A few years ago, my mom suggested that I submit an essay to a scholarship contest sponsored by her employer. After endless reminders, I finally wrote and submitted an essay. I was one of the winners and the resulting prize money check was mailed to my university’s bursar office.
My mom asked if she could read the essay. I found the document, attached it to an email, and sent it off without another thought. Later that night, my mom called me. She asked about a part of the application that started with, “As a biracial woman in the LGBTQ community… ”. I had not told my parents, or really many people at all, that I was bisexual. I wasn’t trying to hide it, but it didn’t feel that relevant to most casual conversations. The modifier was a bit of a stretch in that regard. And so I came out to my mom by way of a scholarship essay. In an effort to further market myself, I pulled at my most tokenized identities and used them to define myself.
This stood in stark contrast to how I treated these traits in real life. They’re a fact of my existence and they inform how I see the world. But I almost always try to minimize them. Maybe this is a result of internalized racism, assimilation, and some part of me still being in the closet. When people ask about my ethnicity within minutes of meeting me, I get frustrated (though there are several valid reasons for this). My sexuality doesn’t tend to come up in conversations but I’ll tell you which genders I’m attracted to if asked. I know that these parts of myself are important, though I consider other facets of myself to hold greater weight. But when it comes to certain situations, ones in which being an Asian-American biracial and bisexual woman is deemed novel or valuable, I hold these descriptors at the forefront of myself.
For the past decade or so, it’s been considered en vogue to criticize the straight, white cisgender man. Though there’s a tendency to criticize individuals (who may or may not be racist and sexist) when really we mean to criticize racist and sexist institutions. Among leftist circles, there’s a knee-jerk reaction to discount someone immediately because they’re a straight cis man or because they’re white (or both). Describing someone this way turns into an insult, a way to take them down in a few words. I understand the attraction to this and have found myself falling into this lazy insult. Centuries of white cis men have oppressed women, people of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ community. And for centuries, white cis men enjoyed most of the power. It can feel satisfying to take someone down a peg when they seem like a convenient proxy for oppressive systems.
In the meantime, greater opportunities have arisen for women, people of color, and LGBTQ+ individuals. These opportunities are afforded in an effort to broaden access to opportunities and power. And certain industries, especially within the arts, champion these identities and make them the defining characteristic of the person’s work. This makes sense for multiple reasons. Identity invariably plays a role in a person’s perspective, and perspective is intrinsic to one’s work as an artist. These industries might want to course-correct their traditionally high barriers to access. They also might value the novelty that comes from platforming historically underrepresented groups; behold, here is something new and different and exciting. And so, even if it doesn’t necessarily feel true to you, it becomes advantageous in these circles to put gender, sexuality, and ethnicity at the root and core of your identity. Of course, these elements are part of your self-concept in different ways and to varying extents. But it feels like you have this modifier stuck to everything you do and create. It sometimes feels like a sort of fetishization. There’s a financial incentive to lean into these identities in a way that can feel dishonest.
When it comes to my own experiences, I feel a bit guilty about this. I can label myself as a biracial, Jewish, Filipino woman who is bisexual and grew up in Chicago. When I wrote that scholarship essay, I understood how it would come off. The reader might have an automatic assumption of the challenges I’ve faced as a result of those modifiers. They might view certain groups as a monolith that experience hardship in exactly similar ways. Obviously, this sort of narrow perspective necessitates greater representation. But representation can be a mixed bag.
When you’re given access to the hallowed halls of these institutions, you don’t have complete autonomy over your work. You may have to compromise and tone down elements of yourself, elements that were ostensibly valued by those gatekeepers who opened the door for you and guided you inside. Those same gatekeepers, the ones who hold the money and power that enable your work to be seen, might expect or even pressure artists to invoke their identities in ways that feel disingenuous and reinforce the preconceived notions about your group. In turn, the stereotypical narrative around your identity remains unchanged; that narrative might even be reinforced and gain extra credibility because now someone from within is retelling it.
I know that others hold their ethnicity, sexuality, and gender closer to them and their art than I do. And I know that greater representation is ultimately a net positive. But there’s a sort of tokenism that continues to run rampant when it comes to the arts. Elements of your identity are reduced to checklists that those in power keep on hand. They get to give themselves a pat on the back for putting a minority on a pedestal but not providing them with material power. The dominant power structures and narratives are ultimately maintained, now with a veneer of inclusivity.
Here are some things I’ve been reading/listening to/etc lately:
This essay collection from N+1, “Who Was Barbie?”. It covers a variety of writers’ feelings on the Barbie movie (including the good, the bad, and the complicated). I especially loved the essays from Lisa Borst, Christine Smallwood, and A. S. Hamrah.
Olivia Rodrigo’s new album, GUTS. I love feeling like an angsty suburban teen and her songs thoroughly scratch that itch. Hoping I can get tickets to her next tour so I can scream-sing lyrics alongside actual angsty suburban teens.
icymi, this Rolling Stone piece from Krystie Lee Yandoli about the allegedly toxic workplace at The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. If you didn’t already know that Jimmy has a drinking problem, here you go!
This CNN investigation from Casey Tolan and Ed Lavandera about an Arkansas public hospital that sued thousands of its patients (including employees) over unpaid bills during the pandemic.
This Rolling Stone essay from Miles Klee on the dating app screenshot and this essay from John Paul Brammer on the same topic.
This “Science Vs.” episode about human composting. Listen at your own risk (and maybe consider amending your end of life plans).
That’s all for this week. Thanks again for reading (and/or subscribing) - it means a lot to me!!
xoxo, Mia
This is sooo on point, ugh!!