Breaking Mews: The Cat-astrophic Creation of a Feline Media Mogul (Copy)
Welcome, You Touch-Starved Ghouls of the Internet.
Do you ever look at a friendly, oozing, vaguely moist eyeball and think: “Yes. That’s who I trust to hug me and maybe fix my printer?” No? Just me?
Well buckle up, you emotionally dehydrated weirdos, because today we’re going full optometrist on acid. The image you see above isn't just art. It’s not even just a sticker. It’s a lifestyle certification for the deranged few who’ve trained, failed, and eventually passed the Winkatchoo Provisional Wink Exam. (Don't ask how many eyes were harmed.)
Let me now take you behind the retina… I mean, scenes… of how the Certified Wink Specialist: Hugs Preferred badge was birthed from my deeply fractured subconscious.
The Birth of the Eyeball Hugger (A Winkatchoo Cautionary Tale)
Let me paint the picture with a soggy brush.
It was a Tuesday. A deeply cursed Tuesday. My coffee had the texture of betrayal and my inspiration was coming exclusively from expired motivational memes and late-stage raccoon videos. I was trying to design something comforting yet uncomfortably biological. You know, like if a Care Bear and a diseased grape had a baby and named it Gary.
In a burst of genius—or possibly a carbon monoxide leak—I found myself sketching an eyeball. Not a normal eyeball, oh no. This one was sentient, mildly flirty, and very much shaped like it had opinions on how you hold chopsticks.
And the first words it whispered to me in the quiet of my delirium?
“Certified. Wink. Specialist. Hugs... preferred.”
Like a goddamn oracle.
I blinked. It winked back.
The Wink Exam (Totally Real, Not Made Up, Please Don’t Sue)
People always ask me, “Dear Chaos, how does one become a Certified Wink Specialist?” And I always reply: “First, you need a rotisserie chicken, a llama with a secret, and a steady hand.”
The Wink Exam consists of the following:
Sustained Eyeball Contact with Yourself in a Mirror (until the room spins or your ancestors tap out).
Three Forced Winks at a Passing Stranger (bonus points if you get a hug, arrest, or a marriage proposal).
Verbal Defense of Hugs as a Primary Conflict Resolution Strategy (must use at least one obscure Greek philosopher and the phrase “tender violence”).
Most fail. Some ascend. All receive eye drops.
Side Effects May Include: Trust Issues and Moist Elation
Let’s be honest: hugging a creature whose sole feature is one colossal eye surrounded by vaguely veiny skin folds is not for the faint of heart. But it's for the right kind of heart—one that’s open to unconventional joy, visual contact-based intimacy, and possibly being absorbed into a hive mind of affectionate ocular organisms.
Critics (aka my landlord, an ex, and a sentient cheese wheel I keep for company) have questioned the artistic integrity of this piece. “Why the eye?” they ask. “Why the teeth?” “Why the insistence on hugging?”
To which I reply: Because you need it, Cheryl. We all do.
Creative Advice from a Certified Eyeball Therapist
Now, I know some of you are fellow artists, masochists, or both (hi, soul siblings). You want to know how to keep creating when your brain feels like a damp crouton and your confidence is held together with used band-aids.
Here are some terrible but weirdly effective tips:
Bribe your muse with cheese. Feta for poetry. Gouda for painting. Nothing for sculpture, they’re dead inside.
Start with the wrong tool. I once designed an entire series with a broken stylus and 2% visibility. Best work of my life.
Name your procrastination demon. Mine is Gerald. He smells like cinnamon and shame. I acknowledge him, give him a snack, and keep working.
Remember: your best art often comes from a place of chaos, confusion, and leftover breakfast burritos.
📦 “How to Sell Weird Art Online” (Step 1: Embrace the Niche of the Eyeball Embrace)
You want to sell weird art? Good.
Be weirder than the algorithm. Confuse your audience. Alarm your enemies. Hug your market niche and whisper softly, “It’s just you and me now, baby.”
This very sticker (available on my shop, of course) is a perfect example of dark humor design that shouldn’t work, but it does. Why? Because it speaks directly to that part of the human condition that screams: “I want love, but I also want to be just a little creeped out while receiving it.”
That’s called emotional seasoning, and I serve it generously.
🧠 Final Thoughts from the Eyeball Oracle
In a world full of cold shoulders and dry handshakes, be the thing that stares deep into someone’s soul and says:
“Certified. Wink. Specialist. Hugs preferred.”
And if you’re not certified yet, that’s okay. Print this out. Tape it to your face. Wink at the moon and make it official.
Because at the end of the day, we’re all just oozing meat machines trying to find meaning in the glint of a single, juicy eye.
Stay chaotic. Stay hugged. Stay weird.
💋
–Winkatchoo
