Let’s just state the obvious: I wish I were a Yanny. If a genie in a lamp appeared with three wishes and a bass tones manipulator, I know what I’d ask for:
To be a Yanny
To make sure that I don’t become a Yanny, only to go back to being a Laurel
For world peace, because that’s what a true Yanny would want.
Too bad I’m a Laurel, runner of zero marathons, filer of chipped nails and traffic tickets, listener of Rebecca Black, and not in an ironic fashion, seer of the dress as black and blue, not gold and white.
If I were a Yanny, I’d have a great job because a Yanny is an awesome coworker who women and men want to have around out of genuine respect. And I’d be the coolest person you know because—fun fact—100 percent of the Glossier models are Yannys.
If I were a Yanny, I’d refer to all my “guilty pleasures” as “pleasures” because I’d just be that confident. Now, I refer to all my pleasures as “I definitely do not watch The Bachelor through tears four times a week, ha ha, what do you mean?” Classic Laurel.
If I were a Yanny, I would post on Instagram on the hour and three times at 12 noon, and people would tag their friends like, “Wow, seems glamorous!” instead of like, “Wow, is this Laurel sick?” which is what they comment when I do it now.
If I were a Yanny, I’d lead a vibrant social existence in which I’d show off XXL sun hats and XXL boyfriends who’d always be like, “What do you mean you’re about to go for a run? Your bod is perfection—the rose-flavored macarons you daintily eat for dinner help maintain your flawless physique!” And then I’d be like, it’s for health reasons, which would endear me to Michelle Obama.
If I were a Yanny, I would have known at once who bit Beyoncé and then I would have constructed a tasteful tweet that hinted at who that person was with subtle discretion. A Laurel wouldn’t be able to handle this gracefully, which is why I didn’t even try. (Also, I had no idea.)
The fact is I’m a Laurel, which means the best decision I can make when I wake up is to hit the snooze button and put off one more morning as a Laurel for eight whole minutes. If I were a Yanny, I’d wake up two minutes before my alarm because I’m just wired like that ha ha. I’d sit up straight with perfect posture, eat a cold lemon (all the nutrients are in the pith!), and then luxuriate in a bath drawn from mint water and pamplemousse La Croix. Then I’d meditate, practice some yoga, and vape because it’s #relatable.
If I were a Yanny, I would maybe be Beyonc´e. Or least know her as a close, personal mother.
All I want is glimpse into the world of the Yannys. That’s it! I have no greater wish! Unless I become a Yan, in which case I’ll ask for world peace.