13 Things I Learnt From 13 Reasons Why

***Contains major spoilers***

Money talks. Money listens. But it can’t get you consensual sex during your prime.
School memorials are just another excuse for hashtaggery drivel with a #melancholyfilter
Coffee shops seem to be the new after school hang out scene. You wouldn’t see the 90210 kids gulping down some spiced turmeric bullshit latte thing and a gluten free brownie.
Speaking of – actors in their mid-twenties are passing more easily as seventeen-year-olds than ever before. This new age narcissism and gluten free diets must be seeping through our pores.
The long on top with shaved sides haircut doesn’t adhere to products quite as well during a basketball game as Troy Bolton’s floppy bangs.
Upon a how-to Google search for converting cassette tapes to mp3 files, I thought I was reading instructions on how to dismantle an atomic bomb.
The Western world is more concerned with how this show glamourizes suicide to young people than how the Syrian Civil War affects the wellbeing of our troops after deployment.
The infamous party cups will never go out of style; a bright red chalice for liquid courage throughout one’s rite of passage since 1975.
Second to rock climbing and hollering expletives from the top, getting free beer and weed from a superior classmate would be an unpredictable, yet liberating experience.
Does Beats by Dre really need to use product placement? But some say they emphasise appearance over quality. That being said, your integrity is worth more than flaunting some youth-retaining varsity jacket.
Unless you’re flying under the social radar, don’t drive a $60k whip to school. Just don't.
Should a school guidance counsellor’s salary match that of a marriage counsellor? Or did the only adult with direct power in the convoluted web have a fatal lapse in judgment?
We’re all staring down the barrel of social media weaponry. You live by it, and you can die by it.

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Day 1

I wake to the hiss of static commute. It seethes more than any rude awakening. 6.47am. No alarm, no groggy scrolling, I'm busting anyway. I place the scales on the good tile; the one right next to the drain. I'm down a kilo in 3 days. I'm not surprised. I put it down to fight or flight. I shrug and pick up my phone to log it. I remember why I didn't pick it up before - a friend is trying to convince me what a piece of crap I am for my apathetic attitude. I pick out some words but nothing really penetrates my hard shell. I'm starving. I should eat on the balcony; it's a decent morning. But I feel gulity for stepping out of confinement. It's a luxury none of us deserve right now. I cook something nice up to distract my mind thinking where I should be. Yesterday I was on my homespun carousel and today I have been thrown off, now lost. I sit down to eat and figure my new life out. I take my time, there's no rush in this mad world.

Intercourse, outercourse or no-course: Is it all sex?

So your doctor asks you those questions. You know the ones. How many sexual partners have you had? Have you had unprotected sex in the last six months? And even, if you take certain medications, do you orgasm frequently? You smile nervously and think back to the weekend before last when you thought in a drunken haze giving that guy a blowjob in the master bedroom was a fair trade for a finger bang before throwing up in the en suite. Um, does that count? Recently I fell victim to irregular periods on the pill for the first time (if you’ve changed your diet and lost weight, trust me don’t be scared). So after my doc cleared me of stress and chlamydia, I had no choice but to wait until my hormones balanced out. In the meantime, I tracked these pesky bi monthly bleeds on an app. A cute pussy cat (you can change the animal if you find a cat to be too ironic!) notifies you when your period is coming or when it’s late. I never paid much attention...

Messy is the New Strong

If there’s one thing that has stuck with me from university it’s this bold statement from my (female) Women’s Health lecturer: “Women’s bodies are messy.” Nineteen years old, innocent in hindsight; I made a face. “We bleed, we sweat, we have curves, our bodies don’t return to our normal state straight after sex. We are left with the aftermath.” I went to the bathroom before my next class, snapped my underwear and thought, fuck I’m gross. It wasn’t my lecturer’s intention to stir the pot of the insecurities I had, but to serve us with a spoonful of anti-feminist discourse. After a same-sex date and being called "too straight" (there's a spectrum, people!), a new wave of hetero was coming on so I dove right in. A cornflower blue-eyed stranger threw on the same trunks and said goodnight, while I was dying for that post-coital pee, shower and underwear change. I’m in the fitness industry these days and a common reason I hear from women for wantin...

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