Thoughts On Race, Ethnicity, and My Ongoing Identity Crisis

I always wanted to be blond.  Except when I wanted to be black.  I wanted to be one or the other.  It's like the scripture "i would that we were hot or cold, but because you're lukewarm, I shall spew thee from my mouth" or something like that. 

I always felt out of place and not white enough.  And not Latina enough.  And not curly enough.  And not straight enough.  And caught somewhere in the medium-bronze, slightly skinny, not to tall, nut average-IQ type area.  

And it's frustrating.  

Do you know how many musical theater roles there are that are specifically written for brown, LDS, comedic, thirty-something, small-chested, college-educated, 5' 8", mothers-of-four with short hair who can cry and tap dance?  Not many.  But this also means I don't have very much competition.  So there are pros along with the cons.  

So the challenge I see ahead of me is to write those roles into existence.  

And brown is so tricky.  We are technically called "women of color" but what do you think of when you hear women of color?  Black women.  Right.  And brown women, who aren't quite white and definitely aren't black have one of two roles to choose from: stripper or housekeeper.  No really, though.  

How many of my lighter-skinned friends have ever been described as "exotic?"  How would that make you feel?  Let's be honest...you'd be like "yesssss!"  Only, not when there is an expectation tied to it, like dudes thinking you're up for dancing in a bikini.  I think the discrepancy actually comes from a confusion between the words "exotic" and "erotic."  And also the fact that strippers are commonly known as "exotic dancers."

So here's my dilemma: i am an exotic dancer.  My name is Jasmine and I tap dance. Exotic. Dancer.

When I worked at Hooters people would ask me all the time if Jasmine was my real name.  

Now I go by Jas.  And you know what's so funny?  When I introduce myself as Jas, I feel a lot more connected with people.  I feel like Jas is my real identity.  Like Jasmine is the formal version of me that has to be contained in a box and never make faces at the camera.  But Jas is loud and outgoing and fun and fun-loving and accepting and silly.  

The girl goes, "are you a dancer?"  And I'm in NYC going to musical theater school where part of my training is in ballet, jazz, and tap, so I'm like, "yes."  And she's like, "then, you might like these boots..."  Needless to say, I bought the glittery lace up ones.     

How about "ethnically ambiguous."  What does that even mean?  It means that no one knows quite what you are, and they don't really care to know quite what you are, they're only interested in knowing what you're NOT.  You're not white, black, Pacific Islander, Asian, or Native American. Or Mexican.  (Because Mexican is its own race, obviously.)  So you must be ethnically ambiguous.  That's not even a thing. It's not a real thing. Did you know that?  It's a term made up by the acting and modeling industries to categorize slightly-tanner than white-skinned people with almond-shaped eyes.  I had never known I was categorized as "ethnically ambiguous" until 2016.  Before that I was either Latin-American or White.  Or both.  But now, I'm like, "other."   

And we're talking about color here.  I'm too dark to be Belle, but not dark enough to be Aida.  Too dark to be Mother, but not dark enough to be Sara.  Too dark to be Eva Peron, but not dark enough to be Daniela.  

  

(Written: Fall 2018)