u/Glittering_Texas

I hate to admit this, but our Saint and I have something in common. Something about our pasts. And it kills me a little. Similar situations led us down very different paths. But I know, at least in part, how she got where she is. You see, MeGain and I both spent our formative years in a weird sphere I like to call “rich people adjacent”.

We were both raised in families that were, by normal standards, very well off. Not only were all of our needs met, but around 80% of our wants were met as well. It was a life that the majority of people would be thrilled to achieve.

But the area where I lived, much like MeGain’s early world, was decidedly not average. It was a wealthy enclave of oil, tech and real estate money. My parents moved us there when I was 12 because it was the best school district in our area. My dad wasn’t a millionaire. But he had a good job with enough pay and savings to make it happen.

When we moved, we downsized. Our new house was much smaller. My parents cars were unimpressive. Family vacations came to an abrupt end. But it was worth it to my parents, because I was getting a much better education. Much as Thomas Markle would spend his hard earned money to give MeGain an excellent education.

There was one unexpected side effect for me. I spent my formative years feeling poor when I was very much not poor at all. Not even close. My dad had a good salary. My mom didn’t have to work. I wore nice clothes and did fun activities and had everything I needed. Going to college one day was a given. And never once did the matter of how it might be paid for cross my mind. That should tell you a good deal about my reality.

But when you are an adolescent, you are hyper-aware of your peers, not the real world. And for someone like MeGain, for whom optics are everything, this must have been ten times worse.

And this is where I feel like I know a little of MeGain’s villain origin story.

Because my family was not super rich, I was not like many of my classmates. They lived in huge homes. Their parents sent them to the mall with hundreds of dollars to spend. I spent spring break in my room reading books. They went skiing or laid on a beach.

There were social divisions at school, too. No surprise there.

At the top were the kids of billionaires and storied families. At the bottom? Kids with enough money to join in but not enough to keep up. Kids who had plenty of money, but it was “new money”, which isn’t as good. Kids who were Jewish or Asian or came from out of state. I had a friend whose only crime was, quite literally, having been born in Michigan.

MeGain attended a nice private school. And I know she enjoyed driving through the wealthy, mansion saturated neighborhoods of the Los Angeles area, probably wondering how they lived inside. I can’t totally blame her for rubbing shoulders with people who had it all and then dreaming that someday she could do the same. Because when I was 12, 13, 14 years old, I was doing that too.

I wonder sometimes where MeGain stood in her school’s social hierarchy. I just tried to keep my head down, but that’s certainly never been her way. My guess is that she took a “fake it till you make it” approach when she needed to fit in.

In adolescent social circles, no matter what your financial status, supreme self-confidence and swagger go a long way. Bonus if it involves being a mean girl. And our Saint is nothing if not self-assured in the worst way possible.

At some point though, our paths diverged. As I moved into high school, I began to see that money did not actually resolve all of life’s problems.

At my high school, eating disorders and deaths due to underage drinking were rampant. Academic pressures led many of my classmates to develop what I now recognize as serious mental health disorders. If you were gay, you did not come out. There was exactly one African American kid. His life was difficult in ways that I will never experience or even fully understand.

In the community, dysfunction was everywhere. Nasty divorces. Drug addiction. Negligent parenting that would have meant state intervention for poorer families. There were a lot of domestic violence situations and untreated mental health issues. Sometimes those things left people dead.

It must have been the same in MeGain’s world. Humans are humans, no matter the size of their bank account. She must have seen things, heard stories, experienced pressures first hand.

By the time I finished high school, I was ready to blow that popsicle stand. And I stepped into the real world, where I met people who had experienced real struggles and overcome far more serious hardships. Mansions were nice, but they were just wrapping on a box. And the contents of that box could vary wildly.

And as I went into college and then into the working world, I encountered people who had wildly different life experiences from my own. I realized I had never been poor. I was, by any measure, very spoiled and extremely privileged. MeGain never got the memo.

Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that she got the memo, but she didn’t know how to read it. Because MeGain is a narcissist and a user. She can’t do things like empathy or self reflection. She can’t even understand cause and effect.

So when she finally got what she dreamed of, she decided that wasn’t enough either. There’s always someone who has it better, and she needs it to be hers.

So now here she is, posting endless Instagram shots of her seeming idyllic world. Complaining about how mistreated she is, how miserable her life has been while surrounded by people with real problems.

But at the same time reminding everyone that she has a mansion. With a prince for a husband and two faceless children. With a rotting bridge, a dated facade and hanging pots that are straight out of a 90s catalog. It’s all MeGain’s adolescent dream come to life.

So that’s my theory of how a malignant narcissist turns into a global supervillain, obsessed with wealth, optics and getting ahead. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

He was once decorative. He’s largely nonfunctional. He’s ultimately replaceable.

I present to you Harry Mountbatten-Windsor: Wallpaper Husband

This photo was taken mere hours before I became a Sinner!

When the DailyMail first reported that Prince Harry was dating an American actress I had never heard of, I was…hopeful. I wanted the best for that sad boy behind his mother’s coffin. I ended up overlooking a lot of things to keep that hope alive. So many things that if it had been me watching a friend in that relationship, I would have said something.

But I reminded myself that I didn’t know these people. I didn’t have the full story. If the Queen or Charles or William thought there were problems, they would tell Harry. And he would definitely have listened, right? RIGHT?

As the wedding approached, my coworker Nicole and I gossiped about it. We talked ourselves into ignoring those red flags. We even decided to throw a workplace celebration just before the wedding. We wanted to be happy for Harry. Also, we wanted to wear fascinator hats. Because that’s not a thing in Texas.

Nicole and I swanned into the office the last workday before the wedding. We had frilly dresses and feathered hats - quite a shocker in our casually attired office. We had a lemon cake. We decked out our department in British flags.

Everyone looked at us like we had three heads. But we knew we were fabulous.

Then came the wedding! I got up early. I was excited. I chose to overlook all the reports about drama over crowns and dresses and missing family. I wanted a fairy tale. So I have only myself to blame for what happened next.

She got out of that car. And she looked so…smug. Not happy or excited or nervous. Smug.

She reminded me of Vanessa from Disney’s The Little Mermaid. An evil witch masquerading as a bride. And suddenly I was an eight year old girl who wanted to scream at the TV and warn the prince to run away.

I tried to focus on her dress. It was a wedding dress in the academic sense. It was white. It was a gown. And that was pretty much it.

So I focused on the guests: Oprah, the Clooneys, etc. But all I could think was “she is not nearly famous enough to be friends with these people.”

And I kept coming back to that face. And it pissed me off. She didn’t think she was marrying into one of the most storied families on earth. She didn’t think she was going to contribute to the future of a glorious institution. She thought she was hot shit. And that’s pretty much it.

By the time she made it down that aisle, trying to do a soft, angelic expression like she was Julia Freaking Roberts, I was done. DONE. I huffed through the ceremony, then turned off the TV. I was a fool once, but not anymore. What a letdown.

And then it all came out. The bullying. The fights. The endless allegations. And the fact the Harry was never a charming, fun-loving bloke who was an asset to his family. He was a vain, insecure liability that the BRF kept contained until they couldn’t hold him anymore.

Harry was always an ogre. Meghan just encouraged him to leave his cave.

So this photo is me and my lovely co-worker, Nicole, having our pre-wedding celebration. Neither one of us came out of that wedding viewing the same way we went in. We were young and full of hope, so to soeak. We tried to be positive, but we just couldn’t do it anymore. Thankfully there were plenty of like-minded people out there.

We are Sinners. We are legion.

They say animals and children can sense your intentions…

She’s not much like Diana at all, but she is increasingly like another ex-Royal…

I mean…it kinda hits the nail on the head.

https://www.tatler.com/article/prince-william-exclusive-portrait-june-cover

Oh boy…Hairless and his 43% Nigerian first wife will be thrilled.

All credit for the heads up goes to @only-l0ve