The term “(Lincoln Park) Trixie” is by no means meant to be any form of compliment.
But holy hell, the definition just seems to fit.
I’m from an affluent northwestern Chicago suburb. I attended a Big Ten university and while I avoided the Greek system, I definitely learned my way around a bender or two. I work downtown in marketing, and the baristas who work in the Starbucks in my building know my order (grande nonfat white mocha with whip) when they see me walk through the door. My collection of designer things (jeans, purses, shoes, sunglasses) is ever-growing and if i could afford to live in Lincoln Park, I most certainly would, because it is goddamn beautiful.
Give me a few more years, a greystone condo, a new Gucci, a Chad on my arm and a new Audi, and I’ll be good to go. Hell, the only reason I’m not that now is because I can’t afford it. And with this whole “moving” thing and “buying furniture” thing and “rent” and “utilities” things, I won’t be able to afford it for quite a while.
…Maybe I should find myself a Sugar Chad.
Send me a pic, girl, I pull down major bank. If you’re hot enough I’ll let you roll with the Chadster.
If I turn you down, try to get over it, and find three girls to share a 2BR apt in the heart of LP. Living in LP any way you can is half the battle. I’ll let you buy me a drink at Kincade’s.
One problem, Miss Fancy, you love your beer. And ribs. And whip on your grande mocha whatever. You may not live in LP, but I bet you out-class those Trixies in personality and style.