You ever have a week where life body-slams you like it’s WrestleMania ’98 and you didn’t even know you were booked for the match?
Bills side-eyeing you from the counter.
Your knee still hurting from slipping on that invisible patch of ice.
Your bank account whispering, “Be humble.”
And yet.
You’re still here.
Still standing.
Still moisturized.
Still walking like the credits are about to roll in slow motion.
That’s not denial.
That’s Fucktorious.
🔥 Fucktorious
(fuck + victorious)
Definition: That chaotic win where everything around you is slightly on fire, your pride is mildly singed, your bank account is questionable — but you are still upright and unbothered.
It’s not the parade win.
It’s the “I survived the plot twist and still look composed” win.
It’s not flawless.
It’s survival with posture.
As in:
“Made it through the week. Fought three invisible battles. Blocked two people. Cried once. Still composed. Fucktorious.”
“Fell. Bruised my ego. Paid the bill late. Learned the lesson. Still elegant. Fucktorious.”
The Unfuckable Angle
The world sells highlight reels.
Corner offices.
Applause.
But real power?
It’s quiet.
It’s making it through chaos without announcing the war.
It’s channeling full 90s prime-time main-character energy — the kind who walks into the scene, surveys the damage, and adjusts her coat instead of panicking.
Being fucktorious means:
You survived the overdraft.
You survived the awkward conversation.
You survived the emotional ambush.
And you didn’t let it reduce you.
You walked through fire and came out structured.
That’s the win.
If this week tried you but didn’t break you, congratulations.
You’re fucktorious.
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What made you fucktorious this week?
🎧 New words drop daily @ 6AM.
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© Hawsé Sumi
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If the week tried to burn you but you still look impeccable — take the art home.
