A reader roasts me

'Nobody finds it endearing that you cosplayed poverty by becoming a line cook once when your tech job got boring.'

Within an hour of sending out this newsletter, I can count on my friend Andrew to tell me why I’m wrong. Andrew and I know each other from Sky Ting. It’d be difficult to say we do yoga “together,” since I practice in the front row and he sits in the back to safely record his abs. He likes memes and he hates this project. So, inspired by

Delia Cai

, I gave Andrew the opportunity to let it rip. Here’s his unedited review of Bangers & Jams. Enjoy.

Restaurants none of us can fucking afford. That he can’t afford? Rip them to shreds. Go off sis!! The bus boys don’t have healthcare so his scathing reviews shouldn’t hurt that much. No really, they won’t. Who reads this thing anyway? But I’m worried if the readership gets too low, without as many “paid” “subscribers” (mine was comped for being cute, or really just having a pulse) he won’t be able to afford therapy (or cool girl yoga) and then the complaining really begins. So please don’t unsubscribe 👉👈

I’m going to set up an encampment to protest this blog. Don’t cancel me for saying that, I have student loans. When I got the chance to roast Austin I was like one of the smart funny contestants on drag race before they get the chance to make fun of Carson Kressley for having a gaping hole: thrilled 🥱 🕳️

I guess when your name is Austin and you are from Austin, you have to do literally anything in your power to distract other people from that fact. Yet here I am, on this beautiful spring morning in the dog park in my notes app bringing it up. In the words of Azealia Banks, “So, what now?”

Let’s start with the title. There is functionally, objectively, spiritually, and socially no difference between what this man describes as a banger and what he describes as a jam. It’s truly just vibes. It would be like if I ran a dating blog called schmucks and mensches but put my Israeli tech founder boyfriend and the countless nebbish social justice warriors I blew at Wesleyan in the same bucket.

I’m not going deep in the archives because there is a lot of evidence and I am at the dog park typing this on my iPhone while my inbred morkie fends off a cavapoo and I sip on a bodega iced coffee (sorry Austin it didn’t cost like twelve dollars) but let’s just reference the most recent post.

Nobody cares that you have a Momofuku cookbook. Nobody cares that you got it for $.99. Nobody cares that you moved to Connecticut after college. Nobody made you move to Connecticut after college. Nobody cares that you’re addicted to inflaming your body with dairy. Nobody finds it endearing that you cosplayed poverty by becoming a line cook once when your tech job got boring. Apologies if there are typos in any of this cause I literally got bored of writing it and decided to just orally dictate it. OK, maybe I care a little.

But really, if you see Austin² don’t make fun of his tote bags or flopsy hair because he really is a sweetheart (I think the whippersnappers use the term babygirl for this but I still wear crew socks and part my hair to the side so I am not the authority on the generation of z). Plus he has a hot girlfriend. Who is Jewish, has porcelain skin, a fascinating lip shape and oh, she’s actually a REAL writer.

Andrew refuses to have his last name printed, though anyone who has stalked an ex on the internet before could track him down in under 20 minutes.

I also wrote about our push into video at Substack this week, which I’m thrilled to be overseeing.

Introducing Substack Creator Studio, a fellowship for the next wave of video stars