Shout Out To All My Baby Heads*

*Alternative name suggestions welcome.

If you’re receiving this email it means you have decided to enter a brand new year as a subscriber to ten pound baby.

You are part of a relatively new, entirely inclusive public members club that is as small and mysterious as a secret society. Like reverse Freemasons.

You are in great company.

You are loved.

You are a Baby Head (wt). And I am so pleased you’re still here.

Like Gaga’s Monsters or Nicki’s Barbz, to be a Baby Head is to be a member of the counterculture; slightly unhinged, easily baited, and somewhat damned. Baby Heads are 73% more likely to have gone through a goth, grunge, or skater phase in their youth.

But like Taylor’s Swifties or Justin’s Beliebers, they are also sensitive, optimistic, and fans of The GAP.

While I know most of you, some of you are a complete mystery to me. Perhaps you are a young Prince, or someone emerging from a 10 year coma, many things have been kept from you but you’re willing to learn and currently in the process of coming to terms with humanity’s tragic flaws as well as the world’s inherent beauty.

Despite their love of home comforts like late-stage capitalism and expensive knitwear, Baby Heads are by no means normies. It’s likely that you’re politically left of center, a fan of abortion, and like Dead Heads, believe the work improves dramatically if you’ve taken drugs.

A Baby Head is not a basic bitch.

Baby Heads are a motley crew; unable to reach a consensus or move in formation, they lack the self-discipline to say, invent a new society or join one of the armed forces, and as such, they have the least in common with Beyonce’s Hive or Rihanna’s Navy. But they can always appreciate upper body strength and a psychotic work ethic when they see it.

Baby Heads are soft. And that’s ok.

Whoever you are, I look forward to continuing to share stories with you as I embark upon a two month road trip across America. My dog Winnie and I just landed in California, and will be passing through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia, Pennsylvania, before making our way back to New York in March.

Yes, I have pepper spray. 

No, Winnie does not enjoy long car journeys.

As always, I apologize to anyone over the age of 49 reading my work; the fact that you’re still here after a year of understanding a fraction of my cultural references says a lot about your resilience and keep-calm-and-carry-on attitude. When the revolution comes, you are the ones the other Baby Heads will turn to to learn practical skills like changing a tire, starting a fire, or how to not break down in tears when the tire inevitably falls off and the fire goes out.

A special thank you to all my paid subscribers. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re parting with money to read my work. I get such a kick out of it. I will promise to always be more entertaining than anything else you can buy for $5. If this Strategist article is anything to go by, that means I have to be more useful to you than a scrunchie, a 3-pack of Chapstick, or a 75-year anniversary Slinky.

In June, I announced that all proceeds from paid subscriptions would be donated to Everytown for Gun Safety and Black Lives Matter. Yesterday, I rounded up that number to a cool $300 and sent $150 to each charity.

This year, I’ll be choosing a new charity, likely one that helps Palestinian civilians. As I type, they are entering the 88th day of brutal military bombardment that has killed over 22,000 ordinary people.

8,000 children.

If the Baby Heads can’t stand up for the babies then I don’t know what we’re good for.

If you’ve made it this far, I have one request: please share your favorite essay of mine from 2023 with someone and recommend they become a paid subscriber. Not only will it help those less fortunate, but it will help me, also less fortunate than someone who doesn’t have the tragic personality defect of being desperate for attention.

Thank you so much for still being here. Wishing you all a happy and healthy 2024.

Love,

Katy Mac x

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