So some alarmist study went and ranked states on their chances of surviving a zombie apocalypse  and surprise, surprise, New York didn’t snag gold. The Empire State limped in at fifth, which apparently proves that even our legion of gritty, resilient New Yorkers wouldn’t stop the undead from spending a very long weekend here. Cue the collective gasp. Cue the Instagram memes. Cue the mayor drafting a very stylish emergency decree in 280 characters.

Do I buy it? Not entirely. Do I respect the ritual of panicking appropriately? Sure. But let me tell you why the findings make me half-laugh, half-sigh and mostly reach for my three “go big” bags with calm, stubborn pride.

First: it’s a ridiculous thought experiment and also deliciously revealing. These studies are equal parts survivalist fantasy and social psychology quiz. They tell us more about what we value (space! supplies! self-reliance!) than they do about how the undead would actually fare in a subway during rush hour.

Second: I am prepared.
Not in a paranoid, basement-bunker-lights-on way, but in a sensible, decade-habit kind of way:

Three go-bags. Because one is for the car, one for the office, and one probably doubles as my emergency party clutch.

Medications hoarded (read: responsibly maintained) over many years because chronic illness doesn’t respect plot twists.

Shelf-stable foods that have lived longer than some pop stars’ careers including canned corned beef, spam, beans. I can be classy and resourceful.

Cultural training via 28 Days Later and The Walking Dead, which counts as field research in the unofficial School of Apocalypse Studies.

Third: psychologically, prepping is comforting. There’s real meaning-making in small acts of readiness. In an uncertain world, organizing your meds and labeling your canned peaches gives the prefrontal cortex a hug. It’s not just about the zombies (fictional). It’s about control, competence, and not being the person who forgets the flashlight.

Now, a few things I won’t do: I won’t romanticize violence. I’ll also avoid giving any step-by-step zombie-slaying tutorials, because we’re not filming a survivalist how-to (and also, that’s weirdly specific). What I will do: advocate practical preparedness that applies to real emergencies such as natural disasters, power outages, supply-chain hiccups, and yes, hypothetical undead inconveniences.

So here are three totally sensible and non-apocalyptic tips from someone who’s been saving meds and canned goods like they’re sentimental heirlooms:

1. Rotate your supplies. Use what you store. Replace it. No one wants a vintage can of mystery stew.
2. Keep an up-to-date meds list and a single, easily reachable bag with essentials. Your future self will thank you.
3.  Build community. In any real disaster, your neighbors and networks are more valuable than the fanciest bug-out kit. Trade skills, share plans, and maybe swap recipes for canned corned beef casseroles.

Finally: if the zombies do come, New Yorkers will adapt. We’ll form queues that are somehow efficient, we’ll complain loudly about the lack of Wi-Fi, and we’ll still find a place to sell artisanal canned goods at a profit. Fifth place isn’t a prophecy.  It’s a punchline.

Me? I’ll be in my third go-bag, eating a Spam sandwich, humming a show tune, and waiting politely for the apocalypse to get its paperwork in order.