After struggling to complete a human resources questionnaire on diversity and lifestyle for his employer, Henry Mills of Nashville, Tennessee, came to the unfortunate conclusion that his own life has no style.
“Embarrassing,” he said. “But I didn’t want to fake it. Posers are the worst.”
Henry fumbled his way through the remainder of the questionnaire, racking his brain in vain for any life factor of his own choosing that could remotely qualify as a “style."
“I’m not gay,” he said. “I’m super hetero. So that wasn’t an option. Not to mention, I didn't choose it. I was born digging babes.”
Perhaps, it occurred to him, a hobby would suffice. But just as quickly, Henry realized that, in his case, his own primary outside interest - music - wouldn't fly.
"I play banjo," he said, "but general consensus is that banjo pickers are pretty much the polar opposite of style. Not that I would necessarily agree, but I wasn’t going to try to buck the system at that point. So I'm not some smooth-talking dapper guitar guy, so be it. That's just how it is.”
In the end, the best Henry could come up with was that he doesn’t smoke. “That’s fashionable these days, right?” He rolled his eyes at himself and shook his head. “Weak, I know. But that's all I’ve got.”
Nevertheless, that night Henry went home feeling a sense of peace about his unstylish life.
“It’s not flashy,” he said. “But it’s mine. And that’s good enough for me.”