Newton’s third law of motion goes as follows: To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. I can’t help but feel it’s time to blow away the cobwebs and give Granny Newton a makeover. I propose the following: To every action, there is invariably a totally gnarly and hideously unstylish avalanche of reactions.
I often feel as if all my waking energy is spent dealing with the horrid consequences of some seemingly innocuous choice. Life seems to be riddled with gruesome repercussions and squalid domino effects.
As regular readers may recall, I switched to a messenger bag after my Goyard tote gave me bicep tendonitis. Update: I now find that the right ass cheek of my Naked and Famous jeans is becoming worn, courtesy of the rubbing, dangling, no-name replacement bag.
Earlier this summer, I switched to multi-functional tinted bifocals—a fetching pair of Anne Slater–blue Ray-Bans—so that I could read my phone on a hot street corner when the necessity arose. The naff consequence? I keep stepping in dog poop because the sidewalk is now a blur.
After a recent and thankfully uneventful colonoscopy, I switched, on the advice of the attending physician, from oatmeal to a higher-fiber cereal. The reaction? Three months later, my cholesterol went up 30 points. As a reaction to this reaction, I started chomping down red-yeast rice pills. (The lesbian organic crunchy alternative to pharmaceutical statins.) One large rubbery capsule got lodged in my throat while I was watching Hoarders last week. When I coughed, the tracheal convulsion broke the pill in half, releasing a cloud of red powder that rushed out of my nose and stained my new Archive 1887 Iggy Pop T-shirt. Quel désastre!
More hair-raising potentialities: If you allow yourself to become addicted to opiates, you will get high as a kite, but you will also become horribly constipated.
Wearing really high Celine clogs makes you chic and model-tall, but your resulting inability to run fast can make you a sitting duck for butt-pinchers.
Looking luxe and über-glam in your black Givenchy entrance-maker can snag you a high-powered date, but it can also get you jacked on the subway.
Wearing a corset can render you deliciously svelte in your Victoria Beckham organ-mangling cocktail dress, but that same constricting foundation garment will leave bizarre indentations on your body that take hours and gallons of lotion to erase. Overdo the lotion application and zits will result.
Re: Hoarders. I have become totally addicted to this disturbing and cringe-making A&E documentary series about ordinary people who cannot part with their belongings. The reaction? I have developed a deranged and extreme de-accessioning impulse. After every episode, I feel compelled to prove to myself that I am not a hoarder by dragging bags of clothes and piles of magazines to the trash chute in our apartment building. The consequence: My neighbors think I’m insane.