The ACTUAL POINT here is that I found something out that I’m really, truly ambivalent about: Chrissy Teigen has a new bulldog puppy (her fourth dog FYI), and it is considered actual, publishable news that she cannot decide whether to name him Paul or Pablo. Let’s break down my emotional timeline here.
Phase One: Chrissy Teigen’s Instagram Photo Announcing This Dilemma
Three days ago, Chrissy Teigen posts a photo of herself, a beautiful model, holding Paul/Pablo, a beautiful little velvet-faced bulldog puppy (note: I am not here for your treatise on the genealogical background of bulldogs. On the overall spectrum of ethical concerns I choose not to have, this falls way below things like
my occasional shoplifting sprees laissez-faire recycling habits.) This photo pretty much sums up all my tortured, clashing emotions, because HELLO DOG SOULMATE, but also HELLO unattainable #hairskinfacegoals that I will never achieve because I enjoy doing things like eating 1,200 calories worth of peanut butter cups in my free time. Thanks for the reminder Chrissy—and you KNOW I’ve always wanted a puppy exactly like that, so this is clearly pointed AF.
Phase Two: Chrissy Teigen’s Instagram Caption Announcing This Dilemma
For those of you who are lazy to the point of site-specific illiteracy, here’s the caption accompanying that photo: “Super secret shooting with Paul. Or Pablo. We can’t decide. Both mom and Luna cannot pronounce Pablo. John won’t call him Paul. This freaking house, let me tell you.” Here, my ambivalence continues because this is a goddamn perfect caption without even being particularly clever or funny. It’s literally just a description of a current situation in her household, plus a half-sentence of the kind of rueful, effortless sass that can only be pulled off by people who are so deeply happy and at peace with themselves that even their sarcasm radiates the same general energy as tacking on “#blessed.” So, she’s somehow pulled off a caption that simultaneously convinces me that she’s better and happier than me, but not in a way that’s turned her into one of those joyful, irritating pod people currently spamming your Insta feed with flannel and pumpkins. Seriously. It’s like the five seconds of genuine joy you have for your perpetually single friend who FINALLY kills it this cuffing season, before you remember that friends with boyfriends are annoying AF and you yourself are still sad and alone.
Chrissy Teigen is those five seconds of joy, spun out into eternal purgatory where you don’t know if
you want to murder her and wear her skin you want her to gain 50 pounds or be your maid of honor.
Phase Three: Chrissy Teigen’s Actual Dilemma Here
Finally, the problem itself, and it is truly one for the ages, unlike the new “What color are these sneakers?” bullshit. Should she name this adorable bulldog puppy Paul or Pablo???? Honestly, as much as it burns my soul that she has such a disgustingly wonderful life, I encourage everyone to bask in the glow of imagining this to be your largest problem. Is there a secret Kim/Taylor undercurrent, where “Paul” refers to Paul Ryan trying to make a Taylor Swift meme about healthcare, and also the general whiteness of the name Paul, and “Pablo” refers to ? 7000% no, but hey, wouldn’t it be
absolutely psychotic more fun if there was? If you add up the syllables in this caption, is there a coded message about the secret political resistance being organized by the Teigen-Legends? Again, certainly not, but let the theories fly! Ask your friends! Ask your mom! Post a poll in your Instagram story! Let’s all live today like we’re Chrissy Teigen, faced with the eternal question of which P-name you should use on your baby bulldog for approximately one day, before calling him variations of “puppy” for the rest of his life.
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