You know that feeling when you're standing there, in this absurdly expensive dress you can barely afford—because, freelance life, amirite?—and you're smiling for photos, pretending to be SO thrilled for your "best friend" from childhood... but then it hits you. Hits you like a physical punch—you haven't had a single real, un-choreographed conversation with her in YEARS. And suddenly it's obvious, brutally obvious: you're just here to even out the numbers. To make the photos symmetrical. GOD, the sheer rage of that realization. Like, was I really that oblivious? Or just desperate to believe it was real?