183. Classy Equestrian Shit

A true betch comes into the world on a high horse, which is why equestrian shit is a natural part of our upbringing. This is where we hone our athleticism when we're not elliptical-texting on a 1% incline. I mean, any betch who can stick a toothbrush down her throat can do ballet, but it takes a skilled equestribetch to make a horse do ballet.

Webster defines Equestrian as: “A pretentious lifestyle and sport known only to those who aren't fucking poor.” We were too high to remember high school history but based on our college Greek system, we know that ranking people by property and wealth has always been the way to go. Oh, your area code is Aspen, did you say your family has a house in East Hampton, I love your Patek Philippe watch…. I’m free Saturday. Any sport involving horses screams I'm fucking better than you because it not only requires acres of land for stables and like, dirt paths, but an entirely new staff to pick up your horse's shit.

One needs to be born writing 5 digit checks because we’re constantly “becoming too advanced for this Hanoverian, I need a new one!” Shopping for a 50K horse is as routine as picking out a pair of fall boots, which you'll also have to do. This brings us to the clothes, and half the reason we would go anywhere near these giant creatures who happen to have the biggest noses in the animal kingdom. It's because every designer that stocks our closets has at one point released an equestrian inspired line. Would Ralph Lauren have been as successful if the line was called Ralph Lauren Soccer? Only if he sold exclusively to Sports Authority.

preaknessNot classy

While commoners are screaming “DE-FENSE” chants and listening to Jock Jams between quarters and howling like barbarians for their fav player while chugging pints of Bud, the equestrian community is dressed in Barbour jackets, Chanel, and Hermes, drinking mint juleps and watching their horse piaffe moonwalk to the tune of Nordstrom’s elevator music, then soft clapping when the rider tips his chic velvet hat. While sitting polo-side we don't discuss the score or athletic plays, but which Ivy has the most bros with dads on the Forbes list and things like, we have to get an additional maid for our guest cottage, do you know of anyone? Not a conversation you hear at NASCAR.

While we obvs respect the fine art of equestrianism, we also respect the opportunity to combine it with blacking out in the middle of the day. Whether you're at the Carolina Cup or the Bridgehampton Polo Challenge, if you don’t know of a nearby horse event to get fucked up at, you probably also think Coachella is a Latino pop sensation, pronounced Coacheya. So betches, whenever you find yourselves in a stressful situation, like your grocery store being out of organic locally grown apples or your human besties acting cray, you can always turn to your horse bestie and embrace your special talent as a horse whisperer shit-talker.

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