My formal apology to any barista who encounters me

The best perk of working in a cafe is the free rein over the different glasses and flavored syrups. When baristas infiltrate the kitchen, they inform me about new drinks our store would introduce for the approaching seasons--cozy ciders for the fall, white mochas in the winter, etc. As I polish glasses or sort out new inventory, they shoot out creative name ideas that capitalize on our token herbal choices and popular teas. They’d leave with a promise of bringing back a drink of my choice. 

When I first started my job, I was overwhelmed yet uninterested in our abilities. I’d respond to the offer of a custom drink with my previous go-to: a plain vanilla latte. I slowly worked through our year-round menu, sticking to mainstream drinks where I could predict the taste before the base was poured into a glass in the station a meter away from me. I received and praised the minimalism of our matcha and iced coffee in variations of hazelnut and mocha. I gave short laughs to their equally brief explanations and I took shelter in the plainness. My drinks were boring but safe. 

One day, my co-worker asked if I wanted my matcha sweetened with lavender, instead of the standard vanilla. My experience with lavender in the past was merely a sip out of my friend’s lemonade, in which she chose the one flavored with lavender simply for the vibrant purple. I questioned the decision, worried that the floral wouldn’t be enough to battle the natural bitterness of matcha and instead accentuate the herbal taste. But in the back of my mind, I asked myself, why not? I knew the change was typically arranged with a $0.50 penalty and if it was truly horrible, she would be happy to remake it with the usual recipe. So, with a conflicted hesitancy, I agreed and feigned a fearful excitement for what I was about to experience. 

On average, a hand-crafted drink is expensive. The cost of experimentation is not only a 45-second argument with a barista, as we go back and forth about what I can and can’t order, but it was the +$0.30 per request. With only the addition of alternative milk and extra shots of espresso, a plain coffee transforms into a $9 splurge. But once these costs were eliminated and my trusted baristas stripped away the awkwardness of conversations with strangers during a lunch rush, I felt free to explain unique intricacies and unknown combinations. The lavender sweetener tasted like a surprise, replacing the previous file in my head that classified lavender as a medicine-y flavor. As my co-worker explained the contents of the drink, from the added “berry” cold foam and the dozen decorative dried petals she scattered on the top, I kept thinking about my new perspective on lavender. I wondered how I would use its nectary freshness in other drinks. 

After that positive experience, I let myself experiment more boldly. With each new discovery, my options expanded. I found excitement walking behind the bar or flipping through copies of our prospective specialty drinks. I’d secretly wish for slow days so I could mix clashing flavors together, searching for a hidden gem. The fear I’d once held before I’d get a different drink from my usual was gone and replaced with an expecting readiness. That first change helped me realize the safety of my go-to's was holding me back, limiting what I could have known I wanted this entire time. When I order drinks at new places, I’m not scared to ask the baristas what they recommend, always hoping they’ll introduce me to something new. Forcing myself to try new things opened up new opportunities for a tasty fearlessness, and it was done with 2 pumps of lavender. 

Making peace with my hate for Sonny Angels

The aesthetic of the season, especially going into spring, is the “suburban girlhood” theme. It focuses on a childish hyper-fem, with pastel pinks and matcha greens. It’s reminiscent, focusing on warmer vibes and carefree activities, like building fairy houses and journaling on a page covered with cheap holographic stickers. My only issue is their token consumerism item: the Sonny Angel. 

Sonny Angels are collectible figurines, selling for around $10 each. They’re, as the name suggests, baby angels with a poised stance and their hands being slightly propped out. Each angel has a signature hat that corresponds to the series they reign from and their rarity. For example, they released a fruit and vegetable series, where the figurines could have hats that resembled a strawberry or a head of cauliflower. In quick observation, the Angel figure does match the suburban girlhood vibe well. Their uniform beige skin tone, only being disrupted by a small pair of angel wings on their back, make lining them up for display a religious experience. 

The official Sonny Angel website describes them as “little angel boy[s] who likes wearing all sorts of headgear.” They say “He is always by your side to make you smile.” I am not smiling, but they are. Each angel has the same expression, where they have a light smile atop their chubby blushed cheeks. They all look ominously to the side. Their expression is similar to other (mostly vintage) dolls and baby angel imagery. But those collections were beloved, so what is my issue with Sonny Angels in particular? 

The fault of Sonny Angels is they attached bodies onto the face, pushing a more realistic and human-like vibe onto the original angel concept. It would be strange to sell naked baby dolls, so they market them as angels; the issue is they lack features that ensure that it’s obvious they are angels. Personally, that’s my main critique--they rarely have clothing. There are half-exceptions such as special edition collections, where the Angels have different shirts, but even including those, there are no collections where the Angels have pants. 

The main demographic of the figure is unclear; I don’t think they’re intended for children as they aren’t flashy and quite monotony. Kids love to imagine, and the Angels have a consistent design that they wouldn’t appreciate as much as other figures that have movable limbs or additional clothing items that could be swapped around. Sonny Angels seems to be very intentionally designed; the colors they use are bright but not neon and they rarely use specialty materials like glittery gel or metallics. These are design choices that kids could be drawn to, but can’t keep their interest. The intended demographic is most likely older teenagers to young adults, who can enjoy collecting dolls again without being uncomfortable in the childishness. But then, I return to the idea that the concept is a little strange. The concept is, once again, figures of babies with no clothing. 

Rather than complimenting the aesthetic, the angels create a new one. Right now, it’s tiptoeing between nostalgic and fresh, as seen in its ambiguous intended demographic. It feels like it’s made to appeal to those growing up and moving past fragments of childhood, yet it wants to hold on to the colorful pieces of life and appreciate every event. I think the uniformity of the figures is meant to match the maturity of the people who buy and display them. At the same time, the colorful fruits and animal headgear are an ode to the childishness that we don’t have time to appreciate anymore. Even if weird, the concept feels like it’s trying very hard to be pure to the theoretical children who buy them. Even if teenagers and beyond end up collecting them, they have an illusion of a kid's doll that appeals to an aesthetic that focuses on innocent childhood experiences. 

my jackets represent me

I used to hate winter. I preferred summertime because I hated how much preparation would go into a five-minute trip outside. Curating a warm outfit, just for it to be destroyed by an unnecessarily thick winter jacket was demoralizing for my already fading fashion headspace. 

Then, I started collecting coats and let myself stop being confined by one jacket. Rather than hiding an outfit, I let them enhance it. They make a statement. Seeing how they intertwine with a minimalistic outfit of neutrals, I like how they add a burst of color and texture--letting the clothes pop with boldness. Walking through thrift stores and department malls, I don’t ignore the racks of jackets in denial of the weather; instead, I look for pieces that remind me of experiences or the pieces that catch my eye. Like they enhance my clothes, they shape the way I act and perceive when I wear them, adding a hint of extravagance to bland days. 

The jacket that sparked my interest in coats was a leather jacket I found in the long untouched closets in the basement. Formerly, I had an issue with the puffy winter coats. I didn’t like how they suffocated me, no matter how oversized I bought them. I didn’t like how they took up too much space and left my backpack straps uneven, forcing me to rearrange them throughout the school day. The leather blazer was heavy but thin. Authentic leather with unauthentic city-like aesthetics; causal and unconfining. 

On a cold day, stranded at an outlet mall, I ran into a cheap overstock store to semi-impulsively buy the first thick jacket I could find. It was August and no reason to be that cold, a navy blue fleece was what reminded me of my least favorite season. For only $5, it warmed me enough to be worth the price. 

When I was thrifting with a friend, misplaced alongside thin athletic pullovers was a faux fur jacket. My friend joked that it reminded her of Cruella DeVil, convincing me to wear it with the hood up and pretend to be some sort of fantasy villain. With it on, it fell to around my knees and heavily weighed along my shoulders. I was almost put off by the trademark Goodwill scent that I couldn’t get out of a fur jacket and the fact it was so thick, but I liked the statement of the black and dark brown fur that reminisced of a black bear. Knowing I would never wear it to school, therefore eliminating the majority of my year, I wasted $17 dollars on a statement jacket I could maybe wear to a day trip to Chicago.

I have a light brown trench coat. The first time I wore it, my friend made a joke about how I looked like a detective from a children’s show, that all I need is a hat that shadows over my eyes and a pipe--then I could go stand in an alleyway and accept bribes for information. Besides that, I like the style of the jacket. It’s strangely professional but not overbearingly so; it's so normal, in the way that people are over-perceived in TV shows, that it is a little out of place. 

With the switch from the fur coat to the fleece, I've found fun in the way I can change how I'm perceived in an instant. I think I’ll enjoy winters in the future. I’ll let myself get excited about the new jackets I can layer onto myself, absorbing the persona of the material.