Accepting my status as “White Girl”


Okay, guys, time for #honestyhour. This has been nagging at me for quite a while now, and I think it’s finally time to come clean. I, Marryl (omitting last name because there are prowlers on the internet), am a White Girl.

I swear I think to myself/say out loud that I am a White Girl at least four times a week. So it isn’t like I’ve been unaware of it until now; believe me I accepted my fate a long time ago. I just feel that it is necessary to make a public statement on the internet for everyone to see, for my own benefit, and also to hopefully reach out to those who may be experiencing something similar.

If you’re confused as to what I mean by White Girl, let me break it down for you:

I like Starbucks more than I like my least favourite family member. In fact, I came up with the idea for this post while walking through the mall carrying a venti white mocha. And I can order these frothy beverages with the ease of being bilingual. I wear my Lululomon black leggings so often that they’re really just another layer of skin on my legs. I say a prayer whenever I almost drop my glass Lulu water bottle. All of my bras are Victoria’s Secret, or else Pink, even though I now have a scar from the kidney I had to sell to afford them. My iPhone5, henceforth known as My Child, is protected by a Kate Spade case, and if you asked me, “would you rather lose, your iPhone or your sanity?” I think we all know the only logical choice. Last summer I went to a Taylor Swift concert (whom I adore greatly) sporting Taylor curls and red lipstick, and definitely teared up at my favourite song because she really just gets me. I instagram my food and my manicure with my fave filters, and I partake in #selfiesunday at least once a month. (Protip: Bathrooms do provide the best selfie lighting.) I have spoken the words “I need to tweet that” more often than I would like to admit, and the other day I asked in earnest if by the pound symbol my friend meant the hashtag. I worship the god Nutella. Pitch Perfect was the bees knees. I swear by Pinterest. I own Uggs. And Toms. And a pink Bench jacket. I have a blog, for goodness sake.

Phew, so much off my chest. I feel much better.

The list goes on but I’ll stop there for the sake of aesthetics. Did I clarify what I mean by White Girl? Whether you call it a condition or a disease or possession or a stereotype, it is a basic as it gets and it is very, very real.

And don’t think you’re safe if you aren’t a literal caucasian female. White Girl can live in anyone. You could be a large African-American woman or a scrawny Indian boy and still exhibit White Girl qualities. Really, it’s just a coincidence that I’m a White Girl and also a white girl. It is a rather versatile stereotype that is not limited to its name so anyone is at risk of falling victim to its ways. Remember that the next time you say yes to whipped cream on your latté and wonder why you just shivered a little.

I feel the need to recognize some typical Whit Girl behaviours that I do not partake in. I almost never hashtag in earnest, minus the occasional #throwbackthursday. Nothing makes me roll my eyes harder than instagram pics weighed down with #selfie #girl #pretty #blonde #blueeyes #tannedskin #ears #eyebrows #spleen #snaggletooth. At the risk of sounding rude, I know you’re scraping for “likes” with all these popularly searched hashtags, and I don’t really see the long term benefit except for maybe some solid thumb muscle mass. You will also never see a Marilyn Monroe quote as the caption to my profile picture. Are you sure Monroe even said that? I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but “Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted, one moment, would you capture it or just let it slip?” wasn’t said by the blonde bombshell you think it was. And I absolutely 100% refuse to pronounce “OMG” as “oh-em-gee.” If you ever hear me say that, I give you full permission to rip out my voice box.

See, my condition isn’t that bad.

(Now I really don’t want to have to note that this post is resting on a strong foundation of sarcasm. But at the risk of backlash, I just want to clarify that I don’t mean to offend, whether it be racially or genderally — that’s not a word but it is for the sake of my point. I am not serious more often than I am serious. This is all for jokes, kids. Have some chill.)

I want to thank you all for supporting me as I open up about this. It is a strong reality in my life that I couldn’t keep to myself any longer. If you’re experiencing White Girl as well, I encourage you to be vocal about it. You’ll feel a lot better.

Only 107 more days til pumpkin spice lattés!


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