Jen and I met nearly 15 years ago. We grew up in the same town and hung around the same clique. In the beginning, we'd give approving nods of each other's vintage-inspired outfits from across the room. That evolved into perusing aisles of antique stores and then styling outfits together and, natch, obsessing over our first solo apartments' interior decor. Our bond eventually transcended that creative consulting and we became each other's emotional support systems. I felt like I wasn't complete if I was anywhere without Jen.
In 2016, though, it became apparent we had opposite political views. Even though it sounds impossible, we decided to avoid hot-button issues like feminism, immigration, and presidential candidates—specifically, the current president himself. For years, this was easy. It felt like a sustainable way of ensuring our friendship stood on solid ground.
Plus, who wanted to be talking politics when we could belt out Lady Gaga songs to each other? Our little bubble of friendship was the perfect escape from the chaos of the world. We showed up for each other, whether we were grieving from the loss of a parent, were stranded at a train station, or needed help after a surgery.
But late last year, when Jen found QAnon, the widespread right-wing conspiracy theory, our footing began to crumble. In 2020, much like everything else, our friendship fell apart completely.
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