I Always Knew I Wasn’t Your Forever White Person. But Bryce? Come on.

By Me, Your Ex-White Person

I’m not an idiot. I knew this was coming. No one picks me as their forever white person—I’m transitional. A placeholder. A DEI hire for the BIPOC community, before you settle into a final, permanent, fully-licensed Caucasian.

I knew I wasn’t a legacy white. I didn’t have the stability, the permanence. I was your white person training wheels. An experimental go ahead and break it plaything, the equivalent of sourdough starter made with an Easy-Bake Oven.

I knew all of this. And yet.

Bryce.

BRYCE.

This is where I struggle. I always assumed I’d be replaced by someone…better. Stronger. Wiser. Someone with a deep, commanding voice and a subscription to The New Yorker that he actually reads.

I thought, at minimum, I’d lose my spot to a Gregory, a Daniel, perhaps a Julian if you were feeling adventurous. But Bryce? Bryce is the kind of guy who claps when his plane lands.

You know what Bryce reminds me of? A guy who tells a waiter he ‘used to be a bartender’ when ordering a margarita.

Bryce is a guy whose entire personality is “skiing.” A guy whose LinkedIn bio says, and I quote, “big fan of synergy.” A man whose fridge contains only oat milk, pre-packaged protein shakes, and a single unopened bottle of Lynrd Skynrd Bayou hot sauce, which he keeps as a ‘collectors item.’

He doesn’t have thoughts, he has ‘takes.’ He’s never read a book that wasn’t recommended by an algorithm. He refers to ‘learning experiences’ as ‘L’s.’ Bryce is a guy who calls conversations ‘touchpoints.’

Did Bryce tell you he used to be a DJ? Of course he did. Of course he did.

I am physically sick.

I don’t want to sound bitter, but I am. I am bitter. This isn’t about race or culture—it’s about the disappointment of knowing I was replaced by a human North Face vest. Replaced by a guy who says things like, ‘I love a good IPA.’ (I mean, is there a bad IPA?)

If I hear the word ‘microbrewery’ come out of your mouth, I swear to God.

And yet—he wins. He always wins.

And why shouldn’t he?

Honestly, the most surprising thing here is that either of us ever thought I was permanent. I don’t mean that as an insult. I mean that as a fact: I should have seen this coming when you stopped using salt. And we should have seen this coming, what with, you know, his pre-creased chinos and a credit card exclusively for protein powder.

I won’t compete with that. Because I can’t.

What am I? I’m well-meaning and white. But he’s white white. He elevates it. I’m avocado toast, he’s artisanal honey. I’m an NPR tote bag, he’s axe throwing. I’m pottery class, he’s essential oils. I’ll take you camping, he’ll take you to a silent retreat at his lake house. I’ll share a bag of kale chips, he’ll share a karaoke night singing Fleetwood Mac unironically.

He’s everything I’m not and never will be. Unlike me, I bet Bryce doesn’t even have anxiety. I bet he just sleeps. Like a psychopath. Unlike me, Bryce calls coffee ‘bean water’ and does sun salutations while listening to a podcast about how wolves ‘think in alpha waves.’

I mean…Bryce is a guy who owns a gratitude journal. How am I supposed to believe that’s not better than me?

His social media has photos of him eating ‘functional mushrooms’ and a video of him talking about ‘investing in aquaculture.’ I still don’t know what that means.

So, yeah, I’m never going to be him. I—I just—I always thought I’d be replaced by someone with… a little more gravitas. Not someone whose LinkedIn endorsements include ‘networking’, ‘paddleboarding’ and CrossFit.

But this is as much about your choices. Let’s just get this straight: you replaced me with a man who doesn’t make left turns because “it’s more efficient to take three rights”? That’s a choice you made?

You left for a man who owns a surfboard but doesn’t live near water? You left for a man whose primary personality trait is “loves charcuterie”?

I suppose next you’re gonna tell me Bryce doesn’t believe in using a western toilet because ‘squatting is more ancestral.’

That’s so great. So, so great. Just fantastic. You’re gonna have a wonderful time just... hiking and optimizing things together. No, no, no. I love this for you. You and Bryce are gonna be so happy together, just being... inspirational at each other. I hope you enjoy farm-to-table disappointment.

(Sigh). Just…just…just forget I said anything.

And don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I mean, look at me—I’m thriving. I ate a handful of almonds for breakfast and talked to my dog about inflation. I’m thriving.

Look. I hope you and Bryce are happy. I really do. I hope you enjoy matching Patagonia vests and split bills at ‘high-vibe’ sushi restaurants.

I hope you have a beautiful life together—right up until the moment Bryce inevitably leaves you for someone named Chandler, who makes artisanal bathtub kombucha in Brooklyn and and insists “Pride and Prejudice is just Wolf of Wall Street in petticoats—better manners, less cocaine.”

And when that day comes?

I’ll be here. Not to take you back—oh no. That ship has sailed. But just to sit back, and say…

Come. On.