Whatever your pandemic experience was, it’s safe to say that you didn’t see this coming. Honestly, outside of a select few (e.g., Bill Gates, who, in a 2015 TED Talk, stated that many governments were woefully underprepared for a virus seizing the world), most of us were too consumed with our day-to-day responsibilities to ponder potential doomsday scenarios. But another reason that the coronavirus so totally and utterly blindsided many of us is because it happened in 2020. This shit wasn’t supposed to happen then! COVID-19 showing up and cancelling 2020 felt much more significant than it would in any other year.
I mean, c’mon! Astrologists and numerologists basically alluded to everything being amazing in 2020! Dreams were supposed to come true! Resolutions were supposed to be upheld! Did I lose some of you with “astrologists and numerologists”? Yeah, I figured, but hear me out.
According to many numerologists, the number twenty suggests transformation and an improvement upon what came before. This tracks, as 2020 was an election year. And with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change coming to the conclusion that we have ten years to halve carbon emissions in order to avoid an irreparable climate catastrophe, the 2020 elections were all the more important. Honestly, if we didn’t buy into the 2020 of it all based on that alone, we would’ve been fools.
But there’s more. Numerologists believing that the number twenty leads to a happy development that could involve a spiritual awakening? Sign me up. Astrologers suggesting to cut out distractions and get more involved in the community? Cool, I’ll do a better job of refolding sweaters after trying them on in Free People, instead of leaving them in tiny piles for other customers to rummage through.
The intuitive consultant Mary Shannon broke down the Universal Year number (4, because 2 + 0 + 2 + 0 = 4) in an interview with Refinery29 with the following: “4 Years tend to be relatively stable and have a comfy-cozy homey vibe to them. They are characterized as a time of reflection after the growth that generally occurs with a 3 Year (aka 2019).” Well, you’d best believe I’m wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt with a zit patch on my face and a blanket around my manicured toes because I was going to be comfortable AF in 2020. Matter of fact, 2020, what else did you have in store?! I was ready to handle it!
But even if I hadn’t been lulled into a false sense of security by numerology, based on everything we were told leading up to 2020, I still would’ve felt it was going to be a special year in all the right ways. Like, I legit thought my 2020 was going to be me standing butt-ass naked in the streets of New York à la Alanis Morissette in her “Thank U” music video and expressing gratitude for all the goodness the year had brought me: “Thank you, Brooklyn / Thank you, Peloton / Thank you, thank you, Sweeeeeeetgreeeeeen.” I mean, I had the whole acceptance speech ready to deliver on December 31, 2020, to my boyfriend, while our muted TV showed Ciara doing the “1, 2 Step” on “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest 2021.” Clearly, I was naïve.
It was kind of like in 2015 when Eyebrow Zaddy a.k.a. Michael Keaton won the Golden Globe for “Birdman” and was the presumptive front-runner to win the Oscar for best actor. Instead, Eddie Redmayne’s name was called and the camera caught Keaton tucking his acceptance speech back inside his tuxedo jacket. The world was robbed of his words and I think about that often. Probably not more than Keaton does, but I’m sure a close second. Anyway, I know I didn’t achieve any of the things I set out to in 2020—so many of us didn’t—but I do have the whole speech written and tucked away somewhere for safekeeping, so it seems like a waste not to—oh, are you sure you don’t mind hearing it? Only if it’s not too much of an imposition. Oh, jeez, I’m not prepared. [Immediately pulls out folded-up piece of paper from slit in bra where a gel insert should be.] Thank you so much, dear reader! O.K. Here goes.
Phoebe Robinson’s “2020 Was My Year” Acceptance Speech
Wait! Let me set the scene first: I’m stunned to hear my name. After looking around (there’s no one else in the living room except my boyfriend, British Baekoff, but damn if I’m not going to milk this moment), I mouth “Oh, my God,” then kiss B.B. I stand up from my West Elm couch. I’m wearing an Ankara head wrap, p.j.’s, and period-stained undies, because why stop doing the things that helped me get to this point? I make my way to the TV, air-kissing an imaginary Kerry Washington as she hands me an imaginary award. I look at it, inhaling deeply.
“I can’t believe it. Oh, my gosh. This is too . . . I mean, who could’ve imagined that a little Black girl from Cleveland, Ohio, would be standing in front of you. Wow. O.K. Of course, I’d like to thank my fellow-nominees: Reset Passwords Because I Forgot the Old Ones, My Determination to Eat Cheese in Public Despite Being Lactose Intolerant, My Hair-Style That I Managed Not to Sweat Out After Bone-Bones with Bae, Meryl Streep (because when is she not nominated), and Imposter Syndrome. All your performances this year were impeccable. [Cut to meme of Meryl Streep from 2015 Oscars clapping and pointing at stage from her seat.]
“My 2020 wouldn’t have been what it was if it weren’t for everyone who attended the final dates of my ‘Sorry, Harriet Tubman’ standup tour, especially those who confused me for literally any other Black woman who works in Hollywood. Maybe Alfre Woodard does have a tight hour-long set on her boyfriend’s uncircumcised penis and living in New York City, but do you think she drank an Ensure to get out of bed and perform for a hundred and fifty people noshing on chicken wings in Sacramento? Still, this was my first solo tour, so despite the occasional audience confusion about who I was I will cherish it forever.
“I’d also like to thank Duolingo, because without you I wouldn’t be able to butcher Spanish when calling Oaxaca Taqueria to place a dinner order—“Meh gustaría TRES carNAY Aah Sah Dahs, por favor”—and then lie and say my name is Karen.
“Mother Naytch, I used to treat you like you weren’t much more than what I experience while waiting outside for the Lyft ride I definitely should have called fifteen minutes earlier, but since I didn’t I will totally blame the driver for not ‘Tokyo Drift’-ing in a school zone so that I could get to work on time. I was wrong, and thank you for opening my eyes. This year, I went on five hikes, a.k.a. waddling my melodramatic self over some autumnal leaves. And I did it all while wearing a fringe fanny pack, booty shorts, a Target tank top, and Sorel hiking boots, a look I call Silicone-Free Tomb Raider meets Shopbop Fashion Week.
“Many thanks to Aldo’s jewelry line, because I was able to fool many into thinking I was iced-out in diamonds when I was room temp in cube zircones.
