We’ve all met them. We’ve all defended our art, our tastes, our hard work to them. We’ve all rolled our eyes at them.
Snobs.
I’ve jokingly referred to myself as a beer snob and a film snob, to name a couple, because I have strong preferences and tend to be overly critical of beers and movies I dislike.
However, I’ve also realized that in those two realms, my snobbiness is at a 1 or a 2 on a scale of 10. For example, I (gasp!) love IPAs. If the beer subreddit is any indication, my tastes are woefully pedestrian because of this. And I love cheesy B movies, which excludes me from being a true film snob, according to some people who don’t appreciate my love of Citizen Kane as long as I have a copy of I Know What You Did Last Summer in my collection.
I experienced snobbish gatekeeping in the anthropology community, as well. When I received a grant to fund my research on bullying, I was honored at our department awards ceremony along with the other grantees. The department chair met me on stage to hand me my plaque (all sorts of pomp, yes) and asked me where I’d be conducting my research. “Right here in Florida,” I said proudly.
“Oh! Give me that back,” she exclaimed, playfully yanking the plaque back from me. I was completely mortified as the crowd tittered. Even though she was joking, the message was clear: My…
