Who Is Ivy Astrix?

A little bit of indulgence for Friday.

Hello friends!!!

More embarassing Clubhouse history should be out on Monday. We’ll be naming names, and inducing shame. Which prominent Democrat just couldn’t handle ‘bring the silly back’? When exactly did Clubhouse become a playground for self-professed epicenters of clout? MONDAY MONDAY MONDAY.

For now, a short little bit of self indulgence for me. There’s a point in transition where we really let go of our former selves and let our post-puberty 2.0 flags fly. I am far from there yet, so I thought I would write a brief synopsis of what the real Ivy Astrix might look like.

Who Is Ivy?

You, a normie, are at some kind of fancy event (Ivy is nothing if not a social butterfly). Perhaps the first irl Clubhouse convention. You look upon a sea of green moderator badges. You might see, out of the corner of your eye, Taylor Lorenz giving a statement to some Clubhouse correspondents about how she’s so happy no billionaire mayors are allowed at these events. Marc Andreesen is not present, but a16z illuminati are in force, so there will for sure be someone to misquote!

She steps out of an Uber, giving the driver a flirty parting smile. Out in front of the secret show mystery venue, those in the know are surprised to see her. That email from clout.club definitely went out, she wasn’t supposed to know about the party!

Some are milling about, smoking. Some tobacco, some cannabis, one or two might be cradling a DMT vape as they commune silently with ultra-terrestrials.

The Testflighter crew gives her a knowing smile, and Ivy winks back. The lone Magic School Bus party goer gives her a bit of a stare. Her fingers, tipped in sparkly purple HoloTaco find their way into the shape of an L on her forehead. The MSB bro is hurt, and briefly opens Clubhouse to complain to the Aprils.

She steps into the venue, and everyone gets a good look. Ivy’s hair, famous across Clubhouse, is somewhere between bright purple and a light lavender. Shaved on one side, it hangs to her chin on the other. Her makeup says dark punk, but not too loudly, as she is not ready for the afterhours club (yet). She has a black leather jacket on, adorned with only ‘Outgroup’ in bright red across the back. Ivy hands the jacket to the doorman, who attempts to notify her he doesn’t also get paid to do coat check, but she is far out of earshot before he utters his first syllable.

Her jacket dealt with, those that know Ivy and her WCW and Eric Bischoff obsession instantly know she’s arrived. Her torso is adorned with a t-shirt, tied off at the waist, with ‘nWo’ imprinted in the classic font. The lettering is purple, and the text of ‘New Witch Order’ directly underneath matches.

Her arm tattoos, tasteful yet bold are visible. She wears wet look black leggings, capped off with a pair of Demonia knee high boots. As she begins to get within eyesight of most of the crowd, she does her best female Eric Bischoff: She grins, points to her dimples, and then gives the crowd ‘The Guns’.

She gives a few Testflighters some hugs, despite some noticeable tension between her and those that straddle the Testflighter / Clubhouse Bluecheck gulf. She is cordial to all as always, sometimes breaking into a mischievous grin. She glances over at the Clubhouse HQ section: They have definitely seen her, and are not calling security yet, so things are still looking good.

The Woke Clubhouse contingent is sending some eye-daggers her way. She never acknowledges them, but smiles a knowing smile as she goes for her first drink of the evening. In a mood to get white girl wasted, she asks to see the wines.

Ivy gets impatient and just goes for a Sangria. She pulls her ID and cash out of her handbag. It is black and witchy, and the bartender asks her as to its origin. She replies with ‘Oh, I got it at a festival. It’s okay, you probably don’t even know about it.

Ivy then ponders her options: Make a peace offering to Clubhouse HQ, and maybe remind Paul about that time he visited the ‘Missionary is the best sex position: Change my mind’ room? Sleaze her way into the Bluecheck section and deliver some witty repartee that may or may not earn her a New York Times hitpiece?

None of these, of course, are adequate. She finds her people, the Fuck It Friday group. Marlena is in the midst of a bit, and as Ivy saunters by, she opens in the only way possible: ‘Is this a bit?

Ivy whispers ‘I apologize in advance, I’m for sure getting white girl wasted tonight.’ Marlena gives one of her recognizably loud laughs, and assures Ivy she wouldn’t have it any other way. Ivy then hugs her FiF partners in crime, and launches into flirty conversation before dropping some drug testing facts (just in case).

The rest of this tale is yet to be written, but is destined to be continued.

See you Monday!