Stuff white people don’t like: white people

This is shocking.

After I titled this, I did a Google search to see if Stuff White People Like has an antithesis site. I wouldn’t know offhand, because I’m not up on all the Internet-cultural-viral crazes (I have a feeling I’m ten years too late on SWPL). Come to find, there is was a Stuff White People Don’t Like site. Kind of. Back in early 2008. The author kept up with it for only two months– a total of six entries! Which is too bad, because the site’s sort of funny.

I’m surprised no one in the world has picked up the still-burning Torch of Xeno-“faux”-bia off the ground and stuck it underneath, or up, his own ass. Please, don’t… make… me… do it. Resist… But come on, white people dislike more than just six things!

Well, here’s #7: white people don’t like white people. This has nothing to do with sub-categories of white people, that other white people dislike (e.g. white trash). This is about good old-fashioned skin color.

On Father’s Day last week, my brother Guido David got sick with The Sulks and rang us up to come over to his house and have a cookout. His wife was in Alabama with their two children (this scheduling conflict coincided with a football camp my nephew attended at University of Alabama that week), so I guess David was feeling a wittle wohnwy.

Of course, before any of us arrived, my brother got a headstart on his self-pity and was already drowning his sorrows at the pool. As my mom, sister and I lolled about in our bathing suits, I noticed David kept giving me the side-eye. But it wasn’t just that. I was getting the wide-eye, squint-eye, stink-eye, black-eye, green-eye, red-eye, rib-eye, Thom Yorke lazy-eye and any other type of “eye” you can think of. I even got the mal-occhio— which makes sense, coming from Guido.

Care to wager why my brother was doing this?

It’s because I’m white. So is my brother. But he’s also what people call “dark.” My skin is really white. This makes white people feel uncomfortable.

White people like to associate tanned skin with good health. They even have a term for it: healthy glow. White people also like tans for its muscle-defining and cellulite-masking properties– weightlifting and exercise take up too much time that could better be spent doing nothing under the sun. Wrinkles and melanoma are of no concern– there are dermatological  and other medical procedures that take care of those pesky things. Scars are cool anyway.

Regardless, tanned skin is the beacon of superior vibrancy and attractiveness. If you listen closely to white people when they talk, you’ll hear them say that they “prefer” mates who have tans.  So, no one will notice a 21 year-old woman’s crow’s feet. As long as the chick’s a socially acceptable Caucasian shade, who cares if she has leathery cleavage.

White people gasp in horror at white people who do not invest in their integumentary wellbeing. “You’re so pale!” they exclaim.  Words like goth, agoraphobe, cancer (ironic), and concentration camp are thrown about as well. “You need to get some sun,” white people say in a sad tone, in a valiant effort to save the lives of sickly or dying white people.

I have no concept of how white I am, until I compare myself arm-to-arm to someone. My mother is pale and always wears sunblock, yet she is darker than I am. She gets onto David for not wearing sunblock and insists that I “try” to get a little color. This day at the pool was no different. My family banished me from the seats that were underneath the umbrella. I only went along with this because it was after 6:00 pm. Still, I felt my skin burning.

“How come I have to wear sunscreen, and Brittany doesn’t?” my brother joked.

“Because your sister needs some color,” Mom replied.

“Noooo, I don’t!”

“A little bit won’t kill you. You’ll look better.”

*sigh*

White people will never understand the plight of white people.

I like my skin the way it is: it’s even, wrinkle-free, no age spots, no peeling, no scary bumps, and I look young because of it. Oh, and it just so happens that I’m healthy.