I’m Not Exotic, I’m exhausted
In a room filled with blue eyes glaring and blonde hair cascading, I always notice when I’m the odd one out. Whether it's my tawny complexion or my inky, corkscrew hair, my differences never fail to slip my mind. Over time, I’ve realized that this is noticeable to others as well. While it may not be ill-intentioned, color is recognized and seen, usually leading to a distinct pattern in behavior. Microaggression disguised as the customary compliment given to any individual of color… “you look so exotic!”. However, what does exotic entail? What features must one have to be oh-so lucky to receive this “compliment”.
I am neither a plant, nor an animal. I am not unusual, very different, nor strange. And I most definitely do not grow naturally in specific areas of the world, thus not fitting any of the definitions this word encapsulates.
People are frequently astonished that my eyebrows are naturally thick, envious of their appearance, and constantly asking for my secret. Though they used to be my bullies prior to my adolescent discovery of tweezers, when my bushy brows were not separated, when they resembled a mere caterpillar hovering above my eyes.
People are also quick to compliment my curly hair, however these were the same people that told me I “should straighten my hair more often, it looks prettier that way!” in middle school. Is it an untamed mane? Or a fun texture? Which is it going to be?
A detail that they often overlook is that good eyebrows and a good head of hair come at a price, an above average amount of body hair. It’s a package that you cannot separate. And while my eyebrows and head are appreciated by some, the body hair that comes along with it is appreciated by virtually none.
The rise in popularity of ethnic features made this harsh rejection from society even more confusing. From my big brows carrying shame, to being à la mode, celebrities like Cara Delevigne and Lily Collins popularizing this look inherently planted a seed of confusion and resentment towards society within me. I felt as though I was done dirty, alienated due to features that were suddenly deemed valid, yet when it pertained to me, they were unnatural, or even wrong.
Women of color are so often treated as “others”, and society just allows it, I guess on the basis of the world already being wicked and nonsensical. While parts of me are deemed “pretty”, my entirety as a whole person does not fit any beauty standards society sets for women. And while I acknowledge that most women do not fit the beauty standard, I, as a Middle Eastern woman, feel completely absent from the conversation to begin with.
“I felt as though I was done dirty, alienated due to features that were suddenly deemed valid, yet when it pertained to me, they were unnatural, or even wrong.”
The combination of my features never makes me beautiful. Unique, sure; “exotic”, sure –but never beautiful, because beautiful does not look like me. Beautiful has long blonde hair, she’s thin and chiseled, she has clear skin and a beautiful smile, all the boys want beautiful, and all the girls want to be beautiful. But me? I’m just different from the norm, their norm.
At the ripe age of 12 years old I could list the pros and cons of hair bleach, all while my first ever email account was getting flooded by Chi’s new discount codes for last season’s flat-iron. I felt the need to suppress such vital aspects of my identity in order to fit in, going to great lengths to hide specific features at a sad attempt of making them unnoticeable to the naked eye. My sense of self was so hindered by society’s borderline monomania regarding its fascination with western beauty standards, although they are only exemplified by a miniscule percentage of the world.
Many conversations with my mom and countless trips to the hair salon later, I know now that none of this dismisses my beauty, despite it feeling this way. As terrible as it all sounds, society just has a sick and twisted way of making us always feel “less-than”, and I’m tired of it. If you ever feel removed from a conversation, dismissed for certain looks or behavior, or put down in any way, feel free to message me; because I too am not exotic, just exhausted.
- Mar
Header by: Sadie Levine
