In the freakish universe of identity politics, there’s no creature sadder than the self-hating white person. All it takes for these saps to be engulfed by existential angst is a glimpse in the mirror. Or a shiny shop window. And there it is, looking back at them: their pasty pallor, their bleached features, a grim reminder that they were born and remain marked with the original sin of whiteness.
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