New Yorkers of Middle Eastern descent post-9/11. The homeless in Manhattan during the Giuliani regime. Black and Hispanic people under the Stop ‘n Frisk era. All groups that have suffered intense discrimination one would not wish on their worst enemy. And yet, while many an advocacy group has stood up for the aforementioned, nary a whisper in defense has been made on behalf of a class of people who’ve arguably been the most harshly prejudged. The most victimized. The most misunderstood and abused. And since no one has cared to look beyond their exquisite breasts, toned asses, multi-million dollar wardrobe allowances, and engagement rings the size of many people’s apartments, to see past the veneer, sisters have had to do it for themselves, today, in the pages of the Post. They are the self-described Trophy Wives 2.0 and they’re here to “redefine” the term “trophy wife” as it currently appears in the Oxford English dictionary.

Let’s start with Stephanie Adams, and a story that, if you’ve got any ounce of a soul at all, will rock you to the core and have you dialing up the NYCLU faster than one can say, through tears, “My shopping trip was ruined. Ruined!”

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