Are you going back home for the good ole holiday season, babe? Are you totally dreading it because your entire family is made up of conservative basics who think you haven’t accomplished anything in your adult life just because you’re not married to a prematurely balding, hedge fund MAN—and have yet to adorn your precious little ring finger with a blood diamond from Tiffany’s? Are you sick of having to “ooh and ahh” over Cousin Betty’s bratty nightmarish children while no one cares that you’re kicking ass in your hot as f*ck career in the big, bad city? Are you tired of playing nice when no one even acknowledges your existence?
I get it, girl. I so get it. I used to feel this way all the time and would break my back trying to prove myself to everyone. I would flood everyone with glossy tales detailing all of my shiny career accomplishments as a way to show them all HOW GREAT I WAS DOING.
Honestly, no one cared. I felt like an ignored child screaming for attention in a room full of wine-swilling adults who had better, more interesting things to discuss with one another. So I finally stopped trying. I decided that if no one was going to take my little lesbian self seriously, I would instead have fun. I would act like the deranged lesbian I suspected everyone secretly thought I was. (Whether or not they are right is another conversation for another day.)
If you’ve had enough with proving your worth to your heterosexual family, I highly suggest you stop trying entirely and instead make it your mission to be the most hated person at Christmas dinner. It’s fun! Not just for you, but also for the whole family! You’re doing a good selfless deed, actually, for you’re providing entertainment on an otherwise bleak night and making everyone feel better about their dismal lives!
Which is great because at the end of the day, sweetheart, you know (and I know) you’re killing it in life. You don’t need their approval or acceptance. But your poor freshly married sister who is bored to tears, trapped in suburban hell, doesn’t have your glittery confidence. Throw her bone. Act like the bonafide screw-up.
Here are some ways to be the most hated person at Christmas dinner, as told by a universally detested lez.
Arrive late and buzzed.
Twirl into your auntie’s formal and very punctual Christmas dinner at least 20 minutes late. When you’re met with nasty glares from your perfectly manicured cousins, laugh boisterously and say: “Oh my god! Am I, like, late? So sorry I, like, totally lost track of time. I’ve had a really busy day styling my hair and exfoliating my body. By the way, I MUST tell you all about my new hair care routine.” Take a dramatic pause, as if you’re about to reveal the world’s most important, life-changing information. Breathe your boozy breath in everyone’s face. “I’ve been leaving my conditioner on,” (be sure to take another pregnant pause) “as I exfoliate my body! It leaves my hair silky soft.” Run your fingers through your hair, even if it’s close-cropped, and seductively look back at everyone. Strut away dramatically, making as much noise as possible in your steel-toed dyke boots. Tap the closest child you see on the shoulder and loudly purr, “Hey, little buddy! Can you get your favorite lesbian auntie a nice big glass of champagne?! Thanks, toots!”
Act completely and entirely unaware that everyone hates your guts/is secretly jealous at how free and fun you are.
Wear something wildly inappropriate.
The way to make your tardy entrance as effective and annoying as possible is to wear something not Christian to Christmas dinner. If your family is super preppy, that means you must bust out the vinyl, darling. Vinyl, for whatever reason, just triggers sexless straight people. If your family is super fancy, wear ripped-up distressed denim jeans and one of those very lesbian tank tops that’s loose and cut out low under the armpits.
Whatever you do, don’t wear a bra. Bras are wildly uncomfortable, but so many women feel obligated to wear them, so their tits look perky for their tool bag husbands. Everyone will hate you for being so comfortable and liberated as those gorgeous boobs of yours swing freely like nobody’s business!
If you suspect that your family is homophobic, go full-blast rainbow, babe. Don’t even acknowledge it. Just confidently stomp around like this is your everyday look. Let the rumors fly that we gays are as freaky and weird and “in your face” as they say we are!
Talk about how amazing your gay life is.
“All of my friends are wildly successful,” you say, unprompted and with zero emotion in your loud, entitled voice. “My best lesbian friend is a CEO. My best gay boyfriend is on TV; he’s a famous movie star. I can’t exactly say his name because that would be tacky, but you all worship him. And I hang out with every single person on RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Really ham it up. Smile sweetly at your bitchy sister, who is one of those straight girls who worships at the altar of RuPaul. “If you want to hang out with any of the cast members, I could possibly arrange that.” Look her up and down, like a mean girl in high school. “Though we would have to go, uh, shopping first! Can’t have you showing up in that! HA!” Laugh wickedly and light up a cigarette. In the house. Even if you don’t smoke.
Anytime anyone mentions something they’re proud of, pretend to feel “dizzy”.
I learned this trick from one of my most fabulously melodramatic friends. Anytime anyone else was getting attention, she would stick her head between her knees out of nowhere. Naturally, someone would rush over to her and say “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing!” She would say, super unconvincingly. “I just feel… like I might… faint.”
The next thing I knew, everyone was rushing to her side, grabbing her water and offering her sugar to stabilize her blood sugar. Before too long, everyone had forgotten about the poor person who was in the middle of telling an important story. All eyes were on her instead.
I majorly suggest trying this lovely trick at home. The major bonus is that no one can hate you for having a “dizzy episode.” They’ll just secretly seethe with fiery flames of anger, which is the total f*cking point, amirite?
Invite all of your wild lesbian friends over for dessert without asking.
Around 9pm, when dessert is about to be served, arrange for the doorbell to delicately ring. As your darling auntie looks at her red-faced husband with worried eyes, theatrically bump your head with your hand.
“Ooops! Silly me! I invited the girls over for dessert.” Bat your lashes a few times, like a Southern girl who could never do anything wrong. “You don’t mind, do you? They didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Let your eyes well up with tears for a moment.
Auntie will be raging and freaked out inside, but she won’t have it in her to say no. After all, it’s Christmas, and she’s a good church-going lady. Rush to the door and let a sea of your most wild lesbian friends inside, like bulls in a china shop. Tell them beforehand that they aren’t allowed in unless they’re wearing head-to-toe leather and are totally wasted. Let them stampede around the house, loudly talking about lesbian sex, and feed them massive servings of all the best pie. Because we gays deserve some good pie, you know?
And have the best Christmas EVER. It feels so much better to be hated sometimes than to try to be liked by people who don’t appreciate you. Trust your lez big sis on this one.