You can have WASP heritage, but if you are catholic or have catholic blood, you will never be a WASP. I didnt make the rules, that's just how it is. |
PP, you nailed it. |
So I looked back at the post. It said Larla had ancestral WASP bona fides, i.e., heritage, and did not say she was WASP. So unclear why you got so triggered. And implying one drop of Catholic blood makes one non-WASP, well all too reminiscent of something... BTW, pretty much every WASP has Catholic ancestry as all of Europe was Catholic before the Reformation. |
Yeah, the clue is in the name. "White, Anglo-Saxon PROTESTANT". You need all those factors to be a wasp, in addition to other cultural factors. But those 4 are non negotiable. Not triggered, just pointing out the truth. |
| Can we please drop the WASP Catholic debate? Hate to see a good thread get derailed. |
Seriously. Who TF cares? |
| Lacoste |
| Ann Demeulemeester |
Original PP here, and unfortunately the only part of this that’s right is that I’m a mother. But amusing nonetheless
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I wear a lot of WHBM and am a scientist (American though)! My prompt: Anthropologie |
Larla grew up in LA—the daughter of an upper B list talent agent and a biglaw white-collar crime attorney—but went East for college so she could take romantic walks amid fall leaves and fresh snow (though she was never able to pull herself away from her rose gold MacBook long enough to actually do this). She attended an artsy LAC where students call professors by their first names, and majored in performance art and Victorian literature. Larla moved to New York after college to take a job as a modern art gallerina for $25,000 a year. She lives in a SoHo loft with exposed brick and tons of macrame and a chiffon canopy bed—all purchased with her modest trust fund. When she sometimes has anxiety attacks about “becoming a grown up,” she talks herself down by reminding herself how wonderful it is that she is living authentically and honoring her truest spirit while making her own way in the world. |
You’re effortlessly cool. Like Grace Jones, it doesn’t seem like you’re you’re trying hard; you’re not trying at all, so you’re basically a 1 in 1 billion person in DC. I have no idea why you came to this stodgy town (your international husband is an ambassador from Scandinavia?). You throw the best, most low-key parties and eschew the social scene (you find the dramatics and theatrics associated with it pedestrian and déclassé). You have a strong sense of self and, honest to God, don’t care what others think of you. You don’t really believe in God, but you don’t exactly believe in him, either. It’s a popular topic of discussion at your house. Your 10 year old twin boys are very smart, well-adjusted kids and very polite. You also have a large family dog. You liked Pilates before it went mainstream and have a machine at home; it’s been a life-saver in quarantine. You’re also an avid swimmer. You have a keen eye for art, and your walls are decorated with new artists you sponsor. You’re a pescatarian and think Le Diplomate is overrated, but really enjoy Mikko. You even tried to hire Mikko as your personal chef, but he’s too invested in the restaurant. Alas, there’s always next year ... or simply buying his restaurant for a good price! |
| Pull&Bear |
| Opening Ceremony |
she was really into The Strokes, Interpol and Yeah Yeah Yeahs back in the early aughts. Any mention of Cobra Snake, The Misshapes and Last Night's Party will cause a wave of nostalgia so intense that it almost brings her to her knees in her Petworth rowhouse. When that wave strikes, she retreats to into her extensive vinyl collection, listening to Patti Smith, Niko, and Kate Bush. When she rides her bike to her graphic design job, she has a fleeting moment of dying on her bike like Niko did, but that's just morbid romanticism -- she's very much alive and looking forward to the next Criterion collection release. |