My physical therapist told me that he didn’t understand the popularity of Olivia Rodrigo’s new album, Sour. “It’s not that good of an album,” he said. I made the point that he was never a heartbroken teenage girl.
Sonically, I think I actually agree with his assessment of the album — while I liked it and I’m grateful for the revival of pop-punk (I’m so into Megan Fox’s BF MGK’s music right now), I don’t think it’s a groundbreaking debut album. (Compare with Gaga’s The Fame or The Strokes’ Is This It.) And I think it’s a good thing! Rodrigo has so much room to grow as an artist, and I’m excited for what she puts out in the future. Regardless, I think the album’s popularity comes from the fact that she has tapped into the experience of Teenage Girl Heartbreak.
Honestly, I was a pretty angry/edgy teenager. If I had the means to, I probably would’ve egged a lot of people’s homes. I don’t look back at that period of my life particularly fondly, because being a teenage girl sucked and I felt very socially disenfranchised as one. But I also know that I’ll never go through the earth-shattering experience of my first heartbreak again, and, against all odds, that makes me feel…sad. Like saying goodbye to someone you know you’ll probably never see again.
I think, comparatively, my first heartbreak wasn’t that bad at all. We were friends, she was way out of my league, and very, very straight. Tale as old as time. (Actually, I think this applies to many of my teenage crushes. Oopsie! I’m not going to think about what that says about me.) Anyways, minus the whole “oh shit, there’s no heterosexual explanation for this” thing, which made the whole thing really suck, I would say it’s some kiddie pool stuff. But at the time it truly rocked my world! And I kind of miss that.
Now, even when I’m lying on the floor listening to “Driver’s License” on repeat and nothing feels right, I know logically that things are going to be fine, and I’m left with the mundanity of my sadness. I guess what I mean to say is that I miss when things were a lot more straightforward. My friend very diplomatically called me “practical” in matters of love. Though I’m not sure if that’s really true, I do think I’m at least more practical than I used to be. Like, I gotta pay taxes, yo! I was out of the gym for a bit and I already have a creaky neck! Time is a nonrenewable resource! I have, like, thirty minutes to cry about something before I have to tend to my Responsibilities again.
Another thing is that, as I age, everyone tries so much harder to save face. A lot of people are invested in looking more “unbothered” than the other party after having their hearts stomped into a bajillion pieces. One of the things I like a lot about Sour is Rodrigo’s unabashed resentment about not being able to move on as fast as her ex: “well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me / if you ever cared to ask,” she sings in “Good 4 U”. I really like that energy. Sometimes I think we should all scream “b*tch! I am not ok! You suck and did me so dirty!” into the void and not feel bad about it.
I had a discussion with another friend about the idea of reliving certain experiences. He likened gaining life experience as driving to work: the first time, it’s all new, and you’re driving slowly to take in the view; in a few weeks, you’re driving 10 above the speed limit, wishing the lengthy commute would be over soon. I asked him, “don’t you want to go back and experience it all again?” He said no, he’s got things to do. I think that’s where we differ: I wish I could be made brand-new again, so that every experience is like the first time.
Philosophically, I’m in the camp of, “things don’t suck less as we grow up, we just get better at handling them”. I’d like to think that my shit is more together now; I’m making smarter, better choices. I’m doing right by my teenage self. But every now and then, she pops her head around the door and tells me to “go crazy! Go stupid!”, and I miss her! I love her! I want her back! I want my world to be small and simple again and for the smallest little thing to rip me apart. There’s a cruel beauty in firsts, one that we’ll never recapture; I want to see it again.
