We Are Never Meeting in Real Life: Essays

Samantha Irby is unapologetically hilarious, trashy, vulgar, and disgusting. This collection of her essays is the purest declaration of a personality that I’ve seen in recent years. Usually I groan about books that include cultural touch points like social media, but Irby gets away with it. Someone might read this in 30 years and not understand all the references but it’s as close to an intelligent and realistic description of what modern life is really like. Plus she’s a misanthrope, so we share some of the same preferences, like wanting to meet OUT somewhere instead of at someone’s house, which is infinitely harder to slip away from. “I just want to go down to the bar, listen to three beers’ worth of your problems, then claim that my stomach hurts so I can leave and get in bed before nine.”

On the other hand, she’s a huge TV junkie, so we could not bond over reality television and I’m pretty sure she’s talking about someone like me here: “Picture it: you’re chilling in the corner at a party full of people you’ve never met before and hated on sight, humming the lyrics to a Coldplay song to yourself to drown out the Swedish death metal the hostess put on to prop up her apparition of coolness, then here comes some asshole who makes her own yogurt and just discovered Ta-Nehisi Coates condescending at you about how damaging reality shows are to impressionable youth. ”

She’s also not having kids, so I enjoyed the essay about how all her friends were popping out tots. “Everyone I know is having a goddamned baby and what that means is you can’t just stop by your homegirl’s house unannounced with a bottle of Carménère and a couple of tubes of Pringles to watch hours of makeup tutorial videos on YouTube anymore. Because that baby might be sleeping or eating or doing its taxes, and you are going to mess it all up with your loud, single-person bullshit.”