F

raming a personal 
struggle around a 
song is tacky. I hate 
when writers do 

that.

But Lorde’s latest release, 

a stirring piano ballad called 
“Liability,” puts into words a 
form of uncertainty I could 
never articulate. The 20-year-
old songstress has peeled back 
her angsty exterior to reveal an 
underlying paradox I know all 
too well: genuine confidence 
coupled with a perpetual 
feeling of loneliness.

Her words spill unevenly 

over 
a 
subdued 
chord 

progression, 
revealing 
her 

confusion in feeling a mixture 
of pride and withdrawal. “So 
I guess I’ll go home / Into the 
arms of the girl that I love / The 
only love I haven’t screwed up,” 
she sings flatly. “She’s so hard 
to please / But she’s a forest 
fire.” Soon enough, listeners 
get the gist: Lorde’s only 
consistent source of affection 
comes from within herself. 
It doesn’t feel tacky anymore 
— “Liability” is the story of 
the unnamed instability that 
plagues the lonely extrovert.

If we’ve ever met, you’re 

probably laughing right now. 
What do I, a boisterous, curly-
haired lump of charisma (that’s 
what you all call me, don’t hide 
it), know about loneliness? 
I’m generally surrounded by 

various groups of wonderful 
people who share my interests, 
and when I’m not, I appear 
to be enjoying my solitude. I 
tweet about self-love, and I get 
plenty of likes on my Instagram 
posts. My outfit is wild, and 
I’m dancing like Carlton Banks 
sans-cardigan, so I must be 
enjoying the empty corner of 
the party, right?

Though this train of logic 

makes enough sense, I’d ask 
you to consider this: How 
would you feel if a Solo cup 
full of chaser (orange pop, and 
nothing but orange pop) was 
the only companion you felt 
entirely comfortable around?

“But what about me, Tess? I 

thought I was your friend.”

There it is, in black and 

white: The worst thing you 
could ever say to a lonely 
extrovert.

Of course we are friends. Of 

course I love you and appreciate 
all that our relationship has 
offered the both of us. I think 
you’re wonderful, and I know 
you think I’m wonderful. But 
feeling lonely has nothing to 
do with whether or not one 
is actually alone. This is an 
internal battle, one that is mine 
to overcome. If you want to 
help, ask me if there’s anything 
you can do — granted, there 
probably isn’t, but I’ll always 
appreciate your concern. If you 
don’t want to help, don’t say a 

thing! All I ask is that you do 
not make my struggle about 
you.

I have no shortage of 

surface-level 
friends, 
but 

what I do lack is a sense of 
emotional security in our 
relationships.

Being strong-willed and 

independent is a beautiful 
thing. It’s what made me 
comfortable traveling to New 
York for my first internship 
at 16, what kept me calm 
when I was denied access 
into an event for which I was 
hired. Yet with my go-getter 
lifestyle comes a caveat few 
have addressed: The fear 
of being seen as a spectacle 
rather than a peer.

Though 
I’m 
happy 
to 

humble-brag about my selfie 
with Gigi Hadid (not sorry) 
or tell someone why I wore 
my green-and-gold trench 
coat to class, I can’t help but 
feel othered by those who ask 
only about the shallow. It’s 
as though actually getting 
to know me is not worth 
their time, but they still 
want all the gossip from my 
time at New York Fashion 
Week. In an atmosphere as 
competitive as the University 
of Michigan’s, I am never 
sure whether people want me 
around for real reasons or if 
they only want to know what 
Kylie Jenner’s lips look like in 

real life (great, by the way).

I’m not trying to complain 

about the support I receive 
from those around me, nor 
do I want to make light of the 
incredible luck I have had in 
securing work opportunities. 
What I do want is to make 
a 
distinction 
between 

praising the glamorous parts 
of someone and actually 
appreciating 
them. 
I’ve 

become so suspicious of the 
first that I rarely recognize 
the latter, even when it’s 
standing right in front of me.

When I do find people who 

want me around for more 
than tabloid-y small talk, I 
doubt everything I do. I’m too 
loud, surely they’ll become 
sick of me soon enough. I 
talk about myself too much 

some days, and ask too many 
questions on others. A piece 
of me is convinced that I’m 
bound to mess up anything 
that brings me fulfillment, 
and so I pull back, for I would 
hate to bother the people I 
care about.

I often feel like those 

I 
interact 
with 
know 

something I don’t, an outsider 
in my own life. I soldier on in 
outspoken solitude because I 
love who I am.

“They’re 
gonna 
watch 

me disappear into the sun,” 
Lorde’s voice quivers at the 
end of “Liability.” “You’re all 
gonna watch me disappear 
into the sun.”

It’s tacky, yes, but if you 

need me, at least you know 
where I’ll be.

2B

Managaing Statement Editor:

Lara Moehlman

Deputy Editors:

Yoshiko Iwai

Brian Kuang 

Photo Editor:

Alexis Rankin

Editor in Chief:

Emma Kinery

Design Staff:

Michelle Phillips

Emily Hardie

Erin Tolar

Nicole Doctoroff

Managing Editor:

Rebecca Lerner

Copy Editors:

Danielle Jackson

Taylor Grandinetti

Wednesday, March 29, 2017 // The Statement 

In Excess: To Disappear into the Sun

BY TESS GARCIA, DAILY ARTS EDITOR

statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | MARCH 29, 2017

ILLUSTRATION BY ERIN TOLAR

