She wore a crisp white Agnès B shirt and patent ballet pumps; I wore H&M elastic waisted trousers and the T-shirt I wore to the gym the day before.
The formulaic videos are set to the kind of acoustic crooning that makes my husband instantly switch the radio to Capital Dance and wow, are they earnest about their lost, hurting youthful selves and self-actualised current incarnations.
“I told her she’s full of purpose and has taught 10 million people to love themselves,” says another, and if you aren’t cringing your entire body inside out reading that, you’re probably not a gen X cynic.
Say I met my 20-year-old self – is it 1995, meaning weak filter in the hippy cafe with cakes that taste like horse food?
Because she may be naive, but no way would she agree to coffee with “your future self”.
