MILF films are the new chick flicks.

The Cheek 006: I met my younger self for coffee. That bitch is crazy.

Welcome to “The Cheek.” My weekly, sometimes snarky, brain dump, typically fueled by TikTok brain rot. Enjoy.

I met my younger self for coffee.

We were both ten minutes early. She posted a cleavage-filled selfie with the puppy dog face filter on Snapchat and checked her phone every three minutes to see if he viewed her story. She made bedroom eyes at the tattooed barista and got bored when he didn’t reciprocate.

Let’s go get a drink, she said. I obliged.

One dirty martini turned into six. She disappeared into the bathroom periodically, emerging—suspiciously—with even more confidence and energy than when she went in.

It’s past my bedtime. I gotta go.

She waved me off as she swapped spit with the DJ in the corner.

That bitch was crazy. I miss her sometimes.

Did you know that ankle socks are a fashion faux pas?

According to Gen Z, they can tell someone is a millennial based on whether or not they’re wearing crew socks. I thought it was just skinny jeans and side parts, but no. Now, even your sock choice is a dead giveaway. As if the rapid trend lifecycles of the 2020s haven’t been stressful enough.

In middle school, when ankle socks became the it item, my mom wasn’t quick to replace all my old socks. To avoid social suicide, I folded my crew socks halfway down so they barely peeked above the rim of my Nike Air Force Ones—covered, of course, by baggy bell-bottoms. I endured blistered ankles and sweaty feet just to avoid looking uncool in what we called grandpa socks.

So please excuse me, Gen Z, if I’m not keen on wearing the socks that were absolutely forbidden in 2004.

In retrospect, we probably should’ve been more concerned about our pants dragging through the streets and showing up to school with soaking-wet hems.

MILF films are my new favorite genre.

Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy was surprisingly great—heartbreaking, heartwarming, funny, and most importantly, steeeaaaamy. Her boy toy, played by Leo Woodall, was so adorable I found myself blushing multiple times throughout.

'90s romcoms were elite. They were lighthearted, starred actual heartthrobs, and, most importantly, were actually romantic. It’s been difficult to find anything that makes me feel remotely giddy these days. The romcoms of the 2010s, while even funnier, leaned heavily on the trope of nerdy, average-looking man-babies somehow bagging women way out of their league. I partially blame Jud Apatow for my tragic dating history.

Now? Romcoms are made for high schoolers and seem more focused on competing in the woke-olympics than actually delivering romance or comedy. The only ones I’ve enjoyed lately have been MILF films—Bridget Jones, The Idea of You, and A Family Affair, to name a few. The plots aren’t even that great, but the guys are hot, the women are even hotter, and at this point, I’ll take that as a win for Hollywood.

If you’re not stalking me yet, what are you even doing? Find me on Instagram @kristina_nasti and Tiktok @kristina_nasti

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