I am Aperol Spritz

Some people will hate you. Some people will love you. You might as well just be who you are.

Recently, one of my friends sent an Instagram post to our friend group chat that said:

Which spritz are you?
Limoncello: young, fun!
Aperol: sunny, party-loving, gossipy!
Campari: more mature, wise
Hugo: elegant, classy
Cynar: more unconventional, alternative!

Naturally, that turned into a discussion of which friend matched which drink best. For me, clearly, there was no doubt.

“And me?”
“I knew you were going to ask: you’re Aperol, no doubt.”
“Renata Aperol”
“Like, Renata is clearly Aperol”
“Renata, there’s no doubt who you are”
“The only certainty is Renata Aperol 😂”
“Her branding is strong.”

Sunny.
Party-loving.
Gossipy.

And honestly? Fair.

Because those are all characteristics that make me who I am. Some people like them. Some people hate them. Some people do not exactly hate them, but they also do not want them around too much because, to them, it all feels like a bit much.

Which, if we are being honest, is also how people feel about Aperol Spritz itself.

Not everyone likes it. Some people think it is too bitter. Some think it is too sour. Some think it is too sweet. For me, it is the perfect mix.

And I think people are like that too. What feels like too much for one person feels exactly right for another.

One of my best friends did the Camino de Santiago and brought me an “Aperol Spritz” shirt.

I also have a matching Aperol necklace with a friend. At this point, it has become less of a drink preference and more of a full identity. Apparently, my branding really is that strong.

And I get it.

I do not think I am naturally shy. I was never the shy kid growing up. Quite the opposite, actually. I loved the spotlight. I was the kid who loved solving math equations on the board for the sole reason of being up there in front of everyone. I loved the reading out loud part in class. I did dance and theater because I loved being on stage. I could talk to just about anybody, and I usually did. As a child, I spoke to strangers so easily that my parents genuinely worried someone might try to kidnap me.

That openness used to come very naturally to me.

Then, as I got older, came criticism.

Some “shut the fuck ups.” Some “you’re so annoying.” And especially the criticism aimed at the things I loved doing in public but was not especially good at. Why go to the board to solve a math problem if I could not solve all of them? Why read out loud when I often stumbled over my words? Why sing and dance when I was out of pitch and too stiff?

There is something people really dislike about visible enthusiasm when it is not paired with visible excellence. They do not love confidence before mastery or love joy that is messy. They definitely do not love someone doing something publicly just because she enjoys it.

And that kind of criticism gets inside you.

It definitely got inside of me. It made me more careful. More self-conscious. More aware of how much space I was taking up, how loud my laugh is, how noticeable I am.

But even now, I still get glimpses of the very extroverted girl I used to be.

In hostels, for example, where I know no one, have nothing to lose, and will not stay long enough for anyone’s opinion of me to matter, I become her again. I talk to everybody. I am louder, funnier, more spontaneous, more shamelessly myself. And if they hate me, whatever. I probably will not see them again anyway.

That realization is a little sad. It is also a bit hopeful.

Because it means she is still there.

And maybe that is part of why the Aperol thing hit me the way it did. Aperol is bright. Bright orange. It is the kind of drink people immediately have an opinion on. You are either into it or you are not.

That feels familiar.

Sunny, party-loving, gossipy.

Sunny, to me, means warm. Open. A person who brings energy into a room. A person who likes people. A person who likes life.

Party-loving also feels true. I do love going out. It makes me feel free and fun. I love feeling free and fun. I love dancing, especially with my friends. I love being young, hearing music, and dancing. Especially with an Aperol in hand.

And then there is gossipy.

That one made me laugh because, yes, I do love information. I am also not someone who just lets things go. If I think you are mad at me, I will ask you and just about everyone around us why. I do not usually gossip about people’s private business, but I absolutely gossip about public information. Especially if that public information is about me. Then boy, you will hear about it.

I hate leaving knots untied. If something is bothering me, or if I think something is bothering you, or if for some reason we are not seeing eye to eye, you will hear from me until every stone is unturned and there is literally nothing else to say.

Maybe that is part gossip, part anxiety, part curiosity, part intensity. Probably all of the above.

But it is also just me. Some people will love that about me, and some people will really, really not.

And honestly, fair enough.

I am not for everyone.

I think a lot of growing up is realizing that being widely acceptable is a terrible goal. I would rather be recognizable than universally palatable.

Some people will hate you. Some people will love you. You might as well just be who you are.

For me, that means being someone who loves dancing and friends and stories and attention and long conversations and overanalyzing every social interaction until there is absolutely nothing left to analyze.

And I am very grateful for my friends. The friends I can be loud with. The friends who laugh and call me “Renata Aperol”. The friends who love me because of my personality. That is what matters in the end.

There will always be people who prefer something quieter, cooler, less talkative, and less emotionally loud. Good for them.

They can order Campari.

As for me, I am Aperol Spritz.