Hello, I am Danielle Belton, aka “The Black Snob.” This is my new blog. It is called “daniellebelton.com.” When I created blacksnob.com, the only thought I put behind the name was that I A) thought it was funny and B) knew people would click on that link with a name like that. But the name, unfortunately, didn’t always reflect who I actually am — a neurotic “county brownie” from St. Louis, Mo.
The Black Snob site will always be there, as I don’t want to lose my archives, or the brand I developed there. Also, people know me as the Black Snob and love that name. I’d never want it to completely die. But when I started The Snob, I originally wanted to adopt this fake persona so I could blog anonymously, but the minute “The Snob” was getting quoted and “The Snob” was getting linked, I got jealous of myself. “Who is this Snob person?” my crazy brain fumed. “DANIELLE BELTON WROTE THAT SHIT!”
At the end of the day, my own ego is what caused the push from The Snob to Danielle Belton is the Snob, to now Danielle Belton is just Danielle Belton, formerly known as The Snob.
Is blacksnob.com dead?
Nope. I’m just not going to update it anymore, but I’ll continue to keep the site up for those who want to read my old posts.
Are you still going to call yourself “The Black Snob?”
Not really. But if you call me that, I won’t care. It is the nickname I jokingly gave myself based on an interaction with a girl from college who thought I “looked stuck up.” Oh, and that time I kept forgetting to lock my friends’ car doors and they kept cursing me out over it and finally one day I snapped and said, “I keep forgetting to lock the door because I’ve never ridden in a car that didn’t have automatic locks.”
Yeah. That went over SUPER well, considering up until then, I was constantly checking what little privilege I had (before that became “a thing”) and trying to hide the fact that I knew nothing of “the struggle” and was, in fact, the spoiled and much cherished middle daughter of a successful engineer and a dedicated, devoted, “spoil you with love” ex-school teacher mother.
So were you lying about being some poshity-posh, snobbity-snob?
In my immediate family, we weren’t rich. But I didn’t exactly know what Spam tasted like either. Velveeta, though? Yes. My parents were not bougie, just educated and really into all the things people associate with the newly upper middle class minority — buying personal computers before other people did, sending your kid to piano lessons for the entirety of their childhood, Girl Scouts, Vacation Bible School, honors classes and endless summer activities involving the community college and St. Louis Public Libraries.
I still liked booty bass music (I lose all decorum when either Luke’s “Scarred” or BBD’s “Poison” is played at a party) and, when I was six, my favorite food was “fried bolonga sandwiches.” Now you couldn’t get me to touch the stuff and I have no clue why my parents fed this to me. But I was a finicky eater as a kid. They probably fed me that to keep me from starving to death since I would barely eat anything else.
Despite all this though, if you ask both my sisters, I somehow am now “bougie.” But I promise you, I was not raised that way. I grew up eating pork and thinking slices of processed American cheese were delicious. I’m a smart person. And I have some manners. But I’m also foul-mouthed and kind of nerdy, but a “cool” nerd, if that makes any damn sense.
So what are you going to write about now?
A little of everything. Just like always. But not too much political stuff, as I have a day job now. It’s kind of important. Saving the world n’ stuff … via the Twitterz.
But do you still love me?
Of course I do. You make me great. I wouldn’t be at a point where I could just move my blog over to a new spot if I didn’t know there was a chance you’d follow me here, on this new journey in my crazy life.