To Each Their Own (Except for These Five Things)

To each their own, they say. As if every opinion and preference is equally valid and always accepted. But let’s be real: there are certain things where that rule doesn’t apply. Sure, I’m entitled to my opinion…except when it comes to South Park, ginger beer, or whatever else people just cannot fathom not loving. It’s like there's an unspoken rule that says some preferences aren’t actually up for debate.

A long time ago (probably when they were first invented), I tried barbecue potato chips. And I simply did not like them. I didn’t gag or spit them out. I just didn’t care if I ever had another one in my life. This was my introduction to the world of: if everyone loves it, you must love it too—or else.

“Gasp! You don’t like barbecue potato chips? Wow, they are so delicious! I’ve never met a single person on Earth who doesn’t like them. You are just wrong not to like them. I don’t get you. Now, go find another table, because all the barbecue chip lovers sit here.”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that dramatic.

And yet, the idea that people need others to like what they like is something that has always intrigued me. So I came up with a short list of just 5 things that it feels like everyone loves that I frankly, just don’t get. Let’s get right into it.

South Park

Yes, the cartoon. Yes, it is part of the canon of popular culture. Yes, it’s had amazing longevity. Yes, it is known for biting, meme-worthy satire. And yes, credited for revolutionizing adult animated comedy.

But guys, I just don’t like it. Maybe I wasn’t born with the gene for crude cartoon humor. When Cartman says, “Respect my authoritah!” I want to say, “Respect my control of this remote.”

Ginger Beer

I like ginger. I like beer. But after giving it a decent try, I just can’t do ginger beer.

When I say I tried to like it, I mean I really tried. I went through various brands, from the cheap stuff to the pricey options. And yet every time (even when diluted pretty heavily with vodka—judge if you must), I made that face. You know the one—the same face Buddy the Elf makes when he sips coffee in his dad’s office. Actually, that’s pretty much how I see it: adults are supposed to like coffee (ginger beer), so I should have liked it. But nope.

Bright White Lightbulbs

I prefer the warm glow of a soft white bulb. Or, honestly, darkness.

Walk into my laundry room right now, today, and you’ll see the graphic demonstration of why I am not a fan of bright white lightbulbs. Well, actually, you’ll see the side-by-side comparison of bright white versus soft white. Because in a moment of unintentional design chaos, I combined both types in one space.

In my defense, light bulb packaging can be so confusing! I think of “daylight” as warm and sunny. But in bulb package parlance “daylight” means blinding white light—the kind they shine in your face when they want you to crack under pressure and name names. So I ended up with a package of these glaring white bulbs, and because they’re not cheap I will probably have to live with them until one burns out—which should be in about 5 years.

If you love the operating room look, though, I say, “To each their own.”

Ripped Jeans

Full disclosure: I have worn ripped jeans. I was a much younger woman then. They were small rips, though. Tasteful rips. “Gently” destroyed rips.

This preference has had its critics even going back to when I confidently bared my knees through my jeans. I remember once walking into the office wearing these jeans—with a lovely top, a sharp blazer, and skyscraper heels—and a coworker asked if I was okay.

“Huh?” I asked.

“I just hope it didn’t hurt too much when you fell and skinned your knee,” she said.

This wasn’t what turned me against ripped jeans. (It didn’t help, but it wasn’t the primary reason.)

My problem with ripped jeans boils down to one main thing. If the idea is to appear as though these are beloved jeans that you’ve worn for years, that have seen you through thick and thin, and naturally developed these abrasions and even tears, then the placement of the rips really matters. You probably wouldn’t naturally wear out both thighs from the crotch to the knees—unless you were belly-crawling through a sandpaper tunnel to escape.

I’m not sorry.

Awards Shows

In the movie Annie Hall, Woody Allen plays comedian Alvy Singer, and his one line pretty much sums up how I feel about award shows: “Awards! They always give out awards! I can't believe it. Greatest Fascist Dictator: Adolf Hitler.”

These things are fine if you like to watch them. But to me, they’re essentially a big party for the Hollywood mutual admiration society. It’s the micro-surface level of all time, reducing everything to pretty clothes and acceptance speeches. I don’t deny the nominees and recipients have talent, but do I really need to watch them feign humility for two hours? I’ll go watch the Puppy Bowl instead.

You Enjoy That

I know, I know—you are probably shaking your head, wondering how I could possibly not love these things. But hey, the beauty of it all is that we don’t have to agree. It’s what makes us interesting (quirky, odd, sad?). So, whether you’re rocking ripped jeans, hosting an award show in your living room, or sipping ginger beer during your South Park marathon, enjoy it all.

As for me? I’ll just be over here, not getting it—but cheering you on anyway.