privilege

perhaps it would be easier if my life were patently horrible, like the lives of quirky-looking youths in movies made by independent film-makers.
but I don't even like the alterna-cafe. the people there are just enough this side of ugly that they appear to be somehow participating in a tacit celebration of all that is teetering just above horribly wrong in the anglo-saxon gene pool. also the irony of dress is a little too much. it's like everyone is trying to participate in a big inside joke, the details of which no one quite exactly knows. However, the quiet, desperate and individual fear of each participant is public disqualification through the revelation that he or she was not tapped for competition. Of course, since no one is holding a rule book, this kind of disqualification transpires for those who fail to grasp the subtlety of tacit rule changes and are outed in the form of a joke. It happens when that nauseatingly spunky tatooed barista laughs at your pants and they weren't part of your entry.
This is how privilege is both invisible and policed.
This is how privilege is both palpable,
and provides the protection of plausible deniability.
Skinny men in tight pants are not sexy.