No, I don’t hate everything. Yes, I’m a pretty angry person, but I don’t hate people as much as it looks like. I just love hating at stuff. It’s a relatively benign act that goes by different names in different cultures – drag queens might call it shade, the internet informs me black twitter calls it “spilling the t” now (though “hating”, like all slang worth using, was also invented by black people). White people just call it “exercising my first amendment rights, so there.” I like the simple accuracy of “to hate at.” This is not to be confused with the deep-seeded, soul clenching, never-ending distaste you have for whatever the opposite of your current political party is.
- They could broker peace in the Middle East and I’d just be complaining their jacket doesn’t match their shoes
- They could assassinate Donald Trump and I’d suddenly miss the big orange bastard
- They could give me a puppy and I’d – well ok, I’d keep it, but I’d name it after their least favorite fictional character.
- They could set me up on a date with Michael B Jordan and I wouldn’t go
But unless you’re a bigot, that deep kind of hate is reserved for politicians and food groups. Me? Fuck bell peppers. Eating those bitter, lying, jelly-bean colored fruits is as tedious and unsatisfying as sex with most straight men. And sure, you can hate at things you truly hate hate – I just did to poor bell peppers – but you can also hate at things you love. We’ve all done it that one time our favorite celebrity tried to do something edgy on the red carpet.
I mean really, Nicole.
Look, it’s ok. We all have to lift ourselves up sometimes by making jokes about other peoples’ horrifying life choices.
- It’s not MY fault you’re wearing fake uggs with a denim miniskirt in 2018.
- It’s not MY fault you make out with your partner in public with all the grace of a salty sea lion.
- It’s not MY fault you actually said the phrase “I like Nickelback” in public.
Psych, that’s all me. Because just like we all have to let it out sometimes, we also all do things that are worthy of others hating. Yes, even Taylor Swift. Haters gonna hate, and they didn’t choose her because that red lipstick, vintage styling, and blond hair is a bold fashion choice America wasn’t ready for.If you ever want to know where someone’s from, just ask them what their favorite thing to hate at is. New Yorkers can’t decide, Bostonians choose New Yorkers, and Los Angelons start an eerily detailed story about a bad driver and what’s going to happen to them once they land in Hell.
I’m from a small town in Northern California, so naturally my answer is cities. Billed as majestic concrete jungles full of opportunities to climb the ladder of the American Dream, cities are more accurately characterized as a simmering cesspool of everything that is wrong with humanity. Bud light in the city costs as much as craft beer in the country. You can rent a house in a small town for the price of a studio in the city, complete with pet rats. I will admit that it is a jungle out there, although it’s because I routinely have to jump over the vomit of the frat boys that never stopped partying just to get on the subway – though that is less of an issue now that I no longer live in Washington, D.C.In short, when you just gotta let it out: