Welcome to Ad Hoc
The first letter!
I began taking Latin in sixth grade. The first real text we translated was De Bello Gallico, Julius Caesar’s personal account of his Gallic conquests. His voice was haughty and literal. He referred to impromptu shelters and rousing speeches as ad hoc, which translates to for this purpose. Never pre-meditated, always filling a specific need.
At my high school, there was a twenty minute block embedded into our schedule with the same name. Ad hoc was for teacher meetings, snack-grabbing, printing and stapling, gossiping on the couches. This mid-morning break was my favorite part of the day—too short to do real work, long enough to savor. I rarely use the phrase now, but I think about it all the time. It can shrink or expand. It is hyper-specific and constantly in flux.
I think well-roundedness is deeply under-appreciated at a place like Yale where everyone has claimed a superpower, and versatility implies mediocrity (I am good at many things, but not exceptional at any). I think clinging onto that “spiky” thing that may or may not have gotten us into college is silly and limiting. The most special parts of Yale are the ones I couldn’t have anticipated: learning and teaching CS, selling birthday cakes, distance running, hair tinseling…etc. All of this is ad hoc!
This letter will be my attempt to keep a record of what I’m currently consuming and creating and fixated on. Each installment will turn ADHOC into an acronym. The words will differ, but if I like certain categories I may recycle them. I want to include my friends and their words as much as possible. I hope it makes you think or gets you to try something new.
Let’s begin! Ahhhhh.
The author
of my favorite business/pop culture newsletter, , puts a selfie at the start of each letter. She thinks it contributes to the character she’s trying to cultivate. So here’s me on the Metro North as I type this for you! A good luck charm?A: Addicted to
I’ve gained all of my beauty knowledge from the internet. The 2010’s gurus taught me how to do makeup and drilled in the importance of sunscreen. Under their guidance, I concealed my pre-pubescent pimples (as the only fifth grader with breakouts) and tweezed my eyebrows for the first time.
This year I’m pivoting to hair. I was born with jet black, thick, straight hair. In seventh grade I dip-dyed it for the first time. Then I got highlights that turned brassy no matter how much purple shampoo I used. During Covid, I cut my own bangs (horrible) and bleached the inner portion of my hair (passable). After rotating through silver, pink, blue, and blonde, I box-dyed it black again. I grew out my bangs. Now I am committed to getting my virgin hair back.
For the past couple weeks, I have been using this hair mask from Gisou that is infused with honey and supposed to make your hair shiny and smooth. I like it so far. I bought a hair oil in Japan that claims to be a magic blend of 16 different substances. I started to blow dry my hair with a brush, but I am still terrible at it.
I go back and forth on the validity of self-optimization and how much time and energy we should actually be putting into our appearances. My stance right now is that we’re all probably a bit vain, and if something superficial makes you feel good, just do it.
D: Doing
I used to think running 26 miles was impossible. Now my feed is flooded with content of regular people training for the marathon, documenting their routes and paces and training schedules. Strava has become a mini Instagram. Central Park is flocked with runners every time I go home.
I used to run track in high school and associated the sport with shin splits, shouting, and embracing pain for the sake of progress. Now I have a different attitude. Running can be social, relaxed, low-pressure. I like how clear my mind feels after a morning run. I like rinsing the sweat out of my hair. My friends and I have started running every Thursday morning and signed up for a 5k in March. Last week we all ran 9 miles and it felt supernatural. Today we went to the beach and stood on the pier.
H: Hating
One of my resolutions was to eliminate digital clutter from my life. I had 90,000 emails before I marked them all as read. I unsubscribed from retail mailing lists and newsletters I never open. I set an hour limit on social media, which I sometimes ignore, but videos like this make it easier because I want to crawl in a hole and never open brain rot TikTok again.
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She claims that if you’re a girl and you think you don’t have any hobbies, you’re wrong. Grabbing a little treat, hot girl walks, skincare routines, and online shopping all count as “girl hobbies.” This take honestly infuriates me because I practice and find a lot of joy in all of the “hobbies” on her list, but I have never characterized them as such. I think it’s belittling to tell women that all they need to do is socialize or spend money or internet-stalk potential love interests to be content. Also, it’s only white women who get to claim girl math or girl hobbies or girl dinner consequence-free. Women of color aren’t afforded that luxury. Nara Smith, the impossibly beautiful 22-year-old mother of three and wife to Lucky Blue Smith, posts videos where she cooks luxurious, organic food and gets her children ready for school. Despite her innocuous content, her comments are filled with hate, calling her delusional and satanic and idiotic for surrendering the freedom of her early twenties and submitting to the role of homemaker. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Nara is Black…how many white women do the exact same thing and get called aspirational?
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Anyway, I think everyone should have hobbies. They help with stress. It’s rewarding to practice and get better at something. Here are some hobbies I enjoy: running, cooking, baking, photography, reading, thrifting, biking, drawing, crosswords, journaling, pilates, yoga, reddit surfing…
O: Opinion
Hating Valentine’s Day only hurts yourself. It’s fun!!!!!!
C: Consuming
This weekend, I finished the novel Commonwealth by Ann Patchett. I didn’t read nearly enough books in 2023 (maybe four or five?) and one of my goals for this year is to always be reading something. The book is about two families who become intertwined after two of the adults meet at a party and start an extramarital affair. Their six children shuffle between houses. The older five sedate the youngest boy with Benadryl whenever he irritates them. The pace moves quickly—the children become adults between chapter breaks. In her late twenties, Franny, one of the daughters, meets a famous author at her bartending job, they start dating, and he writes a bestselling novel about her family. His book is also titled Commonwealth, and Franny hates it (obviously). Recently, I have felt most affected by stories about the lives of ordinary people, characters that feel like versions of people I know in real life. When I saw Wonka last month, I was delighted the entire time, but I was hyperaware of its fiction. When I watched Past Lives in theaters last July, I saw myself and my family in it, and I cried in the car on the way home.
Thanks for reading all the way through! Friend features will start next letter. Text me or email me if you want to be included. I may also just badger you…
Me: Zack, do you want to be quoted in my substack?
Zack: Honestly no.
See you next week!