Just when you thought you had a handle on the world, it comes to light that a clean, orderly kitchen pantry is in fact evidence of violence, racism, sexism, and tantamount to pornography.
Shame on all you “nice” clean people.
Says who, Big Red Car?
Says Associate Professor Jenna Drenten, PhD and marketing expert at Loyola of Chicago University where she indoctrinates undergrads and grad students on “marketing, integrated marketing marketing communications, and digital consumer marketing.”
“Cleanliness has historically been used as a cultural gatekeeping mechanism to reinforce status distinctions based on a vague understanding of “niceness”: nice people, with nice yards, in nice houses, make for nice neighborhoods.
What lies beneath the surface of this anti-messiness, pro-niceness stance is a history of classist, racist and sexist social structures.”
Pantry porn, Big Red Car?
Yes, dear reader. It is no longer enough to have a fabulous kitchen; now, you have to have an organized pantry.
You think organizing your pasta in glass containers — eschewing the product packaging — is innocent?
Nope. Pantry porn. Racist. Sexist. Violent.
Think putting all the kids’ snacks in a wicker basket is natural?
Nope. Pantry porn.
Spices? Pantry porn.
In fact, an overly orderly pantry triggers ASMR — autonomous sensory meridian response — that tingly, electric feeling that travels up and down your body when exposed to certain stimuli.
Southern butler’s pantry
Thank goodness Professor Jenna did not focus on Southern butler’s pantries — that food prep and storage militarized zone between the kitchen and the dining room in fine homes in the South.
Be warned, Professor Jenna is a product of the University of Georgia. Go Dawgs!
Bottom line it, Big Red Car
Fine, here’s the bottom line:
When you are watching March Madness and dart into your “overly organized, nice” food pantry to find the Tostitos scoops for the guacamole, you are a depraved, racist, sexist, white supremacist, violent pornographer even if you are rooting against Duke.
But, hey, what the Hell do I really know anyway? I’m just a Big Red Car.
Pssst, how about mud rooms?