the feeling you get when you see one of your peers in glossy-paged press (Vanity Fair, New York Times Magazine, New York Magazine, The New Yorker)? What’s the word for this? It’s like Schadenfreude for yourself, a mix of self-pity and self-derision for not having the foresight to produce satirical internet videos in the early-aught era, or learned to play the bass guitar, or said something memorably snarky about Tinsley Mortimer within close proximity to a tabloid reporter. What were you doing all this time? Just formulating opinions and holding them in your mouth like lozenges.