A Petition to Dethrone Ice Cream as the Official Food of the Break-Up

When you think of a break-up, what do you think of? Jennifer Aniston standing naked in front of Vince Vaughn in an attempt to get him to move out of their apartment/be jealous? Misery, scorn and de-friending? Endless loops of Taylor Swift? More often than not, you see the same image in movies and TV depicting a break-up – a girl (or a boy, if you’re Robert Pattinson on Jon Stewart lamenting Kristen Stewart) with a pint of ice cream and smeared mascara.

It’s a movie mainstay, like the faux groceries in a bag in TV shows. They can never seem to get this right – like, in every bag brought home from the grocery store, there’s a baguette and a stalk of celery peeking out. It’s similar to the empty purse annoyance, when it’s clear an actress is holding the newest handbag but there is definitely not a tampon nor a wallet in there. I digress – when there’s a break-up, there’s the girl with a pint, tub, gallon, bathtub full of ice cream, crying and wallowing. She might be IN the bathtub with ice cream. Or in her pyjamas, which inevitably are ones with the sex appeal of Peewee Herman.

Swirls of Ben and Jerry’s, indiscriminate swaths of chocolate fudge and whipped cream. How did ice cream come to be the official food of breakups?

I find this considerably rude to other junk foods out there.

You have so many options, why limit yourself to a food group that you can’t leave out on the counter while tearing up photos or fielding another three-way call from two friends who are telling you you’re better off? To pull a Ross, it’s just too cold. I need Sensodyne. Let’s take a moment to consider other fantastic potential nominees for the Official Food of the Breakup.

Any Form of Fake Cheese.

There is nothing that screams “I am not interested in current nutrition but I do want to eat my feelings” like fake cheeze. It’s usually with a “z”, to denote something different from your fancy, smelly, spelled-so-wrong-but-tastes-so-right Bleu Cheese. I’m talking about Cheetos, whose neon orange discards glued to your fingers are both delicious and staining. Ritz Bitz, Eazy Cheeze. There’s something soothing about cheese flavoring. Maybe a Combos, the official snack of NASCAR, that will soothe your wounded soul and give you a daily dose of sodium.


I am getting specific here because blondies, the square-shaped cookie with the same baking process as it’s legitimate sister, the Brownie, is having an identity crisis. As are you. Are you a cookie? Are you a brownie? Are you ever going to find your night in shining Armani and ride off into the sunset with a fantastic mutual funds plan? Who knows. Maybe you’ll go all Miley Cyrus and chop off your hair. Maybe you’ll be like me and dye it neon pink. But the point is, you can be whatever you want now. You can be a cookie AND a brownie.


Pizza is normally reserved for post 1 am. I think you should try eating it sober to soothe your pain and feel a different kind of pain in heartburn. Double pepperoni. Though pizza can be deceiving, like your ex’s five-year-plan, because it will never, ever look like the delicious pizza in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (thanks for pointing this out, Jenna Marbles).

Anything You Were Never Allowed to Have As A Child.

For me, this was: Dunkaroos, Those Cheese Dip Snack Packs, and Cookie Crisp. Those pesky bank robber bandits are here to tell you you’re a grown ass woman who can eat cookie cereal for breakfast. You can eat poptarts until you puke. You’re a fucking adult. You’re in charge of your life. And you are going to paint your apartment, buy Fifty Shades of Sin, and become a new woman. Right after you finish swirling Easy Cheese on that Blondie.

Meredith Fineman is the founder and editor of TheFFJD & Girls Aren’t Funny. She is a publicist and writer living in Washington, DC with her parakeet named Ronald Reagan.

Need more Giggles?
Like us on Facebook!

Want more Giggles?
Sign up for our newsletter!