The Intersectional Girl's Open Salon Blog

Passing: The Fight to be Who You Are

Fri, 19 Nov 2010 21:11:27 -0500

In a recent ABC 20/20 special called Albinism: Albinos Caught Between Dark and Light, a girl was highlighted, Angel, whose Albino features have made her the subject of gossip and mocking by her peers. In an effort to reintegrate with people and to become more social she underwent a makeover to “normalize” her appearance. This move, the news article subsists, is somewhat controversial in the albino community known as “passing”.

Once, passing referred predominantly to African-Americans passing as white in the 18^th, 19^th, and in the 20^th centuries. Prior to segregation laws, the “one-drop” rule sorted black people from—everyone else. African-Americans passed as a way to gain access to equal opportunities in life.

Now, passing predominantly refers, as Broke Kroeger’s book defines it, as a condition where “people can’t be who they are.” This applies across race, gender, nationality and sexual orientations. In a modern sense, passing occurs whenever a person cannot express who they really are. Passing encompasses an inner struggle to become one’s truest self publicly.

Many people still “pass” in order to escape the social, cultural and institutional structures that constrain us all. To me, passing should be seen as a path to self-realization not of betrayal. While Angel is “passing” away from a socially undesirable (or perhaps socially uncomfortable) condition of her albinism…she is transitioning to her fullest self. I do not believe this takes away her consciousness of her albinism or her past life experiences based on her condition. I believe that her “passing” allows her to be herself. If a person passes in the pursuit of their true identity whether cultural, racial, or sexual; how can we criticize this pursuit?

Crystal Renn: "Plus Size" Debate

Thu, 18 Nov 2010 01:11:38 -0500

Today, photos from Crystal Renn's latest photo shoot hit the internet. The December addition of Harper's Bazaar presented a slightly svelter version of Crystal Renn since her last photo shoot in Paris Vogue with Terry Richardson. Of course, given her advocacy for plus sized models and her novel "Hungry" about her acceptance of her curves...her recent conspicuous weight loss is coming under harsh criticism. Renn has been hard-pressed to provide the quantification of her weight loss...although she publicly has said that she has gone from a size 12 to a size 8/10. I'm not sure where I stand on this issue. On one hand it was great to see Renn compete with "straight" size models and completely rock it.

But, conversely it is tough to see a woman who fought to get work in the modeling world suddenly slim down and ostensibly "mainstream". I find Crystal Renn's weight loss thought provoking because it makes me wonder about the nature of body self-esteem and weight. Does losing weight mean that you compromise your body self-esteem? In other words...Can you accept and love your body...while losing weight/changing it?

Multiracial Exoticism-Uncommon Beauty

Mon, 15 Nov 2010 18:11:18 -0500

A few weeks ago, President Obama came to my campus taking part in the "Moving America Forward" rallies across the US. Obama's entourage included Ozomatli, Kal Penn, Mayor Villagrosa, of course Jerry Brown, and Barbara Boxer, and an interesting choice Jamie Foxx. Now, I found the whole experience titillating...watching the secret service set up on the rooftops…perpetually peering owl-eyed with binoculars down at the crowd. (My inner paranoid convinced they looked in my direction one too many times...) Seeing President Obama...after 8 hours of straight standing was worth the experience...although I had serious doubts around the 6 hour mark. But, there was something from the rally that stood out to me. In fact, its bothering me now.

When Jamie Foxx came to introduce the a new speaker, he spoke to a few students in the front of the crowd. A girl in particular caught his interest. We were expecting President Obama at any moment…this student apparently was readying herself for his sight. Mr. Foxx made a comment about her putting her hair in order..and proclaimed her "mixedness" from her hair. He also chastised her to remember that Obama has a wife. Although my recount of this instance...is without the tone and joviality that Jamie Foxx conveyed it...this small snippet stuck in my craw.

As a multiracial person I think that there are many stereotypes around the sensuality, beauty and exoticism that "hapa" people embody. This is especially true for women. It seems that the prominent stereotypes that plague African American, Asian, Native American, and Hispanic women explode exponentially once combined. Common hypersexualized images of "ethnic" women coalesce to create the ultimate beautiful "multi-ethnic" woman. More beautiful and subject to more objectification. This delineation of beauty happens right after birth. Multi-racial babies are "too cute" and as they grow up they become "exotic" and "beautiful" and have "such unique coloring." We grasp at their ethnic identities asking obsequious questions like "Where are you from?" "Where are your parents from?" We ponder their racial combinations like a Rubik cube.

As a multi-racial woman, I am constantly bombarded by people who think I am part of different ethnic identities. I am aware of their gaze...as they appraise my hair color and texture, eyes, nose, skin tone, and my body shape. At times I feel I am the perfect shade for objectification. Not too brown not too light. All the stereotypical sexualized images apply to my body, my mind, and to me.

Once, I was intrigued and compelled by my racial ambiguity. I played the part…specifically highlighting my various “ethnic” attributes. I was resplendent in peruvian chandelier earrings, bone chokers, wooden bangles, beaded necklaces, bindis and henna tattoos. I reveled in my ethnic play…ever eager to be mistaken as any ethnic identity.

As my reveling increased…it became a wild, self-aware thing. I stopped donning ethnic accoutrements…but the scrutiny did not abate nor decrease. The less I flaunted my racial identity the more sobering I found public attention to it. It seems that by growing up and shedding my mixed kid “cuteness” I ran smack dab into exoticism. Somehow without consciously acknowledging it...the scrutiny that I once directed upon myself...had permeated my ethnic shield and delved into my inner secret self. Without my cultural performances...I no longer had a barrier to scrutiny. Now suddenly bare and open, stares...glances...appraising looks...rock my inner calm.

I no longer play with my ethnic identity as I did when I was a teenager. But lately, I find myself edging closer to my old ways by purposefully, obfuscating my ethnic identity. I once again seek to turn the tables on those who try to "figure me out"...and who obnoxiously attempt to pinpoint my racial identity as if to ease some sense of order in their racialized universe. For now...I know that I am more than the sum of my parts...and I hope that someday others will comprehend this. Until then, when people utter "Where are you from"... I respond...California. "Where are you from?"

The Man Outside My Window

Sat, 13 Nov 2010 19:11:36 -0500

At roughly 4am twice a week, a deeply disturbed individual hops the fence from the street into the parking lot attached to my apartment building. Like most people who enter illegally he is after South Central Gold…plastic bottles and aluminum cans. What sets this man apart is his maniac loud ranting to himself. Alternating from “FUCK YOU MOTHER FUCKER” and an endless string of “FUCK FUCK FUCK” the man perched in the dumpster waged an epic psychological battle against himself.

Approximately, 20-25% of the single adult homeless population suffers from some form of severe and persistent mental illness (National Resource and Training Center on Homelessness and Mental Illness, 2003). I believe him to be among this many. And as I peered outside through the slates of my blinds as this man proceeded to mine…I wondered what was the best way to handle the situation. Of course, I could call the police as he was obviously and almost manically disturbing the “peace”. But, I wondered “Is this the best option?” Although loud and bombastic, this individual wasn’t harming anyone…but himself. The violence that he displayed in the pitch, tone, the general sharpness in the way he cursed himself with such disdain…prevented me from doing anything other than laying back down and listening.

As I continued to hear his litany punctuatated by the sounds of bouncing beer cans and dasani water bottles. I found myself horribly and inexorably led back to the common mythologies about homelessness.

Did he choose to live a life “off the grid”? Is this a chosen life? Perhaps he is unhelpable?

But, even as these thoughts chase around my mind I remember the privilege some have…that I have…to mental health treatment. It is projected that those who receive comprehensive community mental health treatment and stay in treatment, remain safely housed, will have an incarceration and homeless rate of less than 2% (CalPsych).

Adding another layer, African-Americans make up 50% of the homeless population (Institute for the Study of Homelessness & Poverty at the Weingart Center). My dumpster man was indeed African-American. Reading that statistic and most of the statistics I’ve included in this post…makes me ashamed that I feel so caught in a web of indifference, futility, and utter inability to connect with an “undesirable”. Yes, I know he could have been dangerous…to himself and others…But, I just wish that my first sensation of distaste could have been tempered with initial humility to his obvious anguish and tribulations.