I strive every day to be unique. That said, I am a twenty-something sorority girl, and I do love sundresses, large t-shirts, cheap alcohol and my Lily planner. I say things like "totes" when I agree, "LOL" when something is only mildly funny, "I can't even" when I can and "literally" when I know I'm exaggerating.

Aside from all this, I like to think of myself as a passionate individual who is different than a basic party girl. I love backpacking and skiing more than boozing and Snapchatting. I would rather read Hemingway than get blacked out (unless that's with a bottle of wine while reading Hemingway or accidentally at happy hour). I would rather debate political legislation than who had the best outfit last night. I eat chips and salsa for four-out-of-five meals. I never sleep in. When I work out I look like a sweaty pig (not a hot Victoria's Secret model). I wear North Face, Patagonia and SmartWool and don't own anything Kate Spade, Michael Kors, or whoever else. I have naturally curly hair. I'm human. I hope that someday some exotic author writes a book about me and uses the word obscure, rather than perfect, popular or designer to describe me. So yes, in some ways I'm "basic," but in a lot of ways I'm just me.

I will attribute most of my srat lingo and uniform to my "basic" side, but I refuse to let my undying love and insatiable need for coffee be associated with basicness. It is a trend in college culture to refer to a woman who loves Starbucks as basic, but I am prepared to challenge that stereotype.

I am legitimately addicted to caffeine.
My every waking thought is about my first cup of coffee. I literally can't even (literally and can't even in one sentence — refer to paragraph one) get out of bed without bribing myself with a cup of coffee. I get in real fights with my boyfriend about how "if he really loved me" he would get out of bed first and turn on the coffee pot. At work I find excuses to go near the cafeteria and then stealthily buy a cup of coffee while I'm there. I have even traded coworkers with filing and shredding for a Keurig cup. If I skip my morning coffee by some (horrific) circumstance, I have a splitting headache that prevents me from functioning at all. And a majority of my credit card bill goes straight to Starbs (just ask my dad).

Starbucks has the best dark roast.
I (literally) can't (even) drink Dutch Bros, Dunkin' Donuts, McDonald's or whatever other kind of coffee and get the same caffeine high as I can from Starbs. Their dark roast may taste burnt to the non-acclimated tongue, but it provides the longest-lasting relief to my addiction.

It's consistent.
I can order the same drink at any time of the day in any place in the world and know exactly what I'm signing myself up for. I don't have to look stupid when I get to the register and don't know what to order or how to say what I'm trying to order. It's easy, and I don't think requesting simplicity and accuracy makes me a stupid teenage girl.

It's sophisticated.
Business men and women everywhere choose Starbucks. It's the perfect place to take a meeting, do business research, wear a fancy suit and make adult-sounding coffee orders (as opposed to "the annihilator"). Go anywhere off a college campus and Starbucks isn't bustling with stitching of letters and basic bitches, but of business men and women and professionals alike.

My best friend and I are united through our love for Starbs.
My best friend and I have had morning coffee dates for the last four years of our friendship. Every morning for the last two years, an hour before she has class (yes, I know her schedule), I go to her bed on the sleeping porch, and much to her distaste, stand there until she gets up. We go to the drive-through Starbucks rather than the on-campus Starbucks across the street so that we can enjoy each other's company on the drive, gossip about the intimate details of each other's love lives in private and not have to see another human being, let alone someone from another house who will judge us in our boyfriend's t-shirt, baggy sweats and last night's makeup. Aside from the barista, who knows our names and drinks by heart and doesn't judge our appearance because we spent fifty bucks a week there, it's girl time between me and her. During the warm months we both order a venti vanilla iced coffee with light cream and during the winter we order a grande non-fat caramel macchiato. I know how this sounds: basic sorority girls driving their cars their dad bought them to Starbucks to get their foo-foo latte. But she's my best friend and during these mornings we have hashed out every minute fight we have ever been in, talked about how ugly our ex-boyfriend's new girlfriends are, listen as one person cries over the asshole who broke her heart, talked about all the mean girls who only care about getting drunk (and really are basic), go through each other's flashcards to make sure one last time that our best friend will ace her exam and ultimately build an unbreakable bond. So, my love for Starbucks was intertwined with another person's love for Starbucks and that's how I met the girl who got me through every heartbreaking, exciting, monumental moment I have had since I met her.

So, please, by all means, order your McCafé, dutch freeze or your green tea in your organic, locally-roasted coffee shop, and let me drink my triple Venti soy three-pump sugar-free vanilla-latte with all the other basic bitches in the world in peace and with class.