Every year at the end of August, we all begin to prepare for the upcoming change in seasons. We start preparing for the leaves to change colors and fall. We change our wardrobes and decor to earthier tones, and get ready to break out the sweaters and boots for the cooler weather. But before we do any of that, we brace ourselves for the sprinkling of pumpkin spice in everything from coffee to air fresheners.
It’s not that we dislike it because, frankly, it’s pretty much the same spices that are used in apple pie, candied yams, and peach cobbler. The backlash to pumpkin spice is not about whether it taste good or not but about what it represents. It represents a culture of white women oblivious to everything around them outside of their bubble. It represents laughing and walking down the street while sipping a PSL and chatting with your friend about yoga class. It represents the constant ignoring of injustices that happen everywhere to people of color. It represents seeing a black kid in your neighborhood and calling the police because they look “suspicious.”
They know all the words to Bodak Yellow, rock those trendy ‘Kardashian’ cornrows, and love dating black men. These women love black culture — but black people, not so much. Sure they probably are SJW feminists who want solidarity in the fight for women’s rights but you won’t hear a peep from them when it’s time for intersectionality. And the ones who don’t like to get politically involved say stupid shit like “we just need to love each other more” when racist shit happens. They are content with their middle-class lives as long as their PSLs are hot, their yoga pants are tight, and the muffins are low-carb. If you even try to introduce a controversial topic to them they will give you that blank stare that they are famous for and change the subject or worse, re-center it around themselves.
These are the same women who move to Harlem to be trendy and cultured but complain about the loud Spanish music blaring through windows and the cat sleeping on the bread in the bodega. They move right on into our neighborhoods, then petition and complain until they are comfortable.
These women are not here for us. They are here to take everything they like about us and throw the rest away. So every time pumpkin spice season rolls around, I am reminded of the self-centered white women who will run past a protest to the nearest Starbucks to get her oblivious fill.