If you’re a longtime reader of Style, you know this tune.

One of our most popular, recurring issues since the early days has been the “You’re Very Richmond If …” feature, which began in 1985 by asking readers to submit their thoughts on how to complete that sentence.

The contest tapped into those special, deep-down feelings Richmonders have for their beloved city – some good, some bad, some fun loving, some utterly flabbergasted. And it did so, usually, in a lighthearted way. Though times have indeed changed.

It’s been seven years since we last ran this feature and readers still regularly ask us: “When’s it coming back?” Well, here you go.

Note: A special shout-out goes to longtime reader Victor Gottlieb, a self-professed huge fan of “You’re Very Richmond If …” He sent us way more submissions than any other person (using many emails, we might add). But he had some good ones, so we decided to give him his own special little section of this feature: the first annual Victor Gottlieb category, or “Crown Vic” as I like to call to it. Thanks, Victor.

To everyone else, we hope you get a laugh or two.

Movers and shakers

You moved away from Richmond and still constantly talk about Richmond. – Wes McQuillen

You tried to move away but came back. – Tiffany Jana

If someone asks you, “How far away is that from here?” Your answer is always “about 20 minutes.” – Lauren Dunn

You still don’t know where the new location of the State Fair of Virginia is, even though it’s been held out there for over 10 years. – Juliette Highland

You moved here from NOVA. – Lauren Dunn

Food, glorious food

You think that a slice of salty country ham on a Ukrop’s White House roll is some sort of delicacy. – Dave Bishop

You can’t help but judge anyone with Hellman’s in their fridge. – Lauren Dunn

The mere mention of snow causes grocery stores to sell out of milk and bread within two hours. – Glynis Boyd Hughes

You mark the first day of summer not on Memorial Day, not on the summer solstice, but on the day you have your first Hanover tomato. – Gary L. Flake

You try to order a sailor sandwich in a real New York deli. – Andrew Hunt

Your favorite Thanksgiving tradition is to tell out-of-town relatives that in fact, the first Thanksgiving took place in Virginia, not at Plymouth. – Natalie Voss Nevills

You know rainbow cookies are always appropriate for any occasion. Kids’ parties, church luncheons, PTA meetings, weddings, funerals, divorce proceedings, car inspections, jury duty… Seriously. Any. Occasion. – Lauren Dunn

Your ham biscuits have no biscuits, they have White House rolls. – Lee Ann Newman

Your early 20s resume reads like a Fan food and wine tour. – Spencer Turner

Your idea of getting engaged in local issues is commenting in an RVA Craft Brew Facebook group. – Spencer Turner

You need to go to 3rd Street Diner for a fried doughnut as part of a late night out. – Audrey Kane

You complain about “big boxing” RVA while sitting on the downtown Whole Foods balcony eating brisket from the buffet. – Spencer Turner

You worked at a bar with someone who you now see at PTA meetings (most likely Buddy’s or Sidewalk) – Adrienne Kirkpatrick

Ahhh, memories

You remember when Southside was just Southside … not Manchester, Bellemeade, etc. Same with Church Hill. – Glynis Boyd Hughes

You remember when Short Pump Town Center was nothing more than a field used for weekend, nighttime keg parties. – Tony Farrell

You still call Dominion Vepco, you remember June Jubilee, you paid a nickel on the Nickel Bridge, and you’ve been to Station Break. – Apple Brown Betty

You liked the old Huguenot Bridge more than the new Huguenot Bridge. – Tony Farrell

You slept on the floor at the Science Museum under the T-Rex as a Girl/Boy Scout. – Jennifer Guild

You saw Dave Mathews at the Flood Zone. – Michelle Mayers

You’re idea of the “good ole days” involves collectively drinking from a bottle of warm malt liquor (preferably Olde E) in a brown paper bag down at the James River while walking barefoot through rebar, raw sewage overflow, nondescript potential “Unsolved Murders” evidence and the shards of broken bottles of Olde E, decked out in nothing but a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a lingering neck tan and some Rastafari beads you bought at Bohannon’s or Unicus that still smell of sandalwood, patchouli and cloves, with a light note of the Camel cigarette butts you’ve had in your pocket since June. – Spencer Turner

You refer to the Altria Theater as the Mosque, have more than two black/gray tattoos, and lose your mind when Avail starts talking about a reunion show. – Nina Marino

You can remember when Richmond had many peculiarities and actual things that made its denizens different instead of a NoVA lookalike, brewery-addled, ugly million dollar box condo, overpriced, gentrified mess none of [us] can afford to stay in or, ironically, leave because the surrounding counties are the same (but with slightly lower property taxes). – Lauren Delaney

You know it’s called Richmond and not RVA. – Taylor Sullivan

Driving and crying …

You think that having to use your car’s turn signals is a sign of government overreach. – Paula Margolis

You get mad when someone parks in front of your house on a public street. – Emmy Smith Ready

You can make a (legal) left-hand turn on Broad after Boulevard. – Beth Detreville

You are a tiny woman living off Grove Avenue and you get a 10,000 ton vehicle to carry your one child. – Cedric Giese

You keep forgetting that the Nickel Bridge doesn’t cost a nickel anymore. – Tony Farrell

You miss listening to Alden Aaroe and Millard the Mallard on WRVA. – Emmy Smith Ready

Assorted hits

Your style is inspired by the chef from “The Bear.” – Taylor Sullivan

You never, ever complain about the humidity.– Tony Farrell

You think there can never be too many azaleas in someone’s yard. – Tony Farrell

You never question why so many landmarks are named after Jefferson, who was not born here, did not die here, and whose main residence is a couple of hours away. – Natalie Voss Nevills

You have strong opinions about the demarcation of the Near West End. – Juliette Highland

Your Richmond accent sounds like somebody who just woke up from a nap. After coming home from the dentist. With a mouth full of novocaine. – Tony Farrell

You know someone who worked for Style Weekly. – Martha Anderson

You submit an item to this contest. – Billy Rice

***The First Annual Victor Gottlieb Section***

When you were a child, your folks read you “You’re Very Richmond If” entries instead of bedtime stories.

You participated in this contest over the past 40 years and you suddenly realized it’s trying to outlive you.

You have written and saved a stack of “Very Richmond If” entries for 10 years, for this moment, but none of them are relevant.

You’re a “Very Richmond If” super fan and when you die, you want your tombstone to read: “Very Richmond Stiff.”

You just learned about personal pronouns and yours is going to be: “Bubba.”

You named your fraternal twins “Nutzy” and “Nutasha.”

You think crop circles are evidence of alien monument removal.

You want to see VPM sponsor a “Very Richmond If” TV special.

You think Big Bird bought Style Weekly.

When you order pizza from Mary Angela’s, you can’t help but think about Maya Angelou.

You love Southern biscuits and corn muffins, but sometimes, you just want a piece of bread.

Your mayonnaise has a mascot named Tubby, but you don’t think it’s fattening.

For added pain protection, you eat a big serving of “numbing peppers” at Peter Chang’s before you go to the dentist.

You think bacon is a condiment.

You are excited about new job opportunities associated with a Richmond casino and you are learning how to impersonate Elvis.

You want your entries to convince Style Weekly that this contest has not become cliché and should be reinstated annually but all you can think of are Ukrop’s jokes.

You know this contest only comes around once every ten years and you’re checking the life expectancy tables to see if you’ll be here for the next one.

You’re dead, but your heirs are obligated to submit your leftover “Very Richmond If” entries from the last contest.

It’s nice to laugh, but for some, you know their “Very Richmond If” entry is also their epitaph.

EDITORIAL SUBMISSIONS

RVA all day

You’re aware of the fecal content of the James River, but it doesn’t stop you from swimming.

You once bought a rose from Dirt Woman and he leaned in and whispered that he’s having your baby.

You actually Google searched whether Richmond has flying squirrels.

You believe duct tape and WD-40 can pretty much fix anything.

You think we were better off before rotary phones.

You remember where you were when Gov. Ralph Northam attempted his moonwalk.

You have a relative with an accent that pronounces the words “enormous porpoises” as “ah-NAH-mus POH-poses.”

You’ve been to the vampire’s tomb in Hollywood at midnight.

You don’t remember any of the times you went to ODC after last call.

You get that warm feeling the first evening you see lightnin’ bugs glowing in the backyard, lookin’ for love.

You called your early cable box with the long tether to the TV “the clicker.” And you stuck toothpicks it to get free movie channels.

You spent all morning arguing on Facebook over long gone Confederate statues and whether removing them is “erasing history.”

Your addiction to Twitter has made it so you can’t read one page of a book without falling asleep.

A few times a day, you think these fragile, whiny kids today have it way too easy. Then you remember the planet is starting to combust and their future is a burning hellscape.

You moved to Colorado.

Fashion queens

You’re rebelling by not getting a tattoo.

You miss the simple days when your bowtie was a clear sign of your hatred for hippies.

When Need Supply closed, you panicked for a second, not knowing where you’d be able to find a basic, plain T-shirt for $120.

On Easter, your whole block in the Fan looks like a rejected ad for a J. Crew outlet.

You have an embarrassing early photo from Olan Mills where your head is like a looming planet above your tiny, discarded body.

You still don’t understand why kids these days think it looks cool to flash the middle finger in every photo. You blame Eminem.

You wear your pants so low and baggy that your girlfriend said it looks like you have a full diaper.

Your friend in San Francisco says it’s common knowledge that males from Richmond all look the same. They’re born wearing khaki pants – and they die in them.

You remember buying Duckheads at Bartleby’s when you were 12. But you would prefer not to.

Grub Love

You’re still in your feelings about Mamma Zu’s closing. Too soon to talk about it.

You think there should be more Corn Dog trucks that also sell cheap wine.

You once actually tried the line, “Life is like a Sally Bell box of upside-down cupcakes,” and the stranger ran away before you could finish.

You wonder what ever happened to those cute piglets on the old sign from Bill’s barbecue.

You think that white sauce is a traditional Tex-Mex condiment.

You get aroused by a heavy box of Ukrop’s fried chicken.

In high school, you got your fake ID at Checks Cashed In and, while you never used a fake name as stupid as McLovin – it was still plenty stupid.

You had a childhood birthday at Farrell’s Ice Cream shop over at Regency Mall and had the crap scared out of you by the sudden drum-beating, air-raid sirens and loud, demonic chanting of “It’s all for you, Damien.”

Your first underage experience with alcohol involved either: 1. Boone’s Farm, 2. Mickey’s (big mouth) fine malt liquor, or 3). Thunderbird fortified wine.

You worked at a Stuffy’s Sub shop during your worst acne period.

When you were a kid you sucked the juice out of honeysuckle flowers. Now you’re too worried about Roundup.

You got a doctor’s prescription for marijuana gummies because of a bad back, then got so high that you passed out awkwardly on your sofa, actually injuring your back.

You can still taste the slightly burnt underbelly of that Orange Julius pizza from Cloverleaf Mall.

You went to High’s Ice Cream after Cotillion.

You miss the days when the Bamboo played the Faces music really loud.

Flicks and giggles

You live in fear of VCU buying the old Strange Matter/Nanci Raygun/Twisters spot.

You show up 30 minutes early to any event at the University of Richmond so you can find it. All the buildings look the same, they’re named for the same four families, and no app or map can help you.

You never listened to GWAR but made a pilgrimage to Oderus Urungus’ grave.

Skillet once lit you on fire during a show at Hole in the Wall.

You got a little teary when Olivia Newton-John died, because you use to groove to her song “Magic” at Golden Skateworld in the early ‘80s. Until “Disco Duck” would inevitably ruin the vibe.

You could name all the famous musicians who have worked at Plan 9 Records if you wanted to – you just don’t right now.

You’ve taken a leak beside Bruce Hornsby at the Flood Zone while trying to casually whistle, “That’s Just the Way It Is.”

You still call the Altria Theatre “the Mosque” not by accident, but with conviction.

You were there during the legendary “I want to lick your taint” catcall during a Hanson show at The National.

You have a friend who got busted the last time the Grateful Dead played the Richmond Coliseum.

You’ve bathed in the mystical healing waters beneath the Byrd Theatre.

Media mavens

You ended your subscription to the Richmond Times-Dispatch, noting to the person over the phone that less journalism and higher prices aren’t strong selling points.

Your email is full of local newsletters you never read.

After reading about another horrific murder from a distant state on your local TV’s social media page – you exhibit your moral superiority by posting all the twisted ways you would torture and kill the suspect.

You constantly complain that local media is at an all-time low, but you’ve never once considered buying a subscription to anything. The internet is free, duh.

RVA Weather

You panic easily.

You make fun of people who panic easily because of the weather.

You’ve been publicly shamed and proven incompetent by weather forecaster Dave Tolleris of WxRisk.com.

You’ve screamed obscenities at a pre-recorded phone message from Dominion Energy.

You belong to a prayer circle run by a local television anchor and you say “bless you” to people who upset you.

You charge up all your electrical devices before every storm and eat all the expensive stuff in your fridge – and the power stays on.

You’ve been watching that one tree that seems to be leaning a lot.

You abandoned your car and walked to Phil’s Continental Lounge during the biblical Gaston flooding and asked for a shot of tequila. Blanco. Chilled.

More driving and crying

You think you drive really well while texting with one hand.

You see anything west of Parham as the outskirts of Northern Virginia.

You use your turning signal, usually a few seconds after you’ve completed the turn.

Your ride has already communicated to the world that you’re vain, before anyone can even glance down to read your vanity plate.

Your vanity plate is a pornographic inside joke.

You slap the inside roof of your car and yell “Bless ya, Paw Paw!” every time your truck drives over roadkill.

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When trying to turn into busy traffic, you slowly inch your monstrosity of an SUV out, blocking all oncoming traffic and forcing people to let you enter traffic. Then you look in your rear view mirror at your reflection and make a noise like “Rrrawwwhgh.” Because you’re a monster.

You loudly curse at bikers for taking up too much road space and not obeying traffic laws.

You loudly curse at automobile drivers for taking up too much road space and not obeying traffic laws.

Last time you were driving at night in Richmond, your girlfriend kept asking, “what are you goddamning about?” and you suddenly realized that would be a pretty good inscription for your tombstone.

On blind turns, you keep your car straddling the double white line so that oncoming traffic can experience their lives flashing before their eyes.

When you dream, the Huguenot Bridge is still a lime-green, rusted Porta Potty color.