You were so hip in high school. Everybody loved you—either that, or they were seething with envy every time you entered the classroom, with your fitted trousers and horn-rims from Warby Parker. But what happened? You're not existential or transcendental or god-rejecting enough to fit in with the pretentious douchebags in college. You don't even like yoga. Naked Lunch sits unfinished beneath your bed, and you lie all the time about having read Post Office or seen The Seventh Seal. Hit the books and the art house theater and the thrift store and the yoga studio, kid. You have a lot of work ahead of you before you can be cool again.