Betch Factor: 8.0
Welcome to Dallas, y’all. Everything is bigger in Texas: hair, portions, post-tax income. If anything says Betch, it’s maintaining a full social calendar, hot body, and Beverly Hills lifestyle amidst the hardship of 110 degree, chicken fried weather with jalapeño queso on top.
The Betch who lives there:
Is a Good Christian Bitch, emphasis on…well you know. Does the Betch go to church? Heck, yes, she does. There is no better place to disgrace with grace: you’ll find her at Highland Park Presbyterian on Sunday, praying away last night’s sins in a drool-worthy ensemble because God blessed her with exquisite taste and daddy’s AmEx. Don’t even think about looking for her at one of those cheesy contemporary churches like Watermark—mingling with fuglies from the Mid-Cities in jeans and tennis shoes would test any Betch’s patience.
The Dallas Betch has perfected the combination of the Texas twang with the vernacular and natural inclination for passive aggression of the privately educated. By the time her target deciphers the thinly-veiled insult that oozed from her YSL-coated lips, the Betch will have Uber’d to a pregame you’re not invited to at Villa Rosa. Before gaining reentry into the Betch’s inner circle, expect several acidic references to your new ombre job, widely-known family “difficulties,” and the dubious immigration status of your lawn staff.
Texas pride is first and foremost on the mind of any good Dallas Betch – she misses no chance to wear her Luke’s Lone Star Flag shorts so people know she’s a good Republican and her 9 degrees of separation from the Bush family is more like 2 degrees, max. But do not mistake this state pride for solidarity with other lesser Texan cities. Keep Austin Weird? How about Keep Dallas Pretentious. Y’all can have the politics and hippie music. We’ll stick with Mambo Taxi margaritas and an impenetrable social hierarchy.
Thanks to the magic of modern medicine and free flowing oil money, the Dallas Betch and her Betch Mom may be difficult to tell apart. An easy litmus test? The combination of tennis whites, a heady whiff of Chard, and permanently frozen eyebrows: a dead giveaway of a Dallas Betch Mom in her prime (and fresh out of her bi-monthly Botox party). Betches will avoid this gathering like the plague until her Betch Mom drops the not-so-subtle hint, “Sugar, it may be time for pre touchups.”
The Betch attended Highland Park High School (the term “public school” barely applies), Hockaday, or Episcopal School of Dallas. Catholic Ursuline will try to be included in a nerdy, unfortunate-looking way. While the Betch is qualified for the Ivies, she will attend and rule SMU, Vanderbilt, or UT. If a Dallas Betch does end up at a school North of the Mason Dixon, ladies from all other cities take note that you will always feel inadequate due to the extensiveness and expensiveness of the Dallas Betch’s wardrobe. Do not try to compete – her mom is an honorary buyer at Neiman’s – you will fail and it will be embarrassing.
The Dallas Betch strives to be one of two things: Fierce Matriarch or Brass Knuckles Businesswoman. Both have blonde hair, a Texas twang, and the ability to go from microwave-nacho-making domestic goddess to tequila-shot-thrashing demon faster than you can say “hold the salt.”
A Betch who visits should…
Spend the day with Daddy’s platinum in Highland Park Village (woefully abbreved to HPV). Start with brunch at Patrizio’s, pop into Scoop NYC to say haygurlhay to your fellow fashionable Betches (hi, Rachel!), and stroll by Celebrity Bakery for a thumbprint cookie. Steer clear of a midday marg at Monkey Bar, if for no other reason than to avoid reeking of Tex-Mex the rest of the week. (Unless Troy is there, in which case, GO. His daily trips to Equinox have left him looking damn fine for his age. The Dallas Betch is not above staring at him while burning off alcocals on the stairmaster).
If you come during the fall party season, charm your way into Big D classics like the Cattle Baron’s or Crystal Charity Ball. You’ll wind up in Papercity or D Magazine – think Guest of a Guest but with annual “10 Most Beautiful Women” city rankings. These events are sure bets for the most eligible real estate magnates, under-regulated energy tycoons, and heirs to storied liquid gold fortunes, and you want to be at the ready to suck them dry.
The Betch who moves there: will live in Villa Rosa or some other rustic Italianate Uptown complex with a scenic view of the Katy Trail and a monthly lease worth more than your parents’ mortgage. At this stage the Betch doesn’t *yet* have any use for an 8-bedroom mansion in Preston Hollow or ostentatious chateau à la Versailles on Lakeside Drive, so she will wait until her
first divorce celebration “second debutante ball” to graduate neighborhoods.
The Betch avoids:
All outer suburbs and anything with a sign in Spanish unless it means “my kitchen” or is named after a man named Javier. Okay, this isn’t a real rule but honestly don’t go to the wrong side of Lemmon Ave unless you’re trying out a new fake ID at a drive through beer barn – X5 doors locked.
Beverly Drive on Halloween. The Dallas Betch dislikes handouts, especially from the government (see her family’s recent GOP fundraiser where Rick Perry got drunk and put a cigar out on a waiter). So you can imagine her disdain when all of South Dallas, parents included, comes back to the door for fourths. I’ve seen you tonight already, “Undead George Lopez.” To be fair, little Buzz Light Year’s aunt IS the one actually refilling the candy bowl with Betch Mom’s extra FiberOne bars.
Most importantly, she has no fucking idea where Fort Worth is or why anybody would want to go there. Unless it’s to a TCU (SMU’s little sister with an inferiority complex) tailgate where she watches her Ponies battle for the Iron Skillet and usually lose. But that’s ok, she ultimately wins due to her smaller waistline, better connections, and daily access to a city that has more to offer its brunching masses than a crappy river view at Woodshed.
Would’ve gotten a 10 if not for:
Okay lezzbehonest, the Betches from the Northeast are, on the whole, a more aggressive breed of Betch. Therefore, in unfamiliar situations, the Dallas Betch may be outranked by the often quicker witted Betch of, say, NYC. Also, Dallas’s attempts to ride the spinning and juicing trains are in dire need of a facelift, and not the kind Dallas Betch Moms are used to (Soulcycle and Juice Press, are you listening?).
But does the Dallas Betch care? No. She reigns over the REAL capital of the Republic of Texas. If you don’t like us…whatever. We want to secede anyway.