Opinion: Too Many Kyles
Remember that kid in second grade — the one who chewed with his mouth open and picked his nose using the graphite end of a №2 pencil? He was gross. Remember his name? Kyle Baker.
What about your neighbors’ cousin who lived with them the summer after sixth grade and kept switching out the eggs in your family’s chicken coop with dollar store Easter eggs? He was a Kyle, too. And you still remember his full name (Kyle Price) because every time your parents asked him to stop whatever super annoying thing he was doing, he’d smugly say, “It’s a free country, and I do what I want. If you want me to stop, that comes at a Price. A Kyle Price.” And then he snapped two finger guns with a shit-eating grin on his face and acted liked he just won a national debate championship or something. Fuck that Kyle.
Your two freshman roommates each dated different Kyles simultaneously, so you had to call them by their full names (Kyle Fisher and Kyle Foster) like a goddamn moron. Kyle Fisher was the one who stole Adderall from your prescription bottle… or was that Kyle Foster? No, Kyle Foster was the one who always waited to take a dump in your bathroom because his was “too gross to relax in,” and every time he was done he’d announce “that’ll clog the plumbing, boys!” to anyone in earshot.
How about Kyle Jackson, your annoying intern who goofed off at work all the time and mansplained Xerox to you (“It’s actually the name of a brand not a catch-all term, like how people incorrectly call all facial tissues ‘Kleenex’”), but you couldn’t do anything about it because he was the CEO’s nephew? Or that same Kyle Jackson, who was hired as your colleague without an official job description after his internship ended, but every time you tried to figure out what his role was he just told you he’s an “ideas guy.” Or that same Kyle Jackson again, who beat you out for the promotion and became your supervisor after only five months on the job and took credit for all your good ideas despite the fact that ideas were kind of his whole fucking thing? Or Kyle Jackson one last time, when he somberly explained to you that he was going to have to let you go because he thought your position would be a better fit for his buddy Matt from Delta Kappa Epsilon?
The creepiest waiter at your favorite restaurant is also named Kyle. He always introduces himself as “Kyle, your happiness consultant this evening.” And if you need anything at all — “a refill, a first fill, or even just some good vibes” — don’t hesitate to let him know so he can “flash you the ole Kyle Smile.” Ugh. Revolting. Go away, Kyle.
Has there ever been a good Kyle, really? The jury’s still out. Kyle Richards doesn’t seem like the absolute worst, but he’s probably only tolerable from a distance. Kyle MacLachlan is fine, but he kept liking Michael Bloomberg’s tweets back when Bloomberg was still in the 2020 Democratic primary, so he’s not a Kyle worth defending.
Find me one good Kyle. Just one! You can’t do it.
The world is filled with perfectly acceptable Adams and Nicks and Ethans and Maxes and Gregs. But Kyles — in this economy? Get outta here with that shit! Not a-one worth keeping.