shredded4summer
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- Jul 8, 2023
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Bhai, I have come to a profound realization after reading @CelestialEmpire WASP threads
Despite being a proud Indian man—descendant of the mighty Rajputs, an inheritor of Vedic wisdom, and a spiritual successor to the Mughal emperors—I possess an undeniable, almost supernatural level of WASP energy.
I walk with the grace of an Ivy League legacy student. When I sip my chai, I feel as though I should be in a Connecticut country club, discussing stock portfolios and generational wealth. My posture? Ramrod straight, like a British aristocrat on a fox hunt. My fashion sense? Immaculate, bhai. I wear my polo with the same confidence a Harvard-educated WASP wears a navy blue blazer over a crisp Oxford shirt.
People often mistake me for a mere Indian, but I know the truth. My energy is that of a six-foot-five, blonde-haired, blue-eyed New England socialite. Women do not simply admire me—they feel an ancestral obligation to marry me for the sake of maintaining pure, old-money bloodlines.
Bhai, when I stroll through Delhi, I sometimes feel as though I should be strolling through a colonial-era estate, sipping on a whiskey sour, discussing the family trust fund. When I hear a group of aunties gossiping, I swear I can almost hear whispers of "Oh, yes, his family owns property in the Hamptons."
I do not need to be born into the WASP elite—I AM the WASP elite. In spirit, in energy, in aura. My very existence radiates the refined arrogance of a man whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower, despite my ancestors actually arriving on horseback to conquer Rajasthan.
Tell me, bhai, how do I break the news to the WASP community that I am one of them?
8PSL | 4'10 | 4.5x4 Indian Gentleman | Future Hamptons Homeowner
Despite being a proud Indian man—descendant of the mighty Rajputs, an inheritor of Vedic wisdom, and a spiritual successor to the Mughal emperors—I possess an undeniable, almost supernatural level of WASP energy.
I walk with the grace of an Ivy League legacy student. When I sip my chai, I feel as though I should be in a Connecticut country club, discussing stock portfolios and generational wealth. My posture? Ramrod straight, like a British aristocrat on a fox hunt. My fashion sense? Immaculate, bhai. I wear my polo with the same confidence a Harvard-educated WASP wears a navy blue blazer over a crisp Oxford shirt.
People often mistake me for a mere Indian, but I know the truth. My energy is that of a six-foot-five, blonde-haired, blue-eyed New England socialite. Women do not simply admire me—they feel an ancestral obligation to marry me for the sake of maintaining pure, old-money bloodlines.
Bhai, when I stroll through Delhi, I sometimes feel as though I should be strolling through a colonial-era estate, sipping on a whiskey sour, discussing the family trust fund. When I hear a group of aunties gossiping, I swear I can almost hear whispers of "Oh, yes, his family owns property in the Hamptons."
I do not need to be born into the WASP elite—I AM the WASP elite. In spirit, in energy, in aura. My very existence radiates the refined arrogance of a man whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower, despite my ancestors actually arriving on horseback to conquer Rajasthan.
Tell me, bhai, how do I break the news to the WASP community that I am one of them?
8PSL | 4'10 | 4.5x4 Indian Gentleman | Future Hamptons Homeowner
