Welcome to Literally the Worst, an occasional column wherein I shit on all the shit that’s shitty. This week: Self-hating white people, celebrity workouts and “sparkle.” Do you think we might hate the same things? Hit me up at firstname.lastname@example.org
Self Hating White People
Everyone knows someone like this, and if not I suggest turning the crank on your diesel internet engine and looking at a little thing called twitter. They’re the kind of people who go wayyyyyyy too far out of their way to point out the “privilege” enjoyed by white folks; the kind of people who write encyclopedic, pseudo-academic essays about how the use of “basic” as an adjective is both cultural appropriation and misogyny (“cultural appropriation” is on the self-hating white person’s bingo card, btw). Kara Brown at Jezebel already wrote a breathless takedown of that piece that made my pants fit a little tighter, but the thesis is this: Privileged white girls complaining about what other privileged white girls say about what OTHER-OTHER privileged white girls say, wear and drink is about as “basic” as it gets; the epitome of self-hating white personhood.
People do this, I think, because of the dopamine rush that comes with feeling like the smartest person in the room; the cultural standing that comes with announcing that you may be “with” this group of ignorant white people, but you are not “of” them. It’s a convenient thing to do, because a) they continue to enjoy the perks inherent to their whiteness, and b) they aren’t obligated to actually, y’know, DO anything about it (not that they could). I’m sure non-white folks appreciate your awareness of existing inequities and desire to not make things any worse, but it doesn’t earn you any extra cultural capital. These are the same people who will make jokes about Asian drivers under their breath in traffic.
Now, if you excuse me, I need to go make some jokes about white people on twitter. “White people be like [overused reaction .gif], amirite?“
In general: Fuck celebrities. For every obsessive, maniacal Daniel Day Lewis character out there, there are 50 of them who happened to be members of the Lucky Sperm Club (see: Kardashian, Kim and Paltrow, Gwyneth) (seriously, what the fuck kind of name is Gwyneth? Is she a Medieval knight?). Their existence is bad enough, but what’s worse is when they go on about their “workout” regimens. Every woman celeb says the same shit: “Oh, you know, I do pilates two days per week, but chasing after my kids keeps me plenty active! I watch what I eat, but I’m a sucker for a good burger!”
Fuck you, hypothetical female celebrity. You didn’t get an ass like that doing two hours of pilates per week, and you haven’t seen a hamburger since before you sucked the dick that got you your first audition. Male celebrities, on the other hand, go in the opposite direction – they want their workouts to sound impossibly difficult. When they get all jacked up for a role, they want you to think that they’re doing weird, Crossfit/P90x-style workouts for like nine hours per day in order to work on their “functional” fitness while they eat nothing but boiled chicken and steamed broccoli. Bullshit. If you want giant, bulging muscles like the guys in “300,” you do what people with giant, bulging muscles do: Hours of boring, tedious hypertrophic lifting with a high calorie intake, followed by a slimdown period before shooting begins. And also, steroids.
The reasoning for this is simple – celebrities are the most insecure people in the world, and their greatest fear is being viewed on equal standing with us common folk. Effortless beauty is an ideal for women, while men are more apt to appreciate a guy who nearly killed himself for his physique. Both are full of shit, and both are trying to fool you into doing things that will never give you the look you’re after, which only further enhances their mystique and egos.
Do not take workout advice from celebrities.
Speaking of working out: Ladies, can you please, please stop referring to your sweat as “sparkle?” Because, guess what – it’s fucking not. It’s sweat, the same sweat that drips off our foreheads when we’re doing pointless celebrity workouts, the same sweat that makes our crotches smell oddly similar when it’s really hot outside. Not only are you not fooling anyone, you don’t NEED to fool anyone. It’s not like any guy at the gym is like “man, fuck this stank, sweaty bitch. I want the one over there who’s sparkling.” SO MUCH GLISTEN.
I can’t tuck my dick between my legs and call it a pussy (I mean, I do that, but…), so don’t wring a pint of sweat out of your shirt and be like “tee hee, it’s my sparkle!”
Do you think we might hate the same things? Hit me up at email@example.com