Updated August 15, 2024
The idea is simple enough: you did something last night and now here you are, wherever that is, and it’s morning. You’re just waking up to face the day and you feel a bit fucked up. But you’re not dying, no, this is something much better. This is the hot girl hangover.
The hot girl hangover is the balance beam of life and death (the life and death of hangovers, that is) and you are prancing upon the beam in a garish red and hot pink 1980s unitard (true story). One wrong move and you fall. But if you prevail, just up ahead is a sunny, anxiety-free horizon, where hot girls have survived their hangovers and run free with relatively settled stomachs.
Your morning continues and you finally manage to peel yourself out of bed. You might’ve burrowed so deeply into your blankets that you’ve woken up not quite remembering where you are or what day it is, and your eyelashes might be sticking together from the caked up mascara you didn’t wash off last night, or worse, you slept in your contact lenses, like I did.
You’ll get bonus points for committing a walk of shame, aka going from your bed to the bagel shop in the most ugly-yet-chic assortment of loose clothing you call pajamas, and back. You take a shower, or maybe you don’t, because you actually don’t feel that gross, even though you danced for five hours last night, and this only makes you feel hotter.
By the time you leave your apartment to kick the hot girl hangover in the ass, the Advil has kicked in (you took it hours ago, when you woke up still drunk at 6am), your stomach is digesting well enough, and yes, of course you’ve taken an Alka Seltzer. You can still feel it: the salty fizzy water going down your throat as you stand hunched over the sink, spilling it all down your chin. The feeling should make you shudder, but it doesn’t because now you’re glowing. You are in full-blown hot girl hangover. Whatever they put in the drinks last night worked some sort of magic because this morning you feel emotionally invincible.
Okay, fine, maybe things aren’t totally great, but let it be known: this isn't your everyday I’m on the precipice of death hangover. That's a regular hangover, the kind that festers. The regular hangover that renders you useless to yourself and society. Symptoms include: raging headaches, vomiting, heart palpitations, anxiety, anxiety AND heart palpitations, a monkey playing the symbols in your brain, and maybe my least favorite — just feeling so terribly wrong in your stomach so all you can do is lay on the couch all day even though you otherwise feel fine. All your friends are hanging out, but you’re not. You can’t sleep it off. You can't watch TV. You’re just meant to lie there and suffer. But maybe you don’t have to, not anymore.
The beauty of the hot girl hangover is that it's all about recovery. Never quite a full recovery, but just good enough. This is the hangover for pretty girls. This is the hangover for girls who are deserving and therefore deserve this and didn’t deserve whatever they peer-pressured themselves into doing or not doing last night. It's the hangover that sort of goes away, the hangover that ultimately lets you live. This discovery has since stolen my attention and I’m fixated.
The only side effect of the hot girl hangover is not knowing when you'll get one, and this is what can make them highly addictive. Of course I’d rather not have a hangover at all, but it’s been proven time and time again that I can’t always have it both ways. What can I say, I just love the idea of a chase. If I'm not careful when I go out, it can take just a few drinks and some genetic inconveniences for me to meet alcohol’s kiss of death, which pushes me over the edge (that's code for falling asleep on my couch with the spins).
The hot girl hangover might seem like all fun and games, but it really exists to tease and convince people with frequent bad hangovers and social anxiety that you can be a little reckless and woo-woo about alcohol consumption and maybe still end up kinda fine the next day. Better yet, in a great mood and not at all regretful about not flirting with anyone last night.
When I realize I've managed to hopscotch down the balance beam of life and death and past the clutches of a bad, evil, useless, ugly hangover, what's left of my serotonin skyrockets. I stumble out of my apartment, half-dressed and sweaty, and run to make the train. I'm ready to face the world and do my Saturday errands, which is another way of saying that I’m going to go loiter in the Lower East Side, visit my friends at work, and chat with them about our hot girl hangovers.
I tell myself it’s morning, but it’s already 1pm. It doesn’t matter though, because today I rule the world. With a hot girl hangover, it’s like the party last night never ended. I wish I could feel this glowing everyday.
Some examples of what a Hot Girl Hangover is NOT (in no particular order):
Falling asleep while sitting on a milk crate at 7am behind the counter of the café you work at and being woken up by two incredibly confused blonde women who are waiting to order (you were just resting your eyes)
Waking up on a Friday morning to move your car and then accidentally find out you have two work meetings at the exact. same. time. (this is your own fault) AND your older brother is flying in to visit you for something like a ‘crazy New York weekend’ AND you need to make a batch of latkes for a holiday dinner party that evening — but really all you could do right now is take a nap.
Calling your BFF at 6am in a city you don’t live in to beg her to pick you up from her boyfriend’s friends’ house because you stayed the night with the boyfriends’ friend, but she only agrees to pick you up if you buy her a pregnancy test at the local 7/11
Vomiting in an old ancient city on vacation
This is clear evidence that the most unfortunate experiences with a hangover happen before all before 11am.
Reading this while hungover was everything