On Being a Karen in an Anti-Karen World
What I’ve learned from having a name that everyone loves to hate
I have never liked my name. Growing up, my best friends were Jillians and Vanessas. Compared to them, Karen was about as bland as it could get.
My parents named me Karen because, in Hebrew, it means ray of light. For Jewish people, Karen (Keren) is a beautiful, uplifting name. In Danish, it means pure. In German, it means hard worker. In Sanskrit, Karen’s twin, Kiran, means sunbeam.
In Hebrew, Karen also means horn or antler. But I digress.
‘Natural Born Karens’ are a dying breed
Between 1938 and 1979, Karen was one of the 50 most popular names in the U.S. For most of the 1950s and 1960s, we were in the top ten. In 1965, we hit our peak at #3.
Forty years later, we were still hanging on in the top 200. But in 2020, our ship hit the iceberg. Down we went. We now possess the 831st most popular name in the U.S.
We all know why no one likes Karen anymore
Karen is a pejorative slang term for an obnoxious, angry, entitled, and often racist middle-aged white woman who uses her privilege to get her way or police other people’s behaviors. -dictionary. com, 2020. Karen is “45. Drives either an SUV or a minivan. Can be found complaining to managers at either Burger King, or any McDonald’s with a play area…” -Urban Dictionary, 2020.
Given that The Guardian dubbed 2020 as “The Year of Karen,” I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with the use of Karen as a pejorative term. Maybe you’ve even called someone a Karen yourself.
I’ve seen dozens of Facebook posts where a woman’s comments are met with replies of, “Shut up, Karen. Whatever, Karen. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Karen.” And those are the nice ones.
While I don’t think flinging insults generally improve much of anything, there are times when the comments made by these so-called Karens are indeed ignorant, racist, or cringe-worthy. It’s easy to argue that they deserve to be called out for them. But, there are also times where calling someone a Karen is just a way to shut a woman up and her opinion down. This happens a lot too.
There is a broader debate out there about whether or not it is appropriate to use Karen as a derogatory term. Many excellent discussions can be found on the web. I am going to take a detour and talk about my personal experience as a Karen instead.
The ugly truth
At first, this use of Karen bothered me. Why did it have to be my name? After all, I am a Karen, but I am not that kind of Karen.
I am the ray of light kind of Karen! I am the pure, hard-working, sunbeam!
Last weekend, I went to the Panera drive-thru on the way to my son’s gymnastics class. I like to drink my morning coffee from the bleachers while I watch him. This particular Saturday, the drive-thru was too slow. I had to leave in between ordering the coffee and receiving it so that I could get my son to class on time.
I was not at all happy about this.
As I left my spot in the drive-thru line (we had been car #2 for nearly 30 minutes), I thought about letting this go. But, I REALLY wanted that coffee. And I had already ordered it. It was probably just sitting there, waiting for me or the trash to take it. Why shouldn’t I go back for it?
I dropped my son off at gymnastics and went back to Panera. I marched in, complained about the drive-thru to the employee at the Rapid Pickup Counter, and asked him for my coffee. The employee stopped what he was doing and went to get a new one for me. He gave it to me without charge. He also offered me free goodies from the bakery, which I declined.
I thanked him and left with my coffee. But this did not feel like a win. Instead, I felt abashed. I had been laser-focused on meeting my own needs. And in order to meet them, I had behaved like a Karen.
What happens now?
I am not proud of this story. I feel vulnerable sharing it. I am afraid you will judge me. I have already judged myself.
However, I also feel the tiniest little spark of hope. Something very unexpected happened.
Karen taught me something. I don’t know if I would have noticed my behavior if she didn’t exist.
For that, I think I owe her something.
I am not a Central Park, Whitefish, or Coronavirus Karen, and I never will be. But I can still be honest with myself about my impulse to put my own needs first, and the privilege that I have which enables me to do that.
I can, and I will do better.
I can’t help that my name is Karen. But I still get to choose what kind of Karen I want to be.
Originally published at https://ko-is-ok.net on December 15, 2021.
