Life often presents us with transformative moments, and the recent presidential election was one such event for me. By last summer, my nightly ritual of yelling at the television had morphed into a cathartic writing spree—because, honestly, the alternative felt like a one-way ticket to a straightjacket. This shift brought me two benefits: channeling my frustrations into writing proved to be immensely therapeutic, and my 2-year-old seemed less inclined to hurl inappropriate words at the most inconvenient times. (Kids do have a talent for that, don’t they?)
Having experienced some success, I kept writing about politics. For a stay-at-home mom, where the bar for success had been set at merely showering, receiving accolades for essays on domestic policy and electoral matters felt exhilarating. I felt revitalized—energized and curious—as if the tiny humans who had been testing my sleep-deprivation limits for years had finally given me a break. I was on top of the world!
That is, until the so-called “internet police” arrived, clad in oversized tees and wildly patterned leggings, to inform me that my political views were unwelcome on their social media feeds.
I completely understand the fatigue stemming from the chaotic 2016 election. However, I firmly believe in the necessity of being civically engaged, especially now that I’m a mother. While I acknowledge that many of us are exhausted by political discourse, I fail to see why scrolling past posts you dislike seems so difficult. It’s not like I’m bombarding every feed with my thoughts every quarter-hour!
Yet, it quickly became apparent that my attempts at reason would not placate the internet police. The initial warnings were akin to a driver being reminded of their road responsibilities without receiving a ticket—annoying but tolerable. This escalated to passive-aggressive posts, a sudden disinterest in neutral topics, and, of course, “unfollows.” And how does one discover these unfollows? You guessed it—those passive-aggressive posts.
While mildly annoying, it was nothing compared to what followed: the community service phase. Suddenly, the legging-clad enforcers morphed into an unsettling mix of judge, jury, and relentless infomercial. Despite being publicly admonished for my “political impropriety,” I found myself inundated with invitations to live Facebook events and added to overly enthusiastic groups without my consent—like the “flamingos-on-your-pants-should-be-on-every-woman’s-bucket-list” variety. I became paranoid that an overpriced clothing box would show up at my doorstep, accompanied by an unwelcome bill. It felt as if I were being coerced into supporting causes that contradicted my very own beliefs. All of this, of course, because money transcends political boundaries.
I’ve faced my share of social media marketing before, but this was different. I had been dismissed for my views, essentially rendered irrelevant by individuals who once valued my company—except when it came to my wallet. Each generic business message reeked of insincerity, making it challenging to overlook.
A piece of advice: Legging enthusiasts have become as omnipresent as Tupperware parties were in the ’90s. It’s hard to navigate without bumping into one, and it’s clear that being judgmental will only speed up your replacement.
Though we may disagree on strategies, I hear you loud and clear. You view social media as a platform for inspirational quotes, light-hearted stories, and, of course, selling merchandise. I understand that discussion of politics—especially those that diverge from your echo chamber—might strike you as unrefined, even tacky.
Regardless of our differing fashion choices, I’m ready to extend an olive branch. Here’s my sincere apology: I’m sorry that my political views make you uncomfortable… but perhaps a touch of discomfort could be beneficial for you.
Given that your livelihood hinges on selling comfy pants, it’s only natural to shy away from anything unsettling. After all, your life should be all sunshine and rainbows, especially for the steep price of those not-so-great fabrics. Yet, while you’re preoccupied with seasonal prints, let’s not forget about those who can’t afford such luxuries. Their struggles won’t disappear with an “unfollow”; their issues won’t be resolved with a simple angry-face emoji. Ignoring their circumstances won’t make them vanish. In fact, your aversion to discomfort only perpetuates their hardships.
So, the next time political discussions appear in your feed, try not to roll your eyes. Embrace the discomfort; growth often emerges from those uneasy moments—just like how you might find yourself back in denim someday.
Rest assured, my intention isn’t to irk you. I don’t aim to be obnoxious, just as I suspect you don’t intend to annoy with your sales tactics. I write because I feel compelled to use my voice for change, however small that may be.
Let’s strike a deal: I’ll cease my political discussions when you stop pushing your leggings on me. Sound fair?
But let’s be honest, such a compromise is as futile as bombing a Syrian airfield without damaging the runway. We’re both passionate about what we do, and that’s perfectly fine—there’s enough space on the internet for all of us. So, how about setting aside that internet police badge for now? It’s divisive and unnecessary, not to mention it clashes terribly with your outfit.
In conclusion
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Summary
In a world filled with different ideologies and lifestyles, it’s essential to find a middle ground. While I express my political thoughts, I urge others to be open to discomfort, as it can foster growth. Similarly, let’s respect each other’s passions, whether they lie in politics or leggings.