JD Vance’s visit to the Third Precinct brought out, if not the worst of the plagues facing today’s Minnesota, at least the most comical: the WUPH.
The White Urban Progressive Homer. Generally a 20-30-something male, employed in the non-profit, public or academic sector, part of the laptop class, single, socially mobile, mostly self-focused.
And they seem to obsess relentlessly about the zipcode they live in – or at least parts of it:
Because to a WUPH, “business” means “something they pay money to that supports their lifestyle”: restaurants, bars, coffee shops, bookstores…
…which are, let’s be honest, things I also love about living in the city.
But being a WUPH isn’t so much about the zip code you live in as it is about the zip codes you don’t live in:
Because behind every “All Are Welcome Here” sign is a person who really doesn’t like people who aren’t like them:
I mean, I get it – Minneapolis is a beautiful place…
…and has cool stuff to do if you have money and don’t mind (or mock any observation of) some of the risks of modern Minneapolis. I mean, I fell in love with the place once upon a time, enough to uproot my whole life and move there.
You know how they say the worst, most arrogant condescending New Yorkers are the ones that were born in Albany?
A get a little of that vibe from the WUPH – people who seem to think a place’s natural beauty and social amenities impart worth on people who live there is…
Which, to my New York example, is about as parochial as the Lutheran church gossips in the basements of the churches in Woodbury and Forest lake that I suspect so many WUPHs originally come from in the first place.Â
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