The first in a new regular column from VICE (if we can persuade anyone else to write one).
As all great personal essays do, this one begins with a word or two from Slovenian public intellectual Slavoj Žižek. He often talks about something called “liberal distancing.” It’s like virtue signaling: the idea that progressives will loudly champion the marginalized until one of them asks to borrow a tenner. I shoved it in my master’s thesis in a way that didn’t really make sense, and now I’m shoving it into this article as a means of saying you’re probably a better person if you’re forthright about how much of a horrible cunt you are.
If that’s a bit much for you, try reframing it as a form of “radical honesty.” There’s probably a bunch of dreadlocked knob heads sat on a tropical beach doing the same thing right now: writing secrets on bits of paper then chucking them into a camp fire before taking another hit of peyote. Arguably, my cause is more noble. I’m also convinced that somewhere along the line my own radical honesty will be rewarded with a book deal.
1 — I HAVE BULLIED THOSE I DEEMED BENEATH ME (REPEATEDLY)
What is it they say about bullies? That it’s an insecurity thing? All I know is that my victims’ distress only ever stoked the fires.
There was the time I posted a video of my “mate”—in which her tit briefly popped out—on Facebook. That was apparently “cyberbullying.” I was pulled into a room so this teacher who wore a wig could lecture me about my “digital footprint.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry and I’ll take the video down, even though you only see her nipple for a second. But do you know that your hairline has shifted about 3cm during this conversation?”
None of this went down well.
More recently, at a gathering in Sydney, my repeated jibes about this guy’s band—who sounded like an Australian Lumineers, if you can even imagine anything so ghastly—eventually caused him to storm out in a huff.
I then vomited. Whether that was because of the mushrooms or bad conscience, I can’t say.
Probably the former.
2 — I CATFISHED MY BEST FRIEND
I’m not saying she’s an idiot, or that she should have known, but I was literally sitting on the other side of the fucking room while I was doing it.
The “guy” she was talking to (i.e. me) only had four photographs. Is that really boyfriend material?
I would say she deserves better, but she didn’t even realized they’d all been uploaded that same day.
3 — I TOLD HALF OF EAST LONDON THAT THIS SOUNDCLOUD RAPPER HAD SHIT HIMSELF
If I’ve been handed a picture of a little bit of shit on the floor, you best believe I’m going to distribute it far and wide. You best believe I’m going to send the culprit a message that just reads “poo boy.” You best believe I’m going to get my mate to send one saying: “Shit yourself, did we?” I’d like to say I’m remorseful, but what I’ve dubbed “the poo incident” is a favorite of mine, and I cherish it deeply.
It was even fucking hilarious when the girl he was seeing (who’d taken the picture) came round my house and forced me to apologize. Yeah, I’m “really sorry” that he shit himself?
4 — I SENT ANONYMOUS HATE TO MY BEST FRIEND
The question here is not “was the hatred I sent her over Formspring deserved.” I can assure you that it was.
The real crux is that I forgot to press the “anonymous” button and was immediately caught in the act. I tried to salvage it by sending the same message to a load of other people and feigning that I’d been hacked, but I don’t think she bought it.
I don’t think anyone bought it.
5 — I TOLD EVERYONE AT IN MY HALLS THAT I’D FOUND A LOST SHIBA INU
Funny when you realize that if you fold your rug in a certain way, it looks like a dog.
Really, really funny when all the messages come in on the group chat. Less funny when you go to your lecture the next day and everyone’s asking what happened to it and you’re forced to invent a story about this guy from the RSPCA coming to pick up a lost dog from a university campus in the middle of the night, like a woman kept for breeding being snuck across the border in The Handmaid’s Tale.
6 — I BROKE UP WITH MY BOYFRIEND WHILE ON HOLIDAY WITH HIM
On reflection, I probably should have just sat it out. Obviously I wouldn’t be “living my truth” if I’d lied for a few days then delivered the fatal blow when we were back on home soil, but equally we’re probably not meant to do exactly what we want all of the time. If everyone acted the way I did, it would be like Woodstock ‘99. Pure carnage. People rolling about in their own shit.
I don’t regret writing the VICE article about it though because that got good traction and I gained seven Instagram followers.
7 — I PREPARED FOR AN INTERVIEW WITH SOMEONE THAT WAS TERMINALLY ILL USING A.I.
I did tell my boss I probably wasn’t the right person for the job. Like, I will happily admit that I don’t have the gentle disposition required to navigate the looming specter of impending death. It’s just not my wheelhouse. And I was overworked? Yeah, I was overworked. I kept telling myself that when they died about a week later.
8 — I ABANDONED MY MATE AT A ROBBIE WILLIAMS CONCERT SO I COULD GO DO COKE
If I could have done a few keys and hung out with the mate that had been excited to see Robbie Williams with me for months, I would have done both.
Unfortunately, one came at the expense of the other. I chose gurning to “Angels” alongside the boyfriend I would end up dumping just a month later.
9 — I KILLED MY PET GOLDFISH
Not deliberately. More like wilful neglect. I’d go on holiday and just presume he’d be alright. The annoying thing about a goldfish is they never actually die, either. They just float there and, since it’s a goldfish and you’re not about to do CPR, you have to turn your flat into Dignitas.
I did what I felt was most dignified and lobbed it in the freezer. In the end, it didn’t really matter whether it was a nice send off or not—when I took Steven out of the freezer, I cut my finger open and his demise became all about me and my injury.
I was so done with the whole situation that when I eventually plopped him into the toilet and he started swimming about, I pulled the flush anyway.
10 — I GOT THROWN OUT OF SOMEONE’S 18TH FOR KICKING THEIR DOG
To be honest, the jury’s still out on whether I actually kicked the dog. I personally think I was chucked out of Lauren’s 18th because I’d been fingered by about four people and that didn’t really match the upmarket, “heels and dresses” vibe of the party.
I love animals. I’d never kick a dog.
Puppy, even.
11 — I “EXPOSED” PEOPLE WHO WEREN’T PEDOPHILES AS PEDOPHILES
After I’d burned through nearly a grand on Habbo Hotel currency and my mum was forced to stage an intervention, I had to find my fun elsewhere.
Namely, I’d lure some poor unsuspecting lad to Skype, record the whole totally innocent exchange, then upload an edit to YouTube. Just a gormless face staring into the abyss, wondering why his new online pal was refusing to turn their camera on.
Then I’d add some text saying something along the lines of “PEDOPHILE ALERT.”
Simple as.
12 — USED THE CLOSURE DRINKS WITH MY EX TO TELL HIM I’D ALREADY SHAGGED SOMEONE ELSE
I’m giving myself extra points for this one because it was only a week after we’d split and I was the one who brought it up. “Have you shagged anyone else?” I asked. He hadn’t, but he was back on Hinge (the prick). He then said I was “unwell in the head” for being annoyed about the Hinge thing while having shagged someone else within the week.
I squeezed out a few tears in response so he’d feel bad but ultimately: fair.
13 — I USED THE EXCUSE THAT MY MUM HAD FALLEN DOWN THE STAIRS AND BROKEN HER COLLARBONE TO GET OUT OF PLANS AT LEAST FOUR TIMES
To be fair, that did happen. Not on four occasions. If you want to get pedantic about it, she only fell down the stairs and broke her collarbone once. It would be extremely unfortunate if this had happened to her even twice.
Still, I reckon it’s got the mileage to be used at least seven times. I’ve also got a picture of my cat at the vets looking a bit forlorn, should I have used the collarbone one on that person already.
14 — I TOOK THE PISS OUT OF A DWARF
Again, not deliberately. I have deliberately recounted the story hundreds of times since, but it was her that came up to me while I was high on 2CB and asked me to dispense some water from the bar. I’m sorry that when I carefully lowered it down to the small, Borrower-esque woman—the thimble-like glass now a great chalice—I felt like a God.
15 — I DATED A DRUG ADDICT BECAUSE I WAS HAVING A PETE DOHERTY PHASE
It’s a nice concept in the abstract.
If I let my imagination run far enough (somewhere approaching psychosis), I was Kate Moss.
It became less nice when I realized a recovering crack smoker is probably quite vulnerable to Christianity. As it turns out, I’m not really in the market for all that. Yeah, I went to the sauna a few times and it probably seemed like I was someone who could weather the storm of early sobriety with him… but I also love packet? Why couldn’t he just have a good collection of perfectly worn-in Fred Perry knits and we leave it at that?
That’s all I wanted, in my heart of hearts: someone who didn’t look like a twat in a fedora.
I should have known that, as usual, I was asking too much from life.
Follow Amber on Instagram @amberawlings
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