Everyone remembers and loves "Daria," the classic animated show that perfectly captured the trials, tribulations and (numerous) eye-rolls of life as an outsider high schooler, but have you ever wondered whether you might actually be Daria?
Every clique can have a couple of Quinns, a gaggle of Brittanys, and even an old-fashioned Trent or two, but it's common knowledge that there can only be one Daria.
So, how do you figure out if you're the Daria or -- gasp -- the Upchuck? This handy-dandy GIFsticle should help. Oh, and by the way? You're welcome.
You are picked last for literally every physical activity.
The only thing better than playing sports is never, ever playing sports.
Everyone knows they can open up to you without judgment.
Well, outward judgment, at least. You're secure enough in yourself to listen with an open mind when your friends need you, but you're also just a little bit too chill to get caught up in their personal drama.
... But you really only want to talk to one person.
Some people love to have large groups of friendly acquaintances, which is fine. You, however, love to kick it with your one and only BFFL, who often feels like the only other sane citizen of this here planet Earth.
You're great at school, pretty much without effort.
You're not exactly Ms. (or Mr.) raise your hand to shout out the answer, but you always come home with a solid test score.
You've found a signature look, and see nothing wrong with sticking to it.
Combat boots are much more comfortable than pumps and look a whole lot cooler than sneakers. Case closed. That's what you're wearing.
You'd much rather be home with your stories than out with the gang.
The weirder the story, the better. Every true Daria realizes that binge time with "Doctor Who"/"Black Mirror"/"Orphan Black"/"Sick Sad World" is far superior to hitting up that boozy high school party. Especially if Brittany and Kevin will be there.
You're the only one not trying to make it with the popular kids.
You seem to be the only one who realizes that none of this popularity garbage will matter when you're out in the "real world." Good for you.
You're no one's babysitter.
Grubby hands and high levels of energy? No. Just no.
You have a way with words.
Political correctness is so '90s.
Admitting that you have actual feelings doesn't come easy.
If you have a tragic flaw, it's that opening up to people and admitting you have feelings is harder than completing the cinnamon challenge. Getting hurt just doesn't sound like fun, so you sometimes hold things in to your own detriment. (But it's okay, they have therapists for that.)
Interacting with the Normals around you takes all of your energy.
Every hour of hanging out with randoms requires a three hour nap.
You understand that cheese on bread fixes everything.
No-carb diet? No thank you.
... And you make plans with cheese on bread on a daily basis.
It's on the food pyramid, so it counts.
You suspect you might have been adopted.
Just because you love your family doesn't mean you necessarily like them all of the time.
Your alarm clock is also your worst nightmare.
Seriously, what monster decided that 6:30 a.m. was an acceptable awake time?
You understand the pitfalls of optimism.
You're a realist, OK? Don't let anybody tell you that's bad.
And finally -- most importantly -- you've nailed that signature monotone.
Inflection is for the birds.