Can we finally just admit that we’re all crazy as fuck?

We tag each other in the memes, wear the twee “cute but psycho” enamel pins on our denim jackets, and cheer Beyonce on when she goes batshit on those cars with her Hot Sauce bat. So when it comes down to it, why do we always resist calling ourselves what we actually are?

We are all fucking crazy.

And it’s time we not only admit it, but embrace it. We’re crazy, way crazier than men, but it’s because we’re smarter, more wily — like a slick-ass fox.

You can’t sneak anything by us

Show me a girl who claims she can’t figure out exactly what her dude’s up to based on his Snap score and recent Spotify listens, and I’ll show you a liar. We’re the masters at spying, lurking, figuring shit out. You can’t play games with us because we fucking run game.

Because women are naturally more intuitive and empathetic (it’s science, look it up), we can pick up on subtle cues. That’s why when our boyfriends say they’re “busy” and “can’t come along to pick out baby clothes for the dog and then watch 34 hours of Bad Girls Club” with us but have spent the afternoon listening to The Weeknd’s Party Monster, we know he’s trying to fuck someone else. His phone’s locked with a fingerprint password? NBD, I’ll lay his finger on the screen when his ass is asleep. Your friend thinks her man is being unfaithful? It’s cool, just create an elaborately fake Twitter profile complete with paid-for followers and a month’s worth of backstory to Catfish his lying ass in the DMs. We always know what’s going on, and we can detect bullshit from a mile away. Time to lay the crazy traps and get started.

We’re discerning tastemakers

When we say we don’t care what movie we see, it’s a test to see how well he know us. I know that he knows deep down I would rather donate to the Trump 2020 reelection campaign than sit through the 47th Fast and the Furious installment, but I need a confirmation that he’s decent enough not to even suggest it. I care what movie we see — I care a fucking lot. I’m just trying to figure out if he’s worth ever seeing again.

Men mistake being indecisive with being psycho (they’re kind of right, but w/e) but it’s not a bad thing. We just know what we want and we’re not going to stop until he’s ran down the list of every single restaurant in the tristate area before deciding exactly which one we’ll let him take us to. This is why women dress so well but men think Adidas slides are acceptable to wear to their uncle’s funeral. We’ll lie in wait, ready to pounce, for the opportune moment/outfit/appetizer to appear before us. It’s why we’ll always get what we want.

We’re in great company

I mean, let’s just take a tour through the gallery of Iconic Crazy Bitches and tell me you don’t want to become one/all of them.

First, we have Mother Beyonce who literally made a multi-million-dollar, universally acclaimed album about going crazy on a man who’s wronged her. She took her crazy and turned it into art — and a fuck ton of money. Next, let’s stop to admire Fictional Crazy Bitch Amy Elliot Dunne from Gone Girl. She was so much smarter than her husband it was insane how they ever got together in the first place. She said it best when she scrawled in her diary, “I made him smarter. Sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams.” Finally, we come to the polarizing figure of one Taylor Swift (trademark Taylor Allison Swift Inc., 2017 all rights reserved, please don’t sue me) who forged an entire empire on seeking revenge like the mid-drift-bearing snake that she is. All iconic women, all total psychos. We’re in good company.

It’s ok to be crazy, to say that you’re fine when you’re so mad you could rip his face off, to insist that you don’t care where you eat only to hate everything he suggests — the guessing game is fun and it weeds out the scrubs unworthy of our time. Men forgive and forget, we forgive but never forget. And it’s why we’ll inherit the earth.