I do not consume John Jay cotton candy. John Jay cotton candy consumes me.

It has become clear to me that Columbia’s response to the inaccessibility of food on campus was Fluffy Stuff Cotton Candy in John Jay. When things got bad, they brought out the cotton candy. This campus has been running nearly exclusively on a whimsical culinary invention whose ingredients amount to sugar, flavors (artificial and natural, in that order), and colors (artificial only). It’s probably a good food for those of you with synesthesia, who are the only ones who can taste more than 66% of the ingredients. 

At first, I thought that Columbia was trying to sabotage its students, distracting us from institutional flaws by sending us into a campus-wide sugar fugue. I expected aching stomachs and blue-stained lips, students forced to quarantine due to cotton candy-related Red Passes. Upon taking my first bag home from John Jay, I started brainstorming what I would do with the rest of the sinful treat, because I figured that I would never finish a whole bag. I thought of giving it away, or throwing it away, but I ultimately decided not to be hasty. I needed to at least try it before I abandoned it. Once I was back in the solitude of my dorm room, I pulled a tuft of the delicate fairy floss out of the bag and placed it on my tongue. And in that moment, everything changed.

Maybe it’s the indoctrination, but Fluffy Stuff cotton candy has become an essential part of my life. It’s a fun food, and lately, I haven’t even needed to hang out with my friends or go to events. And who needs cotton mouth when you have cotton candy mouth? Fluffy Stuff will be the only recreational drug that you need. Fluffy Stuff will be the only thing you need at all.

Most of the time, I eat exclusively cotton candy, but in the rare moments when I venture out, I always like to add a few clumps into each dish. It makes me feel safe. I don’t need any spices or seasonings for my food anymore. Fluffy Stuff is salt, pepper, cumin, garlic, and oregano all in one. I can’t even swallow a spoonful of chili these days unless it has at least ten grams of cotton candy mixed in. It also makes a lovely little garnish (although that’s never enough for me.)

While it may be the most obvious one, food isn’t the only survival essential that has been replaced by cotton candy in my life. Water is a distant memory. I am never thirsty anymore, but when I desire liquid, I prefer to melt down cotton candy on the stove and drink it from a cheery mug. After my evening cotton cand-tea, I lay my head to rest on a pillow of cotton candy, housed inside of a beautifully insulated nineteenth-century townhouse constructed entirely of cotton candy (a surprisingly sturdy material). And what about air, you ask? Well, that’s a mighty silly question because since eating cotton candy, I have transcended beyond the need for air. It has left me nearly immortal. I can bury my face deep under a mountain of cotton candy for hours and still live. Some people would call this suffocation, but I call it love. NASA has already contacted me, expressing interest in sending me into the vacuum of space with nothing but a backpack full of Fluffy Stuff. All this for the cost of just one meal swipe at John Jay.

To those of you who might be thinking, Hey, maybe cotton candy should be more of a special-occasion-type-of-thing, I say, Do not test me. I say, Clearly you do not know how it feels to love deeply. I say, Please get away from me and my stately home of cotton candy and never come back. And then I don’t say anything else, because I’ve already blocked you and cracked open a fresh blue bag of Fluffy Stuff.

In fact, this very article was written while consuming the cavity-inducing clouds. My computer may be sticky and my body may feel sickly, but my mind is more alive than ever. I do not have a problem set due tomorrow … I am not a Columbia student … I am not human … I am simply Fluffy Stuff cotton candy … 

Cotton candy cavern via Bwog Staff