Stuff White Brits Like

Almost all white Brits have travelled to India, normally between the ages of 18-32 and for a minimum of two months. They will have been to Delhi, Mumbai, Rajasthan, Goa, Varanasi, Amritsar, Kerala, and at least one of Rishikesh, Shimla or Darjeeling. They will have seen other places from the train, but sticking to the aforementioned schedule maximises the chances to meet other white Brits, possibly from the same school or university.

The reasons for this affinity are many. In India, white Brits are unlikely to be assaulted or robbed, can take advantage of an extensive public transport network,  and can easily visit a near infinite number of temples and other places of interest. The vast Lonely Planet guide that they carry with them can be used as a source of toilet paper once the places in question have been ticked off the list. Frequent bouts of diarrhoea are seen as ‘just part of the experience.’ Most importantly, white Brits can continue travelling around India for months on an average white British salary.

India allows white Brits to reap the benefits of empire (the English language and a vast income disparity) without being made to feel guilty. Nowhere is this balance struck as perfectly as in India, as most ex-colonies are either expensive (Canada, Australia, Hong Kong), or violent, repressive and frequently in violation of human rights (Zimbabwe, Burma, the USA).

For the more commercially-minded (see David Cameron), India is seen as a country on the up economically and a place to grab a piece of the action. India contrasts very favourably to China on this point, being the colourful and democratic yang to the monolithic and scary Chinese yin. A few examples: while China executes Brits for drug offences, India allows them to purchase cheap weed. While China forbids foreigners from driving without a Chinese licence, India allows any unlicensed idiot to hire a powerful motorbike for £7 a day. While China forces the Dalai Lama to flee, India allows him to live in comfort in Dharamsala. India, therefore, is the future superpower it’s alright for white Brits to love.

In general, white Brits do not travel to Bangladesh or Pakistan, unless they are a) Asian white Brits with connections who can use their economic circumstances to gain favourable conditions for marriage and business opportunities, or b) super white Brits (aid workers, political activists or journalists).

by William Beaufoy

At one point or another, all white Brits have contemplated the option of moving to New York. Whether it’s to relive Annie Hall and Manhattan or to up their street credentials by hanging out in Harlem, the white Brit will always have an image of possible New York bliss at the back of their mind. Do not, however, suggest that Sex and the City had a role in producing the idea, as the series has fallen out of favour among white Brits.

New York presents an unbeatable combination of culture (the Met, the Guggenheim Museum, the MoMA) and counter-culture (Patti Smith, Bob Dylan, the hipster scene), which the white Brit finds pleasing in the extreme. This is perfectly exemplified in white Brits’ favourite TV series, Mad Men, which they can talk about for indefinite periods of time without pausing for breath. The language factor is also an important one to take into consideration. Not ones for learning foreign languages beyond a certain level, white Brits labour under the illusion that their accent will make them sound magically clever and attractive to all New Yorkers. Theoretically, this will make them exotic and interesting with a minimum amount of effort, giving them an immediate advantage over their American counterparts. Their accent will also, they secretly believe, help them land a media job in the city.

A reasonable number of white Brits take the plunge and move to New York, if only for a limited period of time: David Bowie, Martin Amis, Sting, Kate Winslet, Anna Wintour, Alexa Chung, Agyness Deyn and Mark Ronson to name but a few. Nevertheless, the majority of white Brits decide against a cross-pond relocation. This is largely due to inherent inertia, but is not helped by the idea of 7am breakfasts, the cut-throat New York work ethic, and a distinct lack of self-deprecation.

N.B. Under influences such as Raymond Carver and Sunset Boulevard, California is also an option. White Brits enjoy glamorising California by ironically watching The OC, but there is nothing ironic about their love for San Francisco, home to white British favourites such as Dave Eggers and environmental awareness.

White Brits like to congratulate themselves on their ability to pronounce borrowed or downright foreign names, words and phrases, momentarily erasing any hint of their Britishness. It’s a sure-fire way white Brits get to show off their intimate knowledge of other cultures and  gain points from ethnic acquaintances.

The ability of the white Brit to win at pronunciation has been celebrated with footsie high fives under many a news desk over many years during reports on Ingrid Betancourt, the Haiti earthquake and the trials of Radovan Karadic and Radislav Krstic. White Brits are also proud that they excel at pronunciation when compared with white American efforts. The average white Brit will assure himself at least twice weekly that no one in Iraq pronounces it “eye-rack.”

As there is often discrepancy over how a non-English word should be pronounced, there are a few general rules adhered to by the knowing white Brit. Here are a few examples specific to white Brits who like to remind others of their degree in Arabic or Middle Eastern Studies:

1. The more syllables the better.  For instance when Al-Qaeda could be “Al- Kayda” or “Al-Kyda,” white Brits go for “A- Qaa-ee-da.”
2. When there’s an ‘a’ white Brits always go for an ‘aah’ sound, so they know to pronounce Ramadan “Ramadaahn.”
3. Generally, white Brits do not replace the transliterated ‘s’ with ‘z’. No one in Basra calls it “Bazzra” and only northern Muslims call themselves ‘Muzlimz’.

For examples of white Brits and their pronunciation wins, see Fiona Bruce any time she mentions Silvio Berlusconi, Channel 4‘s Lindsey Hilsum when she talks about Mahmood Abbas and the BBC’s Jeremy McDermott when he reports on anything.

by Naima Khan

If a white Brit wishes to make a profound or grandiloquent point, which is by no means rare, they will automatically try to soften its pretentiousness by referencing some form of lowly popular culture, or “prolefeed,” as George Orwell would put it. This can include anything, from toilet humour to Twilight.

It is preferable for there to be a tangible link between the two references, but this is not strictly speaking necessary. It is not uncommon for white Brits to talk of Proust and East 17 in the same sentence. Other good juxtapositions include JM Coetzee and Duran Duran, Dostoyevsky and the Go Compare adverts, or Borges and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. If hip hop is involved, all the better. This formula is also a popular way of creating undergrad essay titles: one could be ‘South Park vs Shakespeare: the portrayal of food-related revenge plots in Scott Tenorman Must Die and Titus Andronicus.’

The more highbrow the discussion, the more lowbrow the qualifying statement should be. But do note that mediumbrow, or book club fodder, is bypassed altogether by white Brits, as it is not considered ironic.

White Brits do not, as a rule, have happy and well-balanced relationships during their teenage years. In moments of need, The Smiths are at hand to provide solace in the form of Morrissey, whose love life is even worse than that of the teenaged white Brit. Add to that a quiff, some witty puns and lots of references to poetry, and you have a winning combination. Roughly around the age of fifteen, after listening to Meat is Murder, all white Brits become vegetarian for a minimum of one month.

Once the hormones fizz out and white Brits enter adulthood, however, they do not abandon The Smiths. Blasé and sophisticated in all other respects, they have no qualms about enjoying songs with histrionic titles such as I Want the One I Can’t Have and Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. Inserting Smiths quotes into conversation will show off your musical erudition to your white British friends, while bonding over a shared love of The Smiths is a necessary start to any romantic relationship with a white Brit.

N.B. It is blasphemy to suggest that Morrissey‘s solo stuff is at all comparable to any Smiths music, although ‘Suedehead’ is agreed to be a tolerable exception. White Brits therefore have to listen to his solo music in secret.

It is not clear at what exact age Angel replaces Shoreditch in white British people’s affections, but it is a fact that as the fire of rebellion quells and the love of expensive wine bars increases, Angel becomes their new favourite part of London. With a variety of exotic restaurants (including an Ottolenghi), trendy boutiques, juice bars, antique dealers and cute little theatres, Angel provides everything the white Brit needs to survive. There is even a weekly farmers’ market.

White Brits flock to Angel to celebrate any sort of occasion in one of the local cocktail bars, to buy designer cupcakes, and to watch young up-and-coming comedians, hoping to spot the next Stewart Lee among them. White Brits’ favourite place in Angel is Filthy McNasty’s Whisky Cafe, which offers fine ales and a space for intimate poetry readings to the well-dressed young crowds. There is always a slight element of self-loathing involved in trips to Angel, given its high level gentrification and popularity among City boys, but the love of good wine always wins in the end.

This is also the next step in the gradual but inevitable drift towards Hampstead, which hangs like a promise and a curse in the future of all white Brits.

There are few things that can successfully satisfy white Brits’ love of irony and misanthropy at the same time, but Terry Wogan’s commentary of the Eurovision Song Contest did just that. Now that Graham Norton has replaced Wogan, his commentary has the added appeal of nostalgia, and white Brits reminisce poignantly about the good old pre-Norton days.

With Terry gone, a significantly lower number of white Brits watches Eurovision, but in the past it was an annual ritual. Rather than simply not watching it, white Brits would make a point of seeing it in order to mock it and question the sanity of anyone watching it for unironic reasons. They would criticise the British entry with a mix of self-deprecation and embarrassment, and harbour hopes of one day seeing Bill Bailey, Dizzee Rascal or Morrissey perform for the UK. Advanced white Brits also discussed the political implications of the voting.

Wogan’s acerbic gems made it all worthwhile: “who knows what hellish future lies ahead? … Actually, I do. I’ve seen the rehearsals,” “we won the Cold War but we lost the Eurovision,” and “please don’t ask me to take it seriously.” His disillusioned protestations during Eurovision 2008 will go down in white British television history, as will his closing remark before quitting: “goodbye, Western Europe.”