Tag Yourself (I'm A Maggie): A 'Tea With The Dames' Taxonomy
Humanity loves nothing more than sorting itself into tidy slots. We do it blithely, ceaselessly, unthinkingly, and then we cling, white-knuckled, to whatever it is we manage to convince ourselves those self-selected categories have to say about us.
Zodiac signs, Myers-Briggs profiles, favorite sports teams — they're all just fumbling attempts to satisfy, for ourselves and for those around us, the one driving hunger that preoccupies us, that fuels us, that we strive daily, and in vain, to get a handle on: The need to know, definitively, who we are. What we're like.
For reasons best left to anthropologists, we as a species seem particularly fond of the four-part taxonomy. Perhaps we take our cue from the natural world:
Earth, Air, Fire, Water
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter
North, South, East, West
The ancients figured the best way to understand what today we call personality types was to look to bodily fluids, because they were, as a people, just hella gross: Black bile (melancholic),
