I have always been white. There was never a time when I went out into the sun without first slathering on a layer of vaguely coconut flavored suntan lotion. When I was heading to the beach I remembered the delicacy of my pale skin. It was the only time I actively thought about the color of my skin and made preparations because of it. Otherwise, it never occurs to me to remember that I am white before I leave the house.

I can remember the 1992 LA riots after the Rodney King incident. My (white) friends and I all agreed it was terrible. Racism was awful, rioting was awful but we “didn’t have that problem here” in New England. Of course police were always fair here and no one was racist, right? We never saw it. The only thing needed to protect us from the world was SPF 30. You have to watch out for the dreaded scalp or foot burn.

I recently watched the Michael Che Netflix special. One story revolves around how white women can “do anything.” He followed this with…



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