11 Reasons I’m A Rich, Stereotypical White Girl (And Proud Of It)
I’m white, rich, and entitled. Here’s what makes me all three of these adjectives (and still proud).
1. I drink Starbucks twice a day. And I do so while donning the required uniform–leggings, Uggs, my sorority letters on a sweatshirt, an infinity scarf, an oversized Michael Kors purse, and my iPhone. My order: Skinny Vanilla Soy Latte. Do I feel bad about this? No. Should I? No. Because while I hold true to the white girl stereotype, I still have a 3.8 GPA at a respectable school. I’m no bimbo.
2. I indulge in vapid, meaningless conversation with my friends about mundane things. Usually while at the aforementioned Starbucks. We divulge in the intricacies of the most recent episode of The Bachelor and discuss our deep connection or deep dislike for the girls on the show. We ponder the ever-perplexing questions surrounding the opposite gender, such as “Why hasn’t he texted me yet?” “Is it crazy to text him every five minutes until he answers?” and the ever-famous, “Why won’t he be in a relationship with me?” However, my personal favorite topic is other people in real life. I have this deep rooted need to know everything about everyone I’ve ever known, every juicy detail included. I love drama, I love knowing other people’s drama. It’s truly the spice of life. Still not feeling bad about this.
3. I don’t pay for anything of my own, I live off my parents. I get anything I want. I ask, I get. It’s very simple. Have I ever heard the word “no” come out of my parents’ mouths? Of course I have. Have I ever worked a real job a day in my life? Actually, yes. Still, I don’t pay a dime of my college tuition/housing, my grocery bill is paid for, as is my car, car insurance, and gas. I never go clothes/makeup/etc shopping alone; my mother is always close behind. I know that this money isn’t my own money; I didn’t earn it. It’s my parents’ choice to spend it on me. I don’t feel bad for that.
4. I am psychotic when it comes to dating. There will never be a foreseeable future with a man unless he takes me on real dates. If a guy I am interested in doesn’t text me within three days of our first date, it’s basically over in my mind. Also, if I stoop so low as to text him first, and he doesn’t answer, that’s basically a death wish on his part. If I have a boyfriend, I threaten, scream, demand, and punish when needed. I expect him to worship the ground I walk on. And IF I decide to have sex with a man, he must first of all be reverent to the fact that I’ve allowed such an event to occur. But he must also then become hopelessly devoted to me forever more (or until I say so–or the restraining order that inevitably comes tells me it’s over). Am I kidding? Absofuckinglutely. But it’s really not THAT far off. Again, I don’t feel bad for having high expectations of a guy I’m dating. Why waste my time on someone not interested in me enough to answer my text messages, even if it’s to say “get lost”?
5. My Instagram is filled with asinine photos. Puppies? My $50 dollar entree at a new restaurant? My daily outfits? Workout selfies (with my makeup fully done, not a hair out of place, and a workout outfit that costs at least $200 dollars)? Vacations in exotic places? My drink from the local juice bar? You bet your sweet ass all of these things are on my Instagram. And why shouldn’t they be? Who is it really harming if I feel the need to document the absurdity of my life?
6. I have very minimal experience with minorities. The experience I do have is surface value. I’ve seen poverty first hand but I’ve never actually endured it myself. Other than that, I’ve lived a sheltered life in communities predominately white and upper middle to top class. I didn’t get to choose what life I was born into just as much as a poor child in Somalia couldn’t choose. Am I aware of the disparities between my station in life as compared to that of someone in a third world nation who lives with poverty, hunger, disease, etc daily? Of course, I have liberal arts professors who love to remind me every possible chance.
7. My best friend is my eating disorder. I need to be skinny. I don’t WANT to be skinny, I need it. The skinny gene unfortunately does not run in my family, I have to work for this shit. Being a size 2 when I’m most likely meant to be a size 12 is hard work. There’s nothing wrong with being bigger, it’s just not the lifestyle that I personally want. So yes, I do have an exorbitantly priced membership to a gym so I can get my elliptical on, a personal trainer to keep me motivated, a personal chef to watch my calories, and a personal shopper to make sure every single piece of clothing that goes on my body makes me look Kate Moss thin. No I don’t actually have an eating disorder, calm down. I eat three well balanced meals a day plus snacks. I don’t fat shame anyone, so don’t skinny shame me.
8. I travel all over the world and claim to be a free spirit. Hate me all you want for saying this, but #jetlife is the way to be. My personal favorite place ever in the history of EVER is Thailand. So serene, so spiritual. Give me a caftan and some sandals and I’ll spend days upon days exploring temples. I have a personal shaman who tries to help me reconnect with Soul through reading my chakras and crystal healing. It’s all so very chic. Traveling is my passion; it’s the only thing I’ll agree to slum. Sign me up for hostels, backpacking, overnight train rides, sweaty hot locations. As long as I have the appropriate apparel, I’m all for it.
9. I have a therapist to complain about my therapist. Therapy is a way of life for me. I’ve been in therapy since I came out of the womb. I’ve had the same one since childhood. But along the way of growing into adulthood, I’ve added to my collection of therapists. Like I said, I have my shaman. I have my psychiatrist to give me all my happy pills, my therapist to talk about my family, my therapist to talk about my body issues, a life coach to talk about my future plans, my regression therapist to talk about my past lives, my astrologist to read my astrology, my psychic to read my future. I think I’ve covered them all. They’re all integral parts of my life. This leads me to being a more open and honest human being.
10. I hate all of my friends. They’re all backstabbing, conniving, manipulative twats. But I love them in a hateful kind of way. We all talk shit on each other, cause unnecessary drama, and fuck each other over on the reg. But when it comes down to it, we have each other’s backs (on our good days). And I would never change a hair on their perfectly manicured heads. We’re all very loyal, even if it seems superficial.
11. There are so many other ways in which I’m the typical white girl that everyone loves to ridicule and mock. You can claim that I’m as vapid/shallow/cold/heartless/entitled/stupid as you want, I’m all of those things and none of those things at once. I am all of those things but I’m also generous/ambitious/smart/caring/witty. Next time you make fun of a girl that you claim is just like me, take a step back and reevaluate what you’re actually judging. Sure, the negatives might outshine the positives, but the positives are still there if you look for them. 
