I watch her strut across the bar from my perch in the corner, she all dolled up like some thrift store glam queen. It has come to my attention that she thinks she’s Oakland’s “It” girl, mostly because her posse filled with average looking subordinates support that self delusion. Me and my friends? We sit here and watch, and we scoff as we watch her pay for her own drinks and the scuffs on her non designer purse glint dully in this dark light. How can someone who considers herself Oakland’s “it” girl wear such last season shoes? How can Oakland’s “it” girl be so bad at dancing to trap music? How can Oakland’s “it” girl be neither a rapper nor a graffiti writer? All these things confuse us as we watch her do her thing. She doesn’t even know half the people at this bar, which is strange because isn’t Oakland’s “it” girl supposed to be at least more popular than I am? I haven’t seen her face in the local free paper ever, and there are certainly no Oakland based lifestyle blogs documenting her calamity of fun and debauchery. She doesn’t hold a candle to last season’s “it” girl. She’s certainly no Kreayshawn. She’s definitely not Monica Canilao. I don’t think she’s ever had a DJ night before. This is all very disappointing, mostly because if Oakland’s “it” girl gets to be self appointed, then what’s the value in that? The bar for being Oakland’s “it” girl has been set far too low, and before you know it we’ll have some gentrifier scene queen claiming the title next. I’m pretty sure that Oakland’s “it” girl should be from here, and she should at least be prettier and more popular than me and my friends. She should also probably own a gun, but now I’m getting too picky and should probably leave those details up to the professionals and the deciding committee.