Minnesota Nice

The niceness of my adopted home state during oppression and beyond

A quick note about today’s post: My goal is often levity and humor, but the world is making that more challenging by the day, so we’ve got something a little more on the sincere and pensive side today. You’re welcome/I’m sorry/enjoy.

I moved to Minnesota in July of 2023 from Philadelphia, a city that I adore and would have lived in forever if I wanted to live in a big city. My partner is from here, but I had no other connections and had visited the state minimally. We were drawn here because we love the outdoors, we knew access to women’s healthcare weren’t threatened by the state, and Winter. I love Winter.

It’s a huge privilege to get to choose where you live and big shift to go from Philly, known for it’s grit and the slogan, “No one likes us, we don’t care” to Minnesota’s nice-ness. In the last two-and-half-years I’ve been affirmed over and over by the decision. I live next to the GLOAT (greatest lake of all time), have been outside in the snow more in the last year than in the last decade, and there are more local bookstores in Minnesota than anywhere I’ve ever lived.

The GLOAT in question

But the people have been the most surprising affirmation. When I was growing up the lamest thing you could be was nice. Irony and sarcasm were a currency to themselves and being cool meant that nothing in the world could be cool to you. Everything was boring, played out, and eye roll worthy.

There has been a greater cultural shift since then, and even when I lived in Philly, I, and it seemed others, were testing the waters on what it was like to get really excited about something. In public. And show it. But I would believe you if you told me that Minnesotans were never affected by the great nineties/early aughts apathy and over-cool. I have only my singular experience, and I live in a specific geographic region in Minnesota that is very urban while still having what we lovingly refer to as “town deer.” But the truism of “Minnesota nice” has manifested in ways beyond small talk and smiles.

Town Deer in my backyard. I live on a major street.

Conversation literacy is certainly a part of it. I often play the game, “Are they midwestern or are they flirting with me?” because for decades, anytime someone I just met asked me such thoughtful questions, it was because they read a Maxim article titled, “Six Questions to Get Her to Give it Up” and rarely listened to my replies. Minnesotans are not flirting with me. They’re just interested and know how to have a conversation. I’m often asked kind, curious questions about my life with genuine curiosity and a surprising lack of invasiveness¹.

Because of the Minnesota nice trope, I assumed Minnesotans were people-pleasers and rule followers. But they are teaching me that niceness is different from complicity. The nature of the “niceness” is key here. This nice has integrity. It is invested in people, not in diffusing discomfort. They are nice with voracity and purpose. They are nice in that they stand up for each other in the face of injustice. Which is why an estimated 50,000 (some sources said 100,000) Minnesotans showed up in Minneapolis on Friday, January 23rd in -9 degrees (and again on the 31st, when it was a whole +9) to protest the presence of nefarious federal agents that are murdering and disappearing their community members. They did it because that’s what nice neighbors do. It’s why hundreds of people in my small Minnesota city stood quietly in a city hall sit-in, and why an estimated seven hundred businesses, museums, and schools state-wide shut down on that day for an economic pause to support the cause.

Photo of the Minneapolis protest on January 23rd, 2026. By Nicole Neri at the Minnesota Reformer.

Like every state in the U.S., Minnesota is full of descendants of immigrants, recent and otherwise. Best known/most glamorous are probably the Scandinavians, but there are also Finnish, Slavic, and outnumbering them all, German. Minnesota, in comparison to the three other states I’ve lived in, also actively addresses, acknowledges, and includes its indigenous populations. Many non-natives know how to say please and thank you in their regional indigenous language and many lakes continue to be known by their Ojibwe or Dakota names. Generally, I see newer immigrants to the state welcomed with enthusiasm, organizational support, and joy. Hmong, Somali, and beyond are met with excitement for the opportunity to share culture from sauna to holidays to, against the stereotype, new and sometimes spicy foods.

I don’t live in Minneapolis. I’m about 150 miles north, but Minnesotans statewide have been standing up for their own, new immigrants and old, since the beginning of the year. We’ve joined rapid response programs, carry whistles, and are sharing resources with teams in our workplaces to help protect our neighbors and communities that make us so nice.

“Where are you from?” Continues to be a loaded question for me. I was born in New Jersey, grew up in Central PA, Northern California, and Idaho, before spending a decade in Philadelphia and I now live in Minnesota. For many East-coasters, hearing I was from Idaho meant I was next door to or somehow inside the state of Iowa. I was frequently insulted by being lumped in with midwesterners because I’d honed an exterior presentation of being a smart-ass, apathetic, ironic cynic. But as I’ve grown accustomed to letting my softer side out, I’ve also let my pride for living in a state I so admire rise. The midwest has welcomed me in a way only the sincerest of hotdishes and honest wood-fired saunas could, and I’m doing my best to learn what it means to be nice.

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Other Updates:

• If you’re like me and get easily overwhelmed by the amount of places available to donate to in Time Like These, here’s a go fund me for Columbia Heights Families who are struggling and one for the Powderhorn neighborhood families who are struggling. These funds go to families who can’t pay their rent or buy groceries because they’ve been to scared to leave their houses to go to work.

• I read five book in January because the real world blows right now. Carrie, my first Stephen King novel, was tied as my favorite of the year so far with Actress of A Certain Age by Jeff Hiller², who I knew nothing about before reading his memoir in very funny essays. I highly recommend both of these books which are not at all similar.

• Between the state of the world (see above), getting sick, heaps of rejection, and personal life rough-stuff, January was a terrible month. I hope a brighter year is coming for us all. I think we could all use a little more Friday energy, which is the name of my cat, below:

Hate to tell you this, but her belly is softer than it looks and she does let me pet it.

1. There are exceptions. The number of times I’ve been blatantly asked if I have children increased by 400% when I moved here. This question is culturally accepted but deeply personal and, I think, a little rude, given the number of women my age who have struggled to have children, had multiple, painful miscarriages, and are frequently judged harshly by their families and communities for not having kids. Also, have you met parents? You will know if people have kids.

2. Friendly reminder that I have no idea how to do affiliate links, but if you buy these books keep in mind that your local independent bookstore is going to be thrilled to serve you and amazon/barnes and noble will not give any shits.