The world is in crisis and so are you. I’ve been reading your tweets. But fear not! I propose a solution: the adult onesie. And there you sit, staring at your computer screen as the buttons of your too tight jeans pinch your belly, opening a new tab to begin your search. You’ve long been searching for your essence and then the world started to fall apart and catch on fire, and crumble some more.

Open that tab. You’re gonna want pockets, that one thing is certain. Pockets for your secret things; pockets for your doom scrolling device; pockets for snacks! Now if I may be so bold and peer through the screen … yes. Just as I thought. You’re crying again. You cry and cry into the void, a tantrum of meaninglessness, envisioning yourself curling into the comforts of your former life. Slipping into that Tardis onesie on the screen, packing your pockets with goldfish crackers, swimming upstream to your childhood waters, wondering if that was really a cracker you ate or a left-over party pill from the before times. But your need for comfort, your love for Doctor Who, and the convenience of utilitarian design have come through for you in this find. A licensed adult onesie with pockets for the win. Existential tantrum eluded.

But we all know Taylor Swift has 15 more albums up her folklorian bell sleeves, so you better get another to spare. Perhaps your purpose is to dance, and you’re gonna want your feet free for those sweet two-steps on a four count, because are you really out of the woods yet? Are you out of the woods yet? Are you out of the woods? Not since 1989, but you found someone to take your photograph on a grayscale staring past your hooded face into the light of the forest canopy. And your toes tap, crunching the detritus of past purpose, so free in your footless onesie. Tay is singing in your ears, and you’re just a sweater under someone’s bed, hoping to be worn.

And you look further down the page, snapped back to reality, Nietzsche’s voice pops into your head that this is all meaningless anyway. There is no essence in you or around you, but there is a fun onesie with a butt flap and life has meaning again! Maybe you’ll get back on the apps and swipe, swipe, swipe; finally finding someone to appreciate your newfound fervor for all that’s chill: show your cheekiness. Release the flap one button at a time, as everyone does, just to feel the cool hand of solitude remembering you’re so alone. Oh, so alone. And maybe that nihilist was right. And maybe the butt flap onesie is only convenient for the world to fuck you over one last time. But damn it, you’re gonna look so cute in your new onesie.



Ryan Norman (he/him) is a queer writer from New York living in the Hudson Valley. Ryan enjoys swimming in mountain lakes and climbing tall things. He is a contributing editor of creative nonfiction with Barren Magazine. His work has appeared in From Whispers to Roars, XRAY Literary Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Hobart, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. His micro chapbook I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A BOND GIRL is forthcoming with The Daily Drunk (2021). You can find him on Twitter @RyanMGNorman or ryanmgnorman.com