If the goal of this cover was to make people blink twice and question every life choice that led them to this moment—mission accomplished.
Let’s start with the title. It comes at you like a fever dream. Lesbian Stalker Pet Trains Her Roommate’s Best Friend isn’t just a mouthful—it’s a full-blown choking hazard. The words tumble across the cover like someone threw magnetic poetry at a refrigerator and just rolled with whatever stuck.
Now, onto the design—or whatever unholy fusion of Canva chaos and late-night energy drink delirium birthed this monstrosity. The rainbow gradient background might’ve been aiming for “inclusive vibrance,” but what we got was more “My Little Pony has a migraine.” There’s zero contrast between background and text, leaving you squinting to decipher the pastel murder scene unfolding in front of you.
Speaking of murder scenes—let’s talk about that eye. Why is there a disembodied eyeball floating on the cover like it’s trying to escape? Was it meant to be symbolic? Menacing? It looks like a stock photo of someone regretting their eyelash extensions. And it’s just… there. Plastered on top of everything else like a rogue sticky note that no one had the heart to remove.
Then we have the real showstopper: the candy rope thigh harness. This central image is a confusing blend of suggestive and sophomore-year art project. The lighting is awkward, the model’s pose looks unsure, and the whole thing feels like it wandered out of an internet forum circa 2006 and never found its way home. There’s nothing professional or cohesive—just a lot of skin and some plastic candy ropes trying very hard to look like plot development.
Typography? Forget it. It’s the full spectrum of poor decisions: mismatched fonts, random sizes, and text that dances awkwardly across the cover like it’s trying to dodge responsibility. “Her Roommate’s Best Friend” gets the fancy cursive treatment, because apparently that was the part of the title that deserved elegance?
This cover is less “bookstore-ready” and more “arrested by the design police and sentenced to 30 days of aesthetic rehab.” It’s like someone tried to make a romance, a thriller, and a questionable how-to guide all at once—and forgot to ask a designer, editor, or literally anyone for help.
There’s bad, and then there’s so bad it becomes performance art. This one’s flirting with that line and then tying it in a knot with a rope made of pastel plastic beads.