Yeah, but what are you? Reflections on Experiences of Racially Ambiguous People
As a multiracial woman, there is this interesting balance I must often find when it comes to my appearance. Growing up, I was frequently asked the question, what are you? This question was always about my race because it is evident that I am not just one race; my skin is medium brown, and I get lighter in the winter and darker in the summer. My hair is curly, but my curls are not super tight and not straight. All my body features do not always add up to people, and people often want an answer, which I usually give them. I tell them I am Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Black, and then they do what they please with that information. Often, I get a response like “oh that’s cool” or “do you speak Spanish?” and then when I say no, it is like I lose a couple of likeness points. But my favorite response is, “But you don’t act black.” As if all Latinx people speak Spanish and Black people have a handbook on how to act.
Recently, I came across a paper on racial ambiguity and how it shapes dating preferences. I began to reflect on how my racial ambiguity has come up in relationships, romantic and non-romantic, and whether it has been a positive or negative experience. Waring’s paper is titled, “They see me as exotic….that intrigues them:” Gender, sexuality and the racially ambiguous body. This paper was developed from 60 semi-structured interviews with bi-racial (Black-White) people, and in this blog I am going to reflect on Waring’s findings.
In the paper’s first section, participants give examples of partners or potential partners seeing them as exotic. For example, participant Dennis explains an interaction with a woman who asked him what he was. Eventually, he told her his racial background, and her response was, “you’re so gorgeous.” Dennis thanks her for the compliment as if she were not just exoticized because of his racial background and how he looked. Reading through Dennis’s experience, I realized I often do this as well because I feel like I was trained to say thank you when receiving any compliment.
While the interaction between Dennis and the woman might have been innocent, with her question about his race out of curiosity, the aftermath often becomes problematic for the person on the receiving end. Unfortunately, Wring’s paper doesn’t explore Dennis’ thoughts after this interaction, leaving me uncertain about his feelings. In my own experiences, self-doubt becomes inevitable. Questions like whether I would have received the compliment without disclosing my race or if my beauty is contingent on revealing my racial background start to fill my mind. People may not realize the impact of their questions, as the lack of context leaves me questioning the sincerity behind statements like “You’re so gorgeous.” Did my beauty not exist before disclosing my race? Is my attractiveness only acknowledged within the context of being a mixed-race woman? These lingering questions reveal the complexities that accompany seemingly harmless interactions.
Moreover, the idea of being labeled as exotic seeps into dating preferences and dating patterns. A particular participant’s response to Warings’ paper strongly resonates with me. Waring highlights Anita’s experience and writes, “She did date a Puerto Rican man precisely because she ‘tried to identify with it’ because people assume she is Puerto Rican. It was ultimately easier to navigate social and sexual landscapes throughout her teenage years where she acted in line with others’ assumptions regarding her racial and ethnic ancestry than it would be for her to routinely identify her non-Puerto Rician lineage.”
Similar to Anita’s experience, my racial identity was also not accurately perceived. While I think it is clear that I am not white, high school brought forth comments like, “You act white, are you sure you don’t have some white in you,” and often these were from my Black peers. Their perception of me most likely stemmed from my participation in honors courses, respectful demeanor, athletic attire, sports involvement, Friday Starbucks routines, and positive relationships with teachers. My characteristics led others to associate me with a white identity.
Much like Anita’s experience, frequent labeling slowly pushed me towards embodying those perceptions, especially at a young age when it was easier to conform. Responding to comments like “you act white” became easier to “laugh off” (as if that were possible), concealing my true racial identities, and, in a counterintuitive comfort, dating someone who fits the mold of my peers’ assumptions about me.
Those comments persistently occupied my mind, and I often found myself internalizing these remarks, leading to questioning my racial identity. If being respectful, excelling academically, and participating in athletics labeled me as white, does that mean being Black or Latina mean the opposite? The conflicting expectations left me feeling torn. On one hand, I desired to connect and belong with those with whom I shared a racial background, but on the other hand, conforming to these expectations meant sacrificing my authentic self.
And while my Black peers were calling me white, from their definitions and standards, I was not acting white when it came to my white peers. There were always many faces I had to put on because of my racial identity being ambiguous and my behaviors not aligning with social standards.
Navigating this internal struggle was challenging because altering my behavior to fit in meant compromising my true self. The ambiguity of my racial identities and the inconsistency between my behaviors and social standards forced me to wear various masks. I felt like I had to adopt different personas, constantly adjusting to the expectations associated with my ambiguous racial identity, resulting in continuous internal conflict.
The impact comments about my racial identities and behaviors also influenced my dating preferences. Throughout high school and into college, I found myself predominantly dating white guys, seeking a sense of ease in relationships where my racial identities weren’t constantly scrutinized or challenged. While dating white men does present its own set of challenges as a woman of color, at least these challenges did not challenge my identity.
The pressure of my peers, who insisted I “acted white,” created a constant internal struggle. Around Black people, I felt compelled to alter my behavior; I was always on edge, fearing that I wouldn’t fit in with my own community. The difficulty of not being fully accepted or as I belonged evoked my preference for dating white men. In those relationships, I felt the freedom to be myself without the need to conform. Being my authentic self comes more naturally in interracial relationships, and the mix of my racial identities creates a unique and diverse identity that does not fit into one mold.
While I have only addressed two concepts in Waring’s paper, I believe they were relatable examples that illustrate the experiences of racially ambiguous people. These examples shed light on how people are often labeled or described as exotic, the impact of these comments when internalized, and the ripple effect on dating preferences. Reflecting on my encounters with this issue, I urge people to pause and reconsider the appropriateness of asking questions like “What are you?” and labeling someone based on your perception of their race. What might seem like a harmless question to one person could trigger negative emotions and feelings for those on the receiving end.
