I did not know who Sydney Sweeney was until the latest dustup over her ad selling jeans with her good genes. I realized that it was just another spark of Woke in the collective minds of the deranged. Part of Woke is an assault on white people on every level. When I saw the jeans ad, it made me realize that the wokesters are at it again because another woman with good genes who was selling jeans was celebrated in the recent past. Go check out the Beyoncé Levi’s jeans ad and ask yourself one question: What is the difference? Well, the answer is the color of their skin, and this made me realize that Woke is still out there spreading their hate, and a thought came to mind. I mused that Woke could have never survived in the 1980s ethos.

Let us, for a moment, entertain a truly terrifying thought experiment. Imagine, if you will, plucking a perfectly calibrated “woke progressive” from the year of our Lord 2025, replete with their reusable tote bag, their meticulously curated pronouns, and their finely tuned outrage detector, and dropping them unceremoniously into the primordial soup of the “politically incorrect” 1980s. The immediate, visceral reaction, one might hypothesize, would be less a gentle culture shock and more a spectacular, cranial detonation. A veritable ideological supernova, if you will.

Consider the sheer, unadulterated horror. Our intrepid time traveler, let’s call them Alex (they/them, naturally), would first encounter the fashion. Shoulder pads the size of small aircraft carriers. Neon tracksuits that screamed “I’m here to party, and I don’t care if I blind you.” The very fabric of sartorial decency, as Alex understands it, would be rent asunder. And the hair! Oh, the hair. A gravity-defying testament to aerosol abuse, utterly devoid of any sustainable, organic, or ethically sourced product. The sheer environmental footprint of a single 1980s perm would likely trigger Alex’s first major internal pressure build-up.

But clothing, alas, is merely the tip of the iceberg of insensitivity. Imagine Alex, accustomed to safe spaces and trigger warnings, stepping into a workplace where casual sexism was as ubiquitous as shoulder pads. Where “locker room talk” wasn’t just a phrase, but a daily reality. Where the concept of a “microaggression” was as alien as a smartphone. The sheer volume of un-critiqued, unreprimanded banter would be a constant, low-frequency hum of existential dread. Every casual “honey” or “sweetheart” directed at a female colleague, every off-color joke about a minority group, every un-ironic cigarette smoked indoors, each would be a tiny, incremental pinprick to Alex’s meticulously constructed moral bubble.

Then there’s the media. The television shows, where problematic tropes ran rampant and diversity was often an afterthought, if it was a thought at all. The movies, where heroes were often flawed, chauvinistic, and even smoked cigarettes, caring less about the health implications. The music videos, a kaleidoscope of questionable gender roles and objectification, played on MTV without a content warning in sight. Alex’s brain, accustomed to content filtered through layers of sensitivity readers and cultural consultants, would be bombarded by unfiltered, raw, and utterly unapologetic entertainment. The sheer lack of self-awareness would be a shock to the system, akin to a cold shower, but with more hairspray.

The cumulative effect of the woke would melt away with a relentless assault on every fiber of the woke-being. The constant, gnawing realization that the world they inhabit, the one they’ve worked so hard to make equitable, simply doesn’t exist here. The casual disregard for what they hold sacred. The sheer, blissful ignorance of the “isms” and “phobias” that define their modern existence. It wouldn’t be a slow burn; it would be a rapid, exponential increase in internal pressure. The cognitive dissonance would reach critical mass. And then, with a pop heard ’round the time-space continuum, the head would explode.

A tragic end, perhaps, for our progressive protagonist. But also, a darkly comedic illustration of how far we’ve faded from common sense and free thought. The 1980s, in all its politically incorrect glory, stands as a stark reminder of the Last Generation of Freedom. All of it reminds the world once again that there is nothing more dangerous than “naufrageous” Woke people sailing on an ocean of ignorance. And there is nothing more powerful than good “genes” selling “jeans”. So says the Battle “Hymn” of the Republic of Fashion as they “hem” some more new jeans to cover America’s curvy beauty, whether they’d be black or white.

C. Rich

C. Rich is the voice behind America Speaks Ink, home to the America First Movement. As an author, freelance ghostwriter, poet, and blogger, C. Rich brings a “baked-in” perspective shaped by growing up on the streets and beaches of South Florida in the 1970s-1980s and brings a quintessential Generation-X point of view.

Rich’s writing journey began in 2008 with coverage of the Casey Anthony trial and has since evolved into a wide-ranging exploration of politics, culture, and the issues that define our times. Follow C. Rich’s writing odyssey here at America Speaks Ink and on Amazon with a multi-book series on Donald Trump called “Trump Era: The MAGA Files” and many other books and subjects C. Rich is known to cover.  CRich@AmericaSpeaksInk.com

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