Despite my razor-sharp critical acumen, I’ve never received the recognition I know I deserve. After explaining the limitations of Beyoncé’s flawed feminism to my girlfriend’s book club, a wet tampon was adhered to the hood of my Jeep Cherokee. When I couldn’t bite my tongue over Breaking Bad’s myriad plot holes and published a Buzzfeed listicle about them, I had my admin privileges revoked in three separate subreddits. Each time I built up the courage to loudly deride a stranger’s favorite song or beloved novel, I was written off without so much as a thanks.

But now, after being overlooked and underestimated all my 25 years, I finally have an opportunity to demonstrate my superior pop culture insight. Once this damning Rotten Tomatoes review of Lady Bird goes live, the world will have no choice but to see me for the peerless genius I am.

After all, only a true visionary could disregard a film’s unanimous critical praise and explain in as many words as possible why every gushing think piece is “woefully misguided.” It’s like I possess some innate quality that allows me to see the technical imperfections in so-called masterpieces, to taste the unbalanced flavors in what anyone else would describe as a stellar five-course meal. And despite the overwhelming pushback I’ve faced from friends, family members, college professors, my zine’s editorial board, every girl I’ve ever dated, Sensei Cory, and my 37 WordPress followers, I’ve always stuck to my guns.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I might have been born with a gift for intuiting a filmmaker’s intentions, but I’ve had to work incredibly hard to nurture that gift. Writing such a dismissive review of Greta Gerwig’s coming-of-age tale was a real struggle, especially since I enjoyed the film and was genuinely moved by its performances. But I dug my intellectual heels in the ground and racked my brain for hours, eventually nitpicking a few minor details that I managed to blow up into irredeemable faults. Then all I had to do was commend Gerwig for her “admirable ambitions,” wax philosophical on the deteriorating corpse of modern cinema, and bam: I had the “rotten” rating I needed to pierce Lady Bird’s perfect Tomatometer score and prove my unrivaled brilliance once and for all.

I predict I’ll face a lot of heat for this, as I do for all my inflammatory opinions, but a few hundred Twitter digs is a small price to pay for that splattered tomato icon next to my sepia tone headshot. I’ve come too far and betrayed too many insecurities to turn back now. Soon all the sacrifice and threatening Goodreads comments will be worth it. It’s time to click submit and let this rambling half-star review usher me into a golden age of internet notoriety!

Take that, Sensei Cory.