I’m not like those other girls, I proclaim as I saunter down the street with my friend, both of us wearing stockings and boots and a dress. We’re fifteen. Clearly, this was the cutting edge alternative fashion back in 2008 and unlike what any other two girls were wearing at any one time. Clearly, I was the other: the single one girl who isn’t like those other girls because I was cool and hung out with the dudes, wore sneakers and pretended to vomit at the sight of pink. Clearly, I was better than all of those other girls, who did not have my intellect or, it seemed, my superiority complex.