Thinking about racism, advertising and social media
When I was a kid, my dad used to say, "You'll know we've been accepted when Blacks are in deodorant commercials." If you're younger than 20, that might sound crazy but seriously, Black folks used to be restricted to very limited commercial situations. We ate fast food, we bought American cars, we played sports, we cleaned and did laundry. We never traveled, cleaned ourselves, had sex, ate health food or got to be in the front of a group of people if the other people were White.
Today, Black folks are every where. And yet, my dad and I agree, it doesn't feel like we've completely made it. My new measure for racial equality and triumph over ignorance is when brands can air commercials like Cheerios', showing a mixed family doing regular stuff, and Coca-Cola's Super Bowl ad, showing Americans as multi-cultural, -colorful and -lingual, and nobody says a negative word on Twitter, Facebook or whatever social media channel is popular in that not-too-far-off future.
Money talks. When big brands are spending big cash on all Americans, you know that change is a'comin'.
And, just because I'm lovin' this dude like he's my own son, here's a little glimpse of today's Black teens: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6nLAaVeRjQ
Pictures of Mixed Families
Call me a hypocrite but I love looking at mixed people but hate being stared at. Which is why I'm kinda lovin' this site: http://wearethe15percent.com/.
It's gawking at it's best. I get to look at other mixed people and their parents and no one has to feel awkward. In fact, these people shared their photos, so even if they caught me looking, they can't be mad. Win-win!
My only question is the site name. Do mixed families make up 15% of all families in the U.S.? That's bananas! American, ya gotta love it.
It's gawking at it's best. I get to look at other mixed people and their parents and no one has to feel awkward. In fact, these people shared their photos, so even if they caught me looking, they can't be mad. Win-win!
My only question is the site name. Do mixed families make up 15% of all families in the U.S.? That's bananas! American, ya gotta love it.
Challah! at Drake
I forget that Drake is part of so many tribes - Jewish and Black are highlighted in this Bar Mitzvah rap from the Jan 18 Saturday Night Live.
Slow start, but the rap rhyming Lenny Kravitz and Manischewitz cracked me up.
However, it seemed really outmoded of him to divide up his abilities based on his racial background. Like, saying he knows how to play basketball like LeBron AND can fill out a W-2, implying Black folks are less economically functional.
I guess what I'm really saying is, Drake seems too smart for a dumb joke that perpetuates racism and a bias toward mixed people. Up your comedy game, son!
Slow start, but the rap rhyming Lenny Kravitz and Manischewitz cracked me up.
However, it seemed really outmoded of him to divide up his abilities based on his racial background. Like, saying he knows how to play basketball like LeBron AND can fill out a W-2, implying Black folks are less economically functional.
I guess what I'm really saying is, Drake seems too smart for a dumb joke that perpetuates racism and a bias toward mixed people. Up your comedy game, son!
Where in Africa is your dad from?
One of the great things about international travel is the opportunity to experience new perspectives. For example, in Morocco, being a biracial American was hard to explain. Consider:
- Morocco is in Africa, where almost everyone is some shade of brown. When asked, "What's your background?" answering, "My dad is Black," is meaningless. They could easily respond, "So is mine, so...?"
- Many people in far away countries have a specific idea of what American looks like. My light brown skin, freckles, big brown eyes and dark brown hair do not meet the definition of American. I further confuse by not wearing running shoes and shorts (yep; American women are pretty much the only ones in the world who combine these two items, making it easy to tell they're American).
- In the US, we divide and commune based on things like race, gender, sexual preference or socioeconomics. Abroad, they connect or separate based on where they are from. So, when trying to connect with me, the Moroccans wanted to know from where my family originates. My mom's family is from England. Ok, good, they get that. And my dad is Black. See bullet 1 and you can see how this conversation started to sound like Abbott and Costello.
Daughter of the American Revolution & Slave
If you followed the two sides of my family tree up, up, up to about 160 years ago, here's what you'd find:
On one side, the women were Daughters of the American Revolution. My mother's family - the Coxes - can trace itself back all the way to Bishop Richard Cox of Ely Cathedral in England in the 1500s. After a stop in Ireland in the 1600s, ye olde ancestors finally made it to Virginia in the 1700s. My mother's dad, Granpa Charlie as we knew him, was a Son of the American Revolution. I guess it's not surprising that he temporarily cut my mom off when she married a Black guy. What would the Bishop say?!
On the other side, we've got Billy, the slave. Billy escaped. I don't say he ran away because that sounds cowardly and condemn-able. He escaped, which seems like the smart thing to do when conditions are a lifetime of "12 Years a Slave." Anyway, Billy made his way to Canada, married a nice French-Canadian girl and started a family line where twins and freckles pop up every other generation. Blame Canada.
Many, many generations later, the Bishop and Billy met, in the form of my parents, Sarah and Spencer.
So what do you get when you combine a could-be Daughter of the American Revolution and a coulda-been-a slave?
On one side, the women were Daughters of the American Revolution. My mother's family - the Coxes - can trace itself back all the way to Bishop Richard Cox of Ely Cathedral in England in the 1500s. After a stop in Ireland in the 1600s, ye olde ancestors finally made it to Virginia in the 1700s. My mother's dad, Granpa Charlie as we knew him, was a Son of the American Revolution. I guess it's not surprising that he temporarily cut my mom off when she married a Black guy. What would the Bishop say?!
On the other side, we've got Billy, the slave. Billy escaped. I don't say he ran away because that sounds cowardly and condemn-able. He escaped, which seems like the smart thing to do when conditions are a lifetime of "12 Years a Slave." Anyway, Billy made his way to Canada, married a nice French-Canadian girl and started a family line where twins and freckles pop up every other generation. Blame Canada.
Many, many generations later, the Bishop and Billy met, in the form of my parents, Sarah and Spencer.
 |
| Bishop Cox rocks 16th-century shoulder pads |
 |
| My great-grandfather, grandfather and dad (the baby) on the family farm |
So what do you get when you combine a could-be Daughter of the American Revolution and a coulda-been-a slave?
 |
| Me in Morocco |
Hypocritical Pride in Being "Mistaken" for Black
Last weekend, at my college reunion, someone who has known me for a long time was shocked to learn that I'm mixed. He thought I was Black, like him and almost everyone else in our homecoming crew. In return, I was shocked to realize that I was...flattered? Proud? Something about his error made me happy. For someone who says being mixed is no big deal, this is embarrassing.
I'd like to say it was the context. I had asked the group if my alma mater's quarterback is Black. A former player said yes and then the caveat was put on it. "Well, Biracial."
Because I've known this person for a while and understand where he comes from, I was able to genuinely laugh and respond, "We count, too!" Shock and confusion ensued. And I was happy. I now knew that, if someone had asked him, before this exchange, if I was Black he wouldn't have equivocated. His answer would have been the same as mine. An absolute yes. And I was sad to know that I had lost that "in-the-club," without-qualification acceptance.
People who know me and my lifestyle even better than this guy put the same equivocation on being mixed. I get sad when I experience it and that's what makes me a hypocrite. I say that being bi- or multiracial is no big deal but the truth is, I experience most of the distresses of any person of color who is sensitive to race and a bit extra I still don't deserve the key to a city or special paperwork, but maybe it's time to accept that there's no shame in being sensitive to other people's deep or shallow biases.
p.s. Yes, I'm still proud of my heritage.
I'd like to say it was the context. I had asked the group if my alma mater's quarterback is Black. A former player said yes and then the caveat was put on it. "Well, Biracial."
Because I've known this person for a while and understand where he comes from, I was able to genuinely laugh and respond, "We count, too!" Shock and confusion ensued. And I was happy. I now knew that, if someone had asked him, before this exchange, if I was Black he wouldn't have equivocated. His answer would have been the same as mine. An absolute yes. And I was sad to know that I had lost that "in-the-club," without-qualification acceptance.
People who know me and my lifestyle even better than this guy put the same equivocation on being mixed. I get sad when I experience it and that's what makes me a hypocrite. I say that being bi- or multiracial is no big deal but the truth is, I experience most of the distresses of any person of color who is sensitive to race and a bit extra I still don't deserve the key to a city or special paperwork, but maybe it's time to accept that there's no shame in being sensitive to other people's deep or shallow biases.
p.s. Yes, I'm still proud of my heritage.
Multiracial health issues Part 2
Fifteen years ago, I was at a party in a typically dark club. Which is why it surprised me when a woman, maybe five years older than me and my same complexion, walked across the room and said, "If I had freckles like yours, I'd be unstoppable."
It was weird. I was surprised because:
Melasma is hyper-pigmentation of the skin on the face. It is most common with women of color. It often shows up when women are pregnant - hence its nickname "the mask of pregnancy." This is so common, in fact, that when I met up with a male friend of mine who hadn't seen me in a few years, the second thing he said was, "Serene, are you pregnant?" I had acquired the same facial freckling as his pregnant wife. The only upside to melasma, and this is a stretch, is that it tends to be symmetrical. So, giant freckle blob one cheek equals giant freckle blob on the other.
My blobs are above my lips, above my eye brows and on my cheek bones. That's a lot of blobbing. I can no longer forget that I have freckles because the blobs are extremely sensitive. Even 15 minutes in the sun, without sunblock, can turn them into coffee stains, swiftly spreading across my face.
I worry about the blobs because both my mom and her mom had skin cancer. I have seen multiple dermatologists. The derms run their fingers across the blobs and tell me that, so far, I'm ok. They suggest creams and retinols. They insist on sunblock and recommend hats. They do not recommend lasers or lights that White women use to beam away this problem because my naturally tan skin could respond by scarring. That would be even worse.
The best treatment would have been knowing 25 years ago that, as a biracial woman, I was more likely to end up with melasma. If I had known, I like to think I would have been more diligent back when my freckles when cute. More sunblock and hats, less hormonal birth control, which can make melasma appear. Maybe I just would have appreciated what I had (or didn't have) 15 years ago, when that woman surprised me in the club.
It was weird. I was surprised because:
- I used to forget that I have freckles (the past tense is deliberate and will lead to my point)
- I certainly didn't think they could be seen from far away, in the dark
- This woman also had freckles; they were big drops of molasses on her cafe au lait skin
Melasma is hyper-pigmentation of the skin on the face. It is most common with women of color. It often shows up when women are pregnant - hence its nickname "the mask of pregnancy." This is so common, in fact, that when I met up with a male friend of mine who hadn't seen me in a few years, the second thing he said was, "Serene, are you pregnant?" I had acquired the same facial freckling as his pregnant wife. The only upside to melasma, and this is a stretch, is that it tends to be symmetrical. So, giant freckle blob one cheek equals giant freckle blob on the other.
My blobs are above my lips, above my eye brows and on my cheek bones. That's a lot of blobbing. I can no longer forget that I have freckles because the blobs are extremely sensitive. Even 15 minutes in the sun, without sunblock, can turn them into coffee stains, swiftly spreading across my face.
I worry about the blobs because both my mom and her mom had skin cancer. I have seen multiple dermatologists. The derms run their fingers across the blobs and tell me that, so far, I'm ok. They suggest creams and retinols. They insist on sunblock and recommend hats. They do not recommend lasers or lights that White women use to beam away this problem because my naturally tan skin could respond by scarring. That would be even worse.
The best treatment would have been knowing 25 years ago that, as a biracial woman, I was more likely to end up with melasma. If I had known, I like to think I would have been more diligent back when my freckles when cute. More sunblock and hats, less hormonal birth control, which can make melasma appear. Maybe I just would have appreciated what I had (or didn't have) 15 years ago, when that woman surprised me in the club.
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