My Name is Karen. I’m Sorry.
I always used to describe myself as a warm, friendly teacher lady. I always thought I was “nice”. My students used to tell me that all the time! “You’re a nice teacher,” they’d say.
I believed them.
For years, my favorite things in life have involved cooking, sharing and eating good food and growing pretty flowers. I don’t like to make a fuss, or complain. If something is amiss with a restaurant order, I don’t send it back; I eat it and pretend it was fine.
I swear, I’ve always thought of myself as pretty likeable.
Welp, I’ve finally been set straight about my many character flaws, thanks to the miracle of social media.
In the past couple of months, Facebook has informed me that I, and all who share my unfortunate first name, are a bunch of nasty bitches. There’s even a Facebook Group dedicated to dissing us!
We are just AWFUL.
According to multiple posts, I’ve learned that Karens drive SUVs all over town. They are overly critical of their kids’ teachers, coaches and therapists. They believe they are entitled to all the good things in the world just because they are universally white, upper middle class, educated and suburban.
Karen’s complain. A lot. They complain on Snapchat and Instagram, which they apparently love. They post pictures of their expensive breeder-raised dogs when the groomer fails to get the face fluff just right. They post outraged images of their left pinky nail when the salon leaves a tiny ding.
They seem to enjoy being outraged.
Twitter has a hashtag called #KarenStrikesAgain. Holy horrifying!!
Twitter told me that, as a Karen, I’m a racist! I had no idea….I can’t think of a time when I did anything racist, but what do I know? I’m only a Karen. I don’t have any ability for self reflection.
Or so I’m told.
Look:
Yeesh. I cried for days after Tamir Rice was murdered. He was just about the age of my students. I wrote letters, I wrote blog posts, I was horrified.
I’m so sorry!
I didn’t know that as a Karen, I’m partially responsible for all of this racist violence.
