This week, the New York Times published a BuzzFeed-style quiz showing pictures of the inside of people’s refrigerators. It asked the reader: Can you tell the difference between a Biden voter’s fridge, and a Trump voter’s?
It was grotesquely misguided.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m as guilty as anyone of assigning certain characteristics to voters of the “other” variety. Trucks and flags, sinking armadas, Call of Duty-esque cosplay, and the like. But when it comes to what we eat and drink, we’re not talking about sports-team-like paraphernalia.
This is far deeper than the morality play of some Goya beans.
We’re talking about a complex synthesis of geography, ethnicity, culture, economic status, family arrangements—a whole wide host of things that influence what we eat and drink. Some of those things are choices, some are often not. Sometimes the food we eat represents aspirations, and sometimes it represents destitution and desperation. Our fridges are full of lies and half-truths.
There is merit in understanding what we see when we analyze others’ consumerism. The brands we choose tell us something about the marketing we’re susceptible to. The stories we feel part of. The worldview we feel matches desires so deep that we want to eat and drink them.
But these days it probably says more about what’s sold to us than what we’re looking for.
And there is merit in having our own assumptions reflected back to us. Why did you think that was a “Biden fridge?” Does a salad represent liberalism? Why did you think it was a “Trump fridge?” Does Mountain Dew represent fascism?
“Come on man.”
All this is likely part of what the NYT was hinting at, however abstractly. But they sure didn’t say it. Instead, they presented us with a 2020 version of “Hot or Not”—a kind of consumerism of consumerism in editorial form, which invites participants to think in a profoundly cynical way about their fellow Americans. In the end, you get scored based on how cleverly you identified one over the other. Or maybe you revel in how wrong you were—oh, the irony!
But the underlying sentiment isn’t explored. The lesson isn’t offered. BuzzFeed would have done better, tbph.
I mean, imagine Jesus telling a story about a rich man trying to fit through the eye of a needle, and ending it by saying, “Needles are pretty wild right? Needles man, funny shit.”
And then there’s the question of whether we want these choices to be tied to our politics, and vice versa. How far are we going to let this insane dividing line zig-zag through our lives as we place a can of beans on one side and a yogurt brand on the other? How long will we continue to add such childish overcomplication to our lives in pursuit of some kind of life that’s been gerrymandered to the nth degree?
It’s like building Frankenstein’s monster out of weirder spare parts: salad dressings, energy drinks, an empty shelf where the eggs should be. And then we animate them into the world as friend or foe.
Would you feel differently deciding what someone’s fridge meant if you learned they’d just lost their job? Or if they had an eating disorder? Or if they never cooked because they’re living in their parents’ basement? What if they were trying to lose weight? Or they were upping their calorie intake to make the team? What if they just started cooking at home for the first time because we’re in a fucking pandemic, and people need to eat some goddamn feelings?
“Biden or Trump?” we’re asked, and those deeply baked-in assumptions about each other come racing to the surface like a bad joke at someone else’s expense in middle school.
Except this isn’t middle school. This is the New York Times. Which goes to show how everything is still essentially middle school.
