I grew up in Rochester, NY, a tiny city that everyone mistakes for being extremely close to New York City. While Rochester may be 300+ miles away from NYC, we follow the same stereotypical divide. For those of you who have watched Gossip Girl, and wondered about its validity, I am here to provide you with evidence that the Serenas and Dans of the world exist in more than just a fictional reality.
They’d rather eat her alive than face who they are.
As a black and Puerto Rican male, some would wonder why I would opt out of such an important movement considering it is very relevant to my life.
Many wealthy Americans believe that dysfunctional behavior causes poverty.
“What if he had a gun?” “What if he shot you?”
Making fun of “rednecks” is a social-status game among whites—classism masquerading as moral superiority.
Hipsterdom is a scornful parody of white poverty culture, arrogantly oblivious to the adversities experienced by white people who actually live in poverty.
I’ve always been a happy racist. Like, I don’t lose sleep over it. And no, I don’t care if someone calls me that at a party. I’m cool with being racist (and you can be, too).
We all have crosses to bear, don’t we?
When you have been told that you can measure the strength of your sense of “community” by your proximity to a gay bar, it is hard to break the habit and to ask where else can we get to know each other.