Woo-hoo, I’m back, folks! I’m all moved into the new digs and am 95% unpacked. And being unpacked means I can refocus on work (teaching/research) . . . which in turn means that I can procrastinate in earnest and get back to blogging. Yay!
As ever before, I’m riled up about representations of Latin@s in the media–in this case, the international media. For this just in: 18 Again, a ”vaginal tightening” gel from India promises to make you feel “like a virgin” at any age. Which, of course, is just what every woman wants because the first time is always so pleasurable and all. (Fun fact that I must mention here: my first time was with a guy who had the surname of “Laycock.” Yes, Laycock. I’m serious–you can’t make this sh*t up!) I found out about this lovely product from this post over at Jezebel.
So what does this have to do with Latin@s? Well, check out the video for 18 Again:
Surely you will notice that the couple at the center of the video performs salsa- and tango-inspired moves to a hodgepodge of “Latin” sounds, including strumming, flamenco-style guitars; bongo drums; conga rhythms; and even a shrill samba whistle, thrown in for good measure. Why is this music playing instead of something more specific to the culture that produced the product?
The answer seems obvious to me: In the minds of many people–in the US and clearly well beyond–Latin@s have a lock-down on all things sexual. Because we are by nature hot-blooded, passionate, sensuous, ready to bust out salsa moves at the drop of a hat…ugh. I find this stereotype so exasperating.
It reminds me of a feature article I read in Glamour back in the late 1990s. The title was something like, “10 Reasons to Try a Latin Lover.” The piece began by saying, “Fortunately, you don’t have to be Columbian, Brazilian or Puerto Rican to experience the prowess of Latin men!” It also included several testimonies from white women whose world had been rocked when they slept with said “Latin” men. One of the women dreamily observed, “I loved dating Ramon. He was literally HOT to the touch!”
Just thinking about this article makes me want to vomit. At the time, I was so irate I had to pen an angry letter to the editor explaining why the article was so offensive. I clearly recall that my letter began, “Fortunately, ‘you don’t have to be Columbian, Brazilian or Puerto Rican’ to realize how stupid this article is.”
So here’s a special announcement for the makers of 18 Again and anyone else who cares to perpetuate this pernicious ethnic stereotype: Latin@s do not have any special sexual secrets, techniques or powers. Although our skin may come in various shades of brown and our families sometimes come from tropical regions, we are just like any other group of people when it comes to sex. And not every “Latin lover” is worthy of the title. Trust me, I know, I’ve been with some of them. They’re not always worth writing home about!
Today, I’m veering away from Comedy Week to talk about briefly about race at the movies.
Yesterday I went with a friend to see Safety Not Guaranteed, a quirky little film about three reporters trying to get to the bottom of a mysterious man seeking a time traveling partner. I liked everything about it: the performances, storyline, soundtrack. I recommend it! You can see the trailer here.
[Quick aside: It was a miracle that I managed to enjoy the movie at all because two elderly white ladies sitting directly behind us giggled at every single thing that happened in the movie. And I mean everything. A character stacks soup cans? Giggle. A character sneezes? Giggle. A car drives past some trees? Giggle. I had already shushed their loud chatter during the previews, but I was not prepared for the constant giggling once the film was underway. Yes, the movie is a comedy, but not every single minute is meant to be laugh-out-loud. At first I chalked it up to white privilege (not giving a damn about other people's movie experience), but looking back, I suspect that they were high. In which case, go grandmas!]
The lead character of Safety, Darius, is played by Aubrey Plaza, an actor and comedian who I guess is a regular on the TV show Parks and Recreation. Before this movie, I’d only seen her in the film Funny People. She strikes me as the smart, semi-hipsterish, a little awkward, dead-pan humor type. As I watched the film, I felt a connection to her simply out of gratitude that here was a different looking actress on the screen, in a lead role, no less. Don’t get me wrong, she’s totally gorgeous, but just not in the usual mainstream way:
Plaza as Darius in Safety Not Guaranteed
Today, in preparing to write about the film, I googled her name and discovered that she’s Latina. Her father is Puerto Rican, and she has described herself as “the only diverse” kid in her hometown of Wilmington, Delaware. “Aha!” I thought, “I knew there was something extra special about her!”
Notably, in an interview with David Letterman, her ethnicity doesn’t come up as a topic of conversation at all. Meanwhile, what George Lopez describes as her “exotic makeup” is one of the main issues during her visit to his show, Lopez Tonight. Ugh! Lopez uses one of my most hated keywords, “exotic.” It’s bad enough when white people describe us as exotic, but et tu, George?
Plaza admits that many people are surprised to find out that she’s Puerto Rican. “It comes out of me when I drink,” she jokes her in deadpan way. “I get really spicy.” This part of the interview starts at 1:15 in the video:
It’s interesting to think of Plaza as being on a continuum of Latina beauty, one that’s far outside of what people imagine when they hear “Latina” generally or, in this case, Puerto Rican specifically. In the eyes of the mainstream, being Latina is most accurately represented by someone like JLo, with more tan skin:
The one and only JLo
Though–ahem–let’s not forget that JLo was not always she of the straight, golden hair:
Jennifer Lopez, still fresh off “the block”
Of course, there are also those gorgeous Puertroriqueñas like Rosie Perez, as seen here in the opening to Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing:
And let’s not forget afro-caribeñas like Zoe Saldana, who, at the other end of the Latina beauty spectrum from Plaza, is also so far outside the mainstream’s idea of what constitutes “Latina” that she can be reasonably cast as a southern African American sorority girl in Drumline:
Not that I see myself as a spokesperson for all Latinas, but I’m happy to welcome Aubrey Plaza to the umbrella term that is “Latina.” For in supporting performances like hers in Safety Not Guaranteed, we have a chance to broaden people’s assumptions about what Latinas look like, how they sound, and how they act. There’s no one way to define us. And that’s a good thing. I hope she keeps winning new fans and surprising them when they discover her mixed ethnicity.
I’m on a roll, folks! There’s been a new Daily Chicana post each day this week, for the first time in a long time, and in another first, I actually have a sustained weekly theme (comedy). It can only mean one thing: I’m procrastinating! Not only do I have my usual work to avoid doing (with an important, fast-approaching journal article deadline), but now there’s apartment packing to avoid, too! For a professional procrastinator like me, it’s a dream come true. I’m savoring this rare opportunity to delay several important, stressful projects all at once.
So onto our theme: Comedy week continues here with one of my favorite videos: “Mex vs BC (Born Citizen),” a creation of the Latino Comedy Project (LCP) that plays off those “Mac vs PC” ads that used to be on TV all the time. My favorite of the Mex vs BC series is on jobs:
I like to show this video to my undergrads in class after they read sociologist Tomas Jimenez’s excellent book, Replenished Ethnicity: Mexican Americans, Immigration and Identity. Jimenez describes the impact of Mexican immigration on Mexican Americans’ sense of ethnicity as a double-edged sword: on the one hand, having contact with more recently-arrived immigrants helps many Chicanos maintain a strong sense of cultural heritage and gives them a reason to keep up their use of Spanish. Yet on the other hand, because many people in the mainstream can’t distinguish the difference between Mexican Americans and Mexican immigrants, Chicanos experience the frustration as always being perceived as a newcomer to the US and an outsider to American culture.
This misperception is what leads some people to make those annoying comments (which I’ve written about as good examples of microagressions) such as, “You speak English so well!” Meanwhile, you’re thinking, “Well why wouldn’t I? It’s my first language!” In any case, I encourage you to check out Jimenez’s book; it’s very accessible to non-sociologists (like me!) and a fairly quick read.
But before I get too serious, let me get back to the LCP! Another popular video of theirs is a spoof of the film 300, and here were see the LCP cast bringing to life the worst fears of conservatives and xenophobes who rant about illegal immigration:
And while it’s hilariously depicted here, at the same time it’s scary to think that this is exactly what some people think is seriously happening. If you don’t believe me, just read through the racist, fear-mongering emails of Russell Pearce, the former Arizona state legislator who masterminded SB1070, that state’s masterpiece of racial profiling. I got bogged down the other night reading through those emails, laughing out loud at their absurdity.
Sometimes, when faced with such outright hatred of my people, I at least find some snarky comfort in marking all the grammatical errors that pop up throughout Pearce’s rants. I think to myself, “You think people who look like me don’t belong in this country, and yet I am more educated than you and can at least know basic spelling and grammar!” In that spirit, I leave you with a weary sigh and this iconic image.
Oh, you crazy racists of today and of yore! Please learn the rules of the English language, mmmkay? Then we can talk.
“Segregation, Dimmit, Texas,” by Russell Lee (ca. 1949)
It’s pretty sad, but I must admit that I wouldn’t know any of the latest news nowadays if it weren’t for facebook. Thank god my fb friends post so many links to the latest in the economy, education, politics and culture.
It wasn’t always this way for me; back in my married days, my ex-husband would watch MSNBC every single night for three hours, starting with Chris Matthews, followed by Keith Olbermann and finally my favorite, Rachel Maddow (I seriously love her!). So I used to get a lot of news. Too much, sometimes, because after the first hour you realize that the pundits are just rehashing the same points over and over again. On slow news days, you could tell that they were just trying to drum up more drama to keep themselves on air.
Anyway, last week, I talked about Craig Romney’s ad that proudly points to his family’s connection to Mexico in a desperate attempt to draw Latinos to his father’s campaign. The attempt to pander–and the outrageous idea that a brief family interlude in Mexico gives Mitt any insight into the immigrant experience–was so incredibly superficial as to be outright laughable.
Turns out, though, that I’m merely a Johnny-come-lately to identifying the weakness of Romney’s Mexican claim. Because–as I just discovered through a friend’s facebook post–for many months now, Mexican Mitt, “the most Mexican Man in the world” has been lampooning Romney’s presidential bid on Twitter, facebook and elsewhere on the web. [Interesting note: the person who posted the Mexican Mitt image (above) is my one libertarian friend, and I had no idea what her political views were until she began posting about Ron Paul and how cute she thinks he is...woah! I am just amused because I don't think she realizes that the liberal critique embedded in Mexican Mitt is one she would ever endorse.]
Mexican Mitt is a satirical, pocho (which is to say Chicano), outspoken take on Mitt Romney…and totally hilarious, which isn’t surprising, given his creator, Chicano satirist Lalo Alcaraz, the man behind Pocho.com.
Mexican Mitt’s facebook page features his rancho relatives.
I love the Chicano humor Mexican Mitt employs, such as explaining that he’s from “MITTchoacan” (a play on the Mexican state of Michoacan) and declaring things like, “I am going ALL THE GUEY till I pain the White House BROWN!” and “Latinos need Labambacare, pronto!” Btw Labambacare apparently includes the staples of Chicano folk-healing:
MEDICAL MENUDO (I got this idea from my amigo Congressman Ron Pablo)
Best of all is Mexican Mitt’s reggaeton-inspired music video, where he sings, “Soy Morman, soy mor-man than you!” Check it out:
To borrow Mexican Mitt’s own words, let’s hope he’s not the “only JUAN left” come election time in November! As for me, I’m off to check fb and collect more breaking news. This is looking like HUMOR WEEK at the Daily Chicana…
Designer Beatrice Guapo from Season 10 of Project Runway
In recent months, I have made a dramatic change in my life: I have been watching much less television than ever before. The only time I watched less than I do now was in my senior year of college, when I moved in with my then-boyfriend, a history grad student who saw himself as far too intellectual to partake of pastimes that entertain the masses. By contrast, the all-time high came when I was married, because watching television was more or less the only thing my ex-husband and I did together; each night came with a particular schedule of shows. It was very depressing. Lately, though, I’ve been so busy that I made an inadvertent, surprising discovery: The less I TV watch, the less I miss it. I realize now that for the most part, TV provided a background chatter so I didn’t feel so alone during the day as I worked from home.
That being said, however, there are three shows that I commit to watching, no matter what: Mad Men, Top Chef and Project Runway.
So you can imagine my excitement that a new season of Project Runway just debuted last night. Woo-hoo! And–hold onto your seats, folks–there was a Chicana contestant vying for the ultimate prize!
She is 28-year-old Beatrice Guapo from Southern California. Pretty, personable, and seemingly down-to-earth, totally not one of the attention-hogging diva designers. In the hour-long “Road to the Runway” preview that aired before the season premier, we saw pictures, like the one below, of Beatrice with her family, and in one touching moment, she tearfully spoke of losing her father.
La familia Guapo, rockin’ classic ’80s style.
The clothes she designs are drapey jerseys and knits, comfy-but-stylish concoctions designed for the chic, modern woman-on-the-go. (An incredibly skinny white woman-on-the-go, but still, I get it.)
What more did I need to see? I was on board: Her clothes look like something I’d wear and, as a bonus, she’s Chicana. Go, Beatrice!
I began to get worried, though, as soon as Beatrice admitted to having trouble sewing and needing more time for her designs than the challenges would allow. And sure enough, the dream of a Chicana designer actually walking away with the top honors ended all too soon. Beatrice was the first contestant to whom Heidi Klum bid “auf wiedersehen” on behalf of the judges’ panel.
It turns out that the judges were not a fan of what she sent out onto the runway. First, there was a gray knit dress paired with a printed cape:
And a gray knit skirt and shiny, gauzy shirt combo:
The judges didn’t like the “sad” colors of her designs and didn’t think she effectively articulated a larger design vision, beyond an enthusiasm for knits and jerseys.
Michael Kors went as far as to describe the cape from her first look as an “Aztec bathroom rug”:
One online commentator (I can’t seem to find the link now) wonders whether there’s a racial meaning behind Kors’ description: Beatrice is Mexican, therefore an ugly pattern she picked must be “Aztec.” The viewer who left the comment thought that the pattern could be better described as “Navajo.” Though his choice of words didn’t strike me as racist when I saw the show, it’s an interesting read. I thought I’d throw it out there…discuss amongst yourselves. (Btw, I googled “Aztec bathroom rug” and actually found one here.)
To me, an even more critical, unexamined racial moment is when Beatrice gives a walk-through of her apartment and holds up a glass monkey designed by her grandfather:
Woah! Note to Beatrice: Please educate yourself ASAP on the history of minstrelsy and racist sambo imagery, mmmkay? I know that your grandpa made it and it has sentimental value for you, but this is not something to proudly display. Yes, Mexicans have their own terrible history of racism towards people with African ancestry. Check out Afro-Netizen’s post about sambo stamps printed in Mexico in 2005. Yikes!
Okay, back to the show: To her credit, Beatrice took the news of her elimination like a trooper, politely thanking the judges for the opportunity and managing not to shed a tear on camera as she bid farewell to the other contestants. In her exit interview, she calmly shrugs and expresses a wish to have simply experimented with her fabrics while she had a chance. She seems like she has a strong sense of self, and I wish her good luck in her future endeavors!
Nevertheless, even though Beatrice left the competition before getting to show us her broader range, it was just a thrill for me to finally see on television a positive representation of a real-life Chicana pursuing her passion. For one wonderful, ephemeral moment, here was on national TV a Chicana to whom I could relate. Of course, I don’t know Beatrice in real life, and despite the “real life” they claim to portray, reality television shows are highly crafted fictions who exploit certain kinds of characters for drama and entertainment. All that (plus one horrible glass sambo) aside, though, it was cool to see a Latina like me, someone who started out as a sweet but dorky, glasses-wearing kid:
to a teenager involved in extra-curriculars in school:
and finally to beautiful, successful and ambitious woman pursuing her passion:
Why can’t we see more Chicanas and Latinas like Beatrice? Someone who is not representative of the cholas and maids that we’re usually portrayed as, but instead this other kind of Chicana, one you actually might encounter in every day life. A real person, not a walking stereotype.
I must admit that the significance of this point is forever lost on some people though, like a blogger who describes Beatrice as a “spicy, exotic Latina.” Excuse me while I barf. What exactly is so exotic about her? She’s from friggin’ Marina del Rey, not Amazonia. She has blond highlights, for god’s sake!
Tonight I’m going to light a big ol’ Virgen de Guadalupe candel, light some copal and blow a conch shell to the four cardinal directions in the hopes that next season, Project Runway and/or any other reality competition might feature another Chicana, and maybe next time, she’ll make it past the first episode. Dare I continue to dream that one will make it all the way?
According to the Latino Decisions blog, Obama leads Romney among Latino voters by a wide margin (70% to only 22%), so I’m sure the Romney camp is praying that this ad can make a difference.
Here it is:
Quick translation:
I’m Craig Romney. I want to tell you how my father, Mitt Romney, thinks. He really values that we are a nation of immigrants. My grandfather George was born in Mexico. For my family, the greatness of the US is that we all respect and help each other, no matter where we come from. As president, my father will work for a permanent solution for the immigration system, working with leaders of both political parties. I invite you listen to him.
My first thought: Wow, homeboy’s Spanish is pretty good! At least, it’s a lot better than his father’s stilted “I approve this message” addendum. Moreover, Craig’s clean-cut appearance neatly underscores the sweet, soft-focus scenes of inter-generational Latino heteronormativity.
On closer inspection, though, emerge the Republican party’s extremely facile assumptions about what will sway Latino voters. Among these wrong assumptions are:
The idea that having an ancestor born in Mexico automatically translates into affinity for–over even basic familiarity with–that country’s history, cultures and traditions. Which it doesn’t.
Finally, there’s the notion that merely stating a belief in the value of immigration is enough. Are Latinos not smart enough to ask, “Where’s the proof? What have you actually done to support immigrants and Latinos?”
Also among the “things that make you go ‘hmmm’” (shout out to the 1990s!) is what’s not stated: Romney’s forefathers were in Mexico because they wanted to continue their practice of polygamy , which had been outlawed in the US. How do you suppose this aspect of Romney history will go over with the 70% of Latinos who identify as Catholic? Funny how that wasn’t mentioned as part of their “Mexican” history.
This Craig Romney ad very much reminds me of when George P Bush, W’s nephew with Mexican ancestry, was conveniently trotted out to court the Latino vote for his uncle and sprinkle Spanish into campaign stops.
[Sigh.]
Do Republicans really think we Latinos are so monolithic and stupid as to be easily swayed by someone with brown skin or by someone who speaks decent Spanish? In light of the evidence, I’d say they sure do.
A recent Center for Disease Control report indicates that a Hispanic born in 2006 has a life expectancy of 80 years, which is two years longer than whites and seven years longer than African Americans. Apparently this phenomenon is known as the “Hispanic Paradox,” thanks to the fact that researchers anticipated Hispanics to have a life expectancy akin to African Americans due to Hispanics’ overall lower levels of education, income and access to health care. Ultimately, Hispanics’ longevity is attributed to the ‘healthy migrant effect,” which is the idea that newcomers to the US tend to make healthier food choices, such as rice and beans instead of processed foods, and are accustomed to walking more than the average American.
Interesting. I just watched a video about these findings on ABC World News, in a report entitled, “Why do Hispanics Outlive White and Black Americans?” And I quickly became annoyed at how much the video relied on mainstream stereotypes about Hispanics. Check it out for yourself. (Warning: If you click on that link, you first will have to sit through an advertisement, and I hope for your sake the ad is not Emmy Rossum singing about cotton as “The Fabric of My Life,” because you will have that stupid jingle in your head for the rest of the day). You will observe the following stereotypical images and sounds:
Cumbia music kicking off the report (because no Hispanic ever listens to non-Spanish language music)
Brown-skinned pedestrians of an unnamed city walking past a huge sign that says “PESOS” (because that’s our preferred form of currency)
General urban scenes (because none of us grows up in the suburbs)
A Mexican plaza, which I think is Olvera St in Los Angeles (because Hispanics = Mexicans = living in East LA)
This plaza is full of trashy but colorful trinkets and two guitar-strumming balladeers singing (of course) in Spanish
A large family in a dingy kitchen (because we all live with untold numbers of extended relatives)
Finally, towards the end, reporter David Wright mentions “a little salsa dancing” as older folks dance to music that is most certainly not salsa (because all Spanish language music can be labeled “salsa”)
[Weary sigh.]
Thanks, ABC World News, for doing your part to ensure that stereotypical portrayals of “Hispanics” enjoy just as long a life as the people you’re talking about.
By the way, the best part of the video is when Wright is stumped when interviewee Elaine Hernandez says her 82-year-old grandmother’s apple-a-day is that “good ol’ red and white can.” He doesn’t get it. “Budweiser!” she says. Classic.
Here’s the scoop: Page 10 of the July/August issue of Utah Valley Magazine is a chirpy editor’s letter, written by Jeanette Bennett, celebrating girl power and promising an “action-packed issue” that focuses on women. Sounds promising. The staff photo (above) that accompanies the letter was heralded by the bold declaration, “Women of color.” So what’s the problem? Even the most cursory glimpse of the image reveals not a single actual woman of color. It’s just white women who happen to be wearing colorful clothes.
Oh. That kind of “color.”
Gawker writer John Cook contacted the editor of the magazine to get some answers. As he humorously explains,
“Clever wordplay” aside, I think you pretty much have to be living under a rock to not realize that “women of color” refers to non-white women. It is not interchangeable with brightly dressed ladies, mmmkay? Utah must be a lot rockier than I imagine.
To her credit, Bennett openly admits that Utah Valley Magazine is not at all diverse, and she did change the headline for the letter. When you view the letter now, the headline reads, “Colorful women,” which is a much better choice and what it should have said in the first place.
Part of the problem here derives in part form the homogeneity of Utah. According to US Census data, Utah (represented in left column of numbers) is overwhelmingly white, more so than the US on average (numbers in the right column):
The less exposure you have to diversity, it becomes less likely that terms like “women of color” have any particular meaning for you. To read more on these issues, I recommend Rich Benjamin’s Searching for Whitopia: An Improbably Journey to the Heart of White America. In this book, Benjamin explores what it is like to live in the whitest communities in America, places where well-to-do whites live amongst themselves, all the while insisting that they’re not racist or purposely trying to separate themselves. They see themselves as merely seeking out a particular “way of life” . . . and it just so happens that this way of life is one devoid of contact with people of color.
So what are we to do, aside from moving to Utah en masse? Our burden of enlightening the well-meaning but completely ignorant (yeah, yeah, I’m sure Bennett is a delightful person, but come on, her goof was just plain ignorant) people continues.
Like many women, I have a complicated relationship with makeup.
When I was very young, I was a tomboyish type, never dainty but instead playing in the mud. When I got to middle school, when many of my peers began to get interested in makeup, I held off from it, disinterested. Perhaps it was in part a reaction to my mom and sister, who absolutely loved the stuff. My mom didn’t know much about makeup until she got a part-time job behind the makeup counter at Walgreens; after going through the training for the position, she began to experiment more boldly herself, eventually becoming an Avon lady for our neighborhood.
In the early 1980s, my dad’s job got transferred from the Midwest to southeast Texas. My mom made the mistake of wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and gym shoes for her first trip to the grocery store, where she wandered the aisles feeling the bewilderment and scorn of the local townswomen who never ventured into public without a full face of makeup, big hair and high heels. There was no doubt about it: We were in the land of Southern Beauty Culture. My sister decided to enter the local Junior Miss contest just for fun…and again, she and my mom realized early on that in that part of the country, there is no such thing as beauty contest “just for fun.” It’s a serious, cut-throat business, just like we see today on Toddlers and Tiaras. Because my sister was brand new to the pageant circuit, none of the other contestant/mother pairs thought she had a chance of winning anything, but to their surprise, my sister won 3rd place. (A major coup considering that there was some sabotage: Someone stole her hot roller set backstage.)
From then on, my sister was bitten by the beauty bug, big time. As someone with natural artistic sensibility–not to mention that she is totally, naturally gorgeous–she discovered her passion in makeup. By the time I was in college, my sister had an established career as a makeup artist: first at Glamour Shots and, later, a fancy salon chain where she rose to be a manager, shape the product line, design the packaging and train all the other makeup artists. Today she is an esthetician and skin care consultant–which is great if you’re me because she always treats me to free facials, skin care and high-end products whenever I visit her. She never goes anywhere without a full face, and I mean the works: foundation, powder, multiple shadows, eyeliner, blush, highlighter, lipliner, lipstick, lipgloss and fake lashes…just to run to 7-11. She’s totally like those Texan grocery ladies my mom used to see. She’d fit right in with any of Bravo’s Housewives.
Anyway…back to the seventh-grade version of the Daily Chicana. Whereas my friends’ parents all banned them from wearing makeup, forcing them to bring their beauty stash to school and frantically fix themselves up in the bathroom before class started, my mom was on the opposite end of the spectrum: Encouraging me to wear some makeup. And not just encouraging, but really pushing me to do so. Every day, she would watch me get ready for school and sigh, “Come on, don’t you want to try a little mascara? A little blush? Wouldn’t it be fun?” My answer was always “no.” Instead of defending me, my sister would chime in and say, “Yeah, don’t you think you’d look a little better if you just put on some lipstick?” To this day, I like to tell people that I think I had the only Mexican mom who wanted her daughter to wear makeup. (Btw I also maintain that she is the only Mexican mom in history who ever charged her daughters rent.)
By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I started coming around to the idea and once I finally began, it was a full embrace of what I had once so easily rejected. I started using powder, eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush and lip gloss on a daily basis. It was pretty age-appropriate and looked natural. Many of my friends still had to hide their makeup from their parents–and often went overboard with the amount of color they splashed on their faces–but my mom and sister were so thrilled I was on the bandwagon, even if the makeup I was wearing was “light.”
Flash-forward to today. I like makeup and wear it on a daily basis, unless I’m extremely ill and staying home all day. I wear at least mascara and lipgloss even when I’m just taking my dog out for a walk. I had to have my appendix taken out two weeks ago, but before I went to the emergency room, you know I made time to apply tinted moisturizer, bronzer, blush, mascara and lipgloss. What can I say? A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.
I do wear a full face of makeup on the days that I teach or have meetings on campus. For me, “full” makeup means the following steps and products:
Revlon Color Stay Foundation (my sister never thinks I wear enough and can’t believe I would let my freckles show through. “They’re blemishes!” she insists, but I like that they give my face character.)
LORAC eye shadow primer
Makeup HD concealer (according to my sister, now that I’m in my mid-30s, this is a “must”)
Brow maintenance (tweezing and a quick brush into place)
A blend of 2-3 eyeshadows, usually made by LORAC, MAC or NYX
Maybelline Expert Eyes eyeliner (heated with a match, chola-style, for longer staying power)
MAC Studio Fix powder
Bobbi Brown blush
MAC shimmer powder
Lancome Définicils mascara (after lashes are curled)
MAC or LORAC lipstick
NYX lip gloss (these last two reapplied throughout the day)
This may sound like a lot, but believe it or not, I apply all this in 10 minutes and it’s easy for me (it certainly helps that my sister is a trained professional and taught me how to do all this). This regimen is now a part of how I present my professional self and what helps me feel confident when I walk into a room.
So back to the complication: While all this makeup seems like no big deal to me because I come from a line of women who are comfortable wearing it, I work in a profession that frowns upon beauty culture and fashion. Every year, around campus visit time (when academics are going on job interviews to get teaching positions), there is a thread in the Chronicle of Higher Ed Forums in which female applicants pose panicked questions about whether or not they should wear makeup to their job interviews. Without fail, women start complaining that makeup is a pointless form of oppression.
I often get the sense even more strongly from older female colleagues, most of whom wear little to no makeup and walking around in their flowy Chico’s clothes like modern-day Jesuses. To them, being a “serious academic” means that you are above such gender-normative traps and do not indulge in frivolous artificiality. As a result, because I’m young, pretty hip (at least I think I am), usually rockin’ big earrings and fabulous cocktail rings and wearing a face full o’makeup, I feel as if this is how such colleagues view me:
I’m not exaggerating here: one senior colleague with whom I’ve worked for years once turned to me and asked, “Now who are you? A grad student?” and when I told her, “No, I’m a tenure-track professor and your colleague,” the woman actually said, “I guess I didn’t recognize you in all that getup.” Now that’s one jealous beyotch! Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, mmmkay?
By contrast, when I hang out with my glamazon sister and her friends (nearly all of whom work, like her, in the some aspect of the beauty business), I feel like a supreme plain jane who put no effort into her looks. I’ll put on my makeup for a night out, thinking, “Wow, this looks good for tonight!” only to turn around and see my sister putting the finishing touches on her JLo/Salma Hayek/Kim Kardashian perfection. And I can’t help but feel a bit deflated:
So folks, just as I feel most of the time like I’m in the murky in-betweens of ethnicities and cultures, I’m in a in-betweenness in terms of make-up, too. And on that note, I’ll wish you a good weekend and leave you with the classic Chola Makeup Tutorial. Enjoy!
** Hello readers! I know it’s been a while and if I’m not careful, I will have to change the title of this blog to the “Weekly Chicana” . . . or maybe even the “Monthly Chicana”, which, come to think of it, sounds like it’s menstruation-related, so I probably won’t be choosing that name, but you get the point. I’ve been away from my computer for a bit as I was recovering from an appendectomy. So what follows is my first appendix-free post! **
Last night, I finished reading Junot Diaz’s The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which I thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommend. The title character is an obese Dominican “ghetto nerd” obsessed with the “more speculative genres,” such as sci-fi, fantasy and apocalyptic narratives. One element of the novel that I find I’m reflecting most on is Diaz’s suggestion that the history of rape, genocide, dictatorships and abuse of power that make up the central historical narrative of the Americas–with the island of Hispaniola, today’s Haiti and Dominican Republic, as ground zero of the creation of the New World–are just as fantastical as any speculative novel. In other words, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings and the like have nothing on the true, gut-wrenching tales that emerge from Caribbean history and its resulting diaspora.
One quote in particular stood out to me: Oscar wonders aloud,
If we were orcs, wouldn’t we, at a racial level, imagine ourselves to look like elves? (178)
I love the moments like this where Oscar connects his beloved fantastical creatures to his everyday experience of race. I’m not actually into Lord of the Rings, btw; I never read Tolkien and only understand what Oscar’s talking about because my ex-husband forced me to see all three LOTR movies with him. So in case you don’t know an orc from an elf, Oscar is comparing the orcs, despised and hovering at the lower end of the hierarchy:
to the elite, golden elves, so genteel and immortal:
The question he poses is a sci-fi version of Toni Morrison’s Bluest Eye. It’s about the extreme impact, over time, that racial self-hatred has on one’s self-esteem and psyche. What happens to us when we never see positive representations of ourselves?
Suddenly I found myself thinking back to the toys I had in my childhood. My primary toys were my Barbies. I had about sixty of them, mainly because I inherited all of my older sister’s Barbies once she outgrew them. Truth be told, Barbie and I got off to a rocky start. When I was two years old and my sister was at school during the day, I had the habit of taking her Barbies, completely denuding them and hanging them by their hair in the bushes outside our front door. After coming home to this disturbing scene, my sister began hiding her Barbies out of my reach.
A couple of years later, though, I developed a finer appreciate for Barbies, and with me they lived an extremely privileged life: I had the Barbie townhouse (three stories, with an elevator), the Barbie van, Barbie horses, a Barbie convertible, you name it. All of them were the standard Barbie: blonde, blue-eyed…oh you know:
Loving You Barbie (1983)
I never questioned Barbie’s attributes, of course, because I’d never known anything but white dolls during my entire young life. The only non-white toy I had was my Care Bear (I had Lucky, who was green).
Things changed, though, when I finally got a Mexican Barbie. Yes! A dark-haired, brown-eyed, tan-skinned Barbie…who, now that I look back on it, still had that impossible Barbie physique that didn’t look like that of any woman in my family, but still–she was brown! Like me! I was totally thrilled! Of course, back then, I couldn’t really have articulated why my Mexican Barbie was so important to me. I just knew that she was special.
I hadn’t thought about this Barbie in years. A google search didn’t bring back her back exactly, but I found this more recent version:
Mine had the same face and hair (actually, it was unbraided), but her outfit was different: my Mexican barbie had a white, shirred off-the-shoulder peasant top, a flouncy red skirt, black velvet belt with gold trim and black t-strap shoes, kinda flamenco style. (I hope you’re not too disappointed, but my modern self won’t even get into the politics of her stereotypical get-up.) Whereas I became careless with my other run-of-the-mill Barbies over time, Mexican Barbie was always kept neat and clean. She twirled around the townhouse, rode the horses and drove the van in her ethnic outfit like it was nobody’s business.
I remember the exact moment I discovered my treasured brown-skinned doll. While my mom and I were shopping at Montgomery Ward, I wandered around the corner from the appliances and discovered a wall covered floor to ceiling with Barbies of the world. There were dolls representing all different nations, each dressed in a representative ethnic costume. I thought I’d just about died and gone to heaven. I wanted all of them, but my mom said I could only pick one. Of course, I had to keep it real and pick Mexico.
I also had a Latina Cabbage Patch Kid. During the height of the Cabbage Patch craze–and lest you forget, it truly was a craze: just watch this video, especially at the one minute mark–
I watched as my dad valiantly entered a mob of moms grabbing at the dolls and emerged with one for me. Amazingly, in the midst of the frenzy, the one he managed to pick for me had brown hair, brown eyes and tan skin! Her “adoption papers” said her name was Alicia. I was ecstatic: not only was owning a real Cabbage Patch going to make me the envy of all the girls in my third-grade class, but, just like my favorite Barbie, homegirl was Latina!
Again, I couldn’t track down an image of her the web, but I did find this image of Cabbages of Color (a phrase that is quite amusing to write):
Now I know that there will be some folks out there who read this post and roll their eyes, thinking I’m making too much of race and toys. “Toys are just toys!” they will say. “Get over it.” However, toys are never “just” toys. They matter because they are the primary way of socializing children. To say the least, Barbies teach young girls the mainstream ideals of femininity and beauty. Likewise, having baby dolls starts inculcating girls from a young age that they will one day be mothers and be the ones who are primarily responsible for child care. I’m not saying anything controversial in pointing this out: just google for yourself “socialization and toys” or “importance of ethnic toys” and read a few of the articles written for academic and popular audiences alike.
Looking back, I can now see that I was very fortunate to have (a) parents who were in a financial position to provide me with so many toys; and (b) just two dolls (out of the 100+) that were brown-skinned and that looked like me even a little bit. Many other little girls don’t have any at all.
