Everyone Hates Me | The New Yorker


Ugh, everyone totally hates me. Everyone, including my pediatrician, the stranger at Panera who told me I have a “beautiful aura,” and anyone else who has ever existed, thinks I am the worst human ever—I just know it.

Absolutely every single person on earth has hated me since I was a wee lad. Whereas most wee lads are the subject of their parents’ adoration, I was raised with outright derision. My father worked long hours at a high-stress, high-paying job just so he could avoid spending time in my vicinity. My mother resented me to the degree that she refused to even breast-feed me after my fourth birthday. They eventually enrolled me in the finest of schools, so that I could learn to be hated by the finest of teachers. These years as a disliked wee lad thickened my skin for the hate to come.

By the way, I am convinced that one of the reasons people hate me is that I refer to children as “wee lads.” I wish I could change everything about myself, but especially this.

I know that people find it infuriating to hear someone with all the privilege in the world perpetually insist that “everyone hates” him. Just imagine, though, how much more annoying it is for me, a person actually hated by everyone, when phonies pretend they’re the ones everybody hates. I bet these very same phonies with “no friends” throw an extravagant, super-fun party every month where they all hang out. Everyone just sits around at these parties and lists the various things they hate about me. I have never been invited to this party I’m imagining, because people who throw imaginary parties also hate me.

I once saw Tom Hanks, the kindest man in the world, and he told me that he’d never seen a person more punchable or detestable than me. He did not say this verbally but rather with his eyes. What an incredible actor.

My therapist tells me I’m in my own head and that it’s “actually kind of selfish” to presume that everyone spends their spare time thinking about me. I want to believe her, but I know she hates me, too. Why else would she have cancelled our session for the last week of December?

Seriously, think of a person. Got a person in mind? That’s right—Michelle Obama hates me, and she loves everyone. Now think of another person. We already established that Tom Hanks hates me. Why’d you think of someone I already brought up? You’re just a typical person who hates me, constantly trying to rub salt in my Tom Hanks-shaped wounds.

My most ardent haters harbor so much ire for me that they’ll try to gaslight me into believing they actually like me. They’ll say things like “Seriously? I asked you to be the best man at my wedding” or “Stop telling strangers we were bad parents!” I do not fully understand the extent of these haters’ contempt for me but must live with it every day.

Nobody hates me more than my fiancée, Emily. Her hatred takes the form of pity, which leads her to go on vacations with me, spend lazy Sundays with me, and partake in sex with me. She says I’m “an idiot” to think that someone who just agreed to spend the rest of her life with me honestly hates me. I see right through her charade, though. If she doesn’t hate me, then why does she never agree to watch hours upon hours of fail videos on YouTube with me? You can always tell that someone hates you if the person refuses to do the exact thing you want to do.

So, yes, believe me when I say that I am the most hated person in the world. If you don’t believe me, well, then, I guess it comes as no surprise to learn that you hate me, too.

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