst burnout habits. I stayed up too late scrolling Instagram; I woke up too early; I never drank enough water. The year before, I’d stumbled around the city after working so hard, and flying so much, that I gave myself a case of vertigo that lasted for 10 days.

This time, I tried to be better. I’d gone to SoulCycle for the first time, thinking it might center me. I left feeling mostly just wet. I ate the same Sweetgreen salad for two meals a row. They tasted like robot food, like nothing at all. I realized, when I got home, that I’d left my planner in the Pattern conference room. I emailed in a panic: “It’s the only thing keeping my life together.” They sent it to me the next day, and I opened the package and began to stroke it like it was a lost sacred artifact.

How can we actually change the patterns of our lives — in a way that accommodates their current complexities without capitulating to them? 

What holds your life together? What keeps us going? What if it were a daily practice instead of a planner? How can we actually change the patterns of our lives — in a way that accommodates their current complexities without capitulating to them?

When I flew home to Montana, there was an email from Shine waiting. He rarely talked about his childhood in a public way, he said, and our conversation had loosened some threads he wanted to tie back together. Pattern is, in many ways, a way to redo so much of what he missed: “Making brands to teach myself and people around me the life skills I think so many of us missed, trying to make seeking balance cool, being present cool, and working like a dog to survive not as cool.”

That circles back to Shine’s understanding of how change actually happens: Community leaders advocate. Politicians draft and pass regulations and legislation. And the market helps shape the way the public feels and thinks: They make things seem cool and uncool, defensible and indefensible, right and wrong, the future and the past.

Pattern’s Equal Parts brand might, at best, make it cooler to cook for cooking’s sake — might help create personal change. But there’s also a chance that Pattern, alongside other anti-burnout, pro-sustainability industry leaders like Patagonia, might make their vision of corporate culture cool. And if they can change the way other companies conceive of work, and prove that their model creates a better outcome for everyone involved — that won’t bring down the system, but it has the potential to help make living in it more bearable.

I typed that sentence and impulsively opened Instagram. Whoever is running Pattern’s Instagram account has just liked a photo of my dog. The sun is bright outside the window, the sky the clearest October blue. In a few minutes, I’ll close the laptop, and forget my phone, and walk out the front door and into the woods along the creek, with nothing to listen to and nowhere to be.

Later, I’ll come home and make something for dinner that’s ugly but tastes good. It won’t be with Equal Parts cookware, but I don’t think Shine and Ling would mind. I’ll have a thought, and I won’t tweet it. I’ll take a picture, and I won’t post it. I’ll open a book, and I’ll read it. And I’ll tell everyone I know: Did you hear the good news? It’s cool, these days, to enjoy daily life.●

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