Whiter

Asian American Women on Skin Color and Colorism

Nikki Khanna

• Publisher: NYU Press
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781479810963
• Topic: Scienze sociali
• Subtopic: Studi asiatico-americani

Heartfelt personal accounts from Asian American women on their experiences with skin color bias, from being labeled "too dark" to becoming empowered to challenge beauty standards "I have a vivid memory of standing in my grandmother's kitchen, where, by the table, she closely watched me as I played. When I finally looked up to ask why she was staring, her expression changed from that of intent observer to one of guilt and shame.... 'My anak (dear child),' she began, 'you are so beautiful. It is a shame that you are so dark. No Filipino man will ever want to marry you.'"—"Shade of Brown," Noelle Marie Falcis How does skin color impact the lives of Asian American women? In Whiter, thirty Asian American women provide first-hand accounts of their experiences with colorism in this collection of powerful, accessible, and brutally honest essays, edited by Nikki Khanna. Featuring contributors of many ages, nationalities, and professions, this compelling collection covers a wide range of topics, including light-skin privilege, aspirational whiteness, and anti-blackness. From skin-whitening creams to cosmetic surgery, Whiter amplifies the diverse voices of Asian American women who continue to bravely challenge the power of skin color in their own lives.

Part I

Colorism Defined

What is colorism? In this initial collection of essays, Asian American women introduce the concept of colorism as they have experienced it in their own lives. Through their personal stories, they explain, one, how and where they learned the social significance of their skin color (and other physical characteristics, such as eyes and nose shape); and, two, the underlying meanings attached to these physical features, both in their Asian ethnic communities and in the United States more generally. In many Asian American communities, just as in many parts of Asia, light skin and Eurocentric traits indicate high social class, wealth, and intelligence. In their respective ethnic communities and in the larger United States, these same traits are also considered markers of beauty and femininity for women, and the writers in this section describe the pressure to conform to these colorist ideals—especially as females—first as young girls and later as women.

Sometimes the pressure for light skin stems from mass media and sometimes from family, friends, and peers. Catherine Ma, Chinese American, remembers learning very young about the value of her light skin when an uncle pointedly asked her, “How does it feel to be the prettiest?” As a child, she learned quickly that her skin shade has value and is linked to others’ appraisals of her beauty. Sambath Meas, Khmer American, learned about colorism both from mass media and from extended family. When she visited Cambodia, billboards, print ads, television commercials, and song lyrics communicated a uniform message—that light skin is superior to dark. Even day-to-day interactions with extended family taught her the value of her light skin, such as when a female cousin in Cambodia complimented her with, “You’re so white; you’re so pretty.”

As in Sambath Meas’s case, the pressure on females for light skin arises from many places—and often from other women. For some in this book, colorist beliefs are learned from those women closest to them, such as their female friends, female cousins, aunts, and even their mothers and grandmothers. Traits that diverge from Western norms of beauty (such as dark skin, creaseless eyelids, and flat noses) are deemed unattractive, and mothers and grandmothers, to take two examples of the most influencing figures, who have grown up with the same colorist burdens, place pressure on their daughters and granddaughters to lighten their skin or to modify other aspects of their bodies to conform to prevalent beauty norms. Perhaps it is not remarkable that mothers and grandmothers, at least in some cases, lead the charge when it comes to passing colorist beliefs from one generation to the next; they want their daughters and granddaughters to thrive and be successful. They want them to marry well. They are acting within the confines of social norms that have so clearly defined to them what is considered to be beautiful, and they draw on these norms when they buy their progeny skin-whitening creams and soaps, when they instruct them to stay out of the sun and under the protective cover of umbrellas, or when they repeatedly remind them to wear sunscreen each time they leave the house. They did not create colorism, but they have learned to operate within it and understand the value of doing so.

At times, pressure from women in the family can be particularly intense and has the potential to cause significant friction between generations. For instance, Rhea Goveas, Indian American, writes of a contentious exchange with her mother over her recently sun-bronzed skin and her frustrations with her mother’s colorist beliefs. Miho Iwata, Japanese and light-skinned, describes the persistent pressure from both her mother and her grandmother to “preserve” and protect her skin shade. Though she expresses resentment over the pressure, she admits that she occasionally applied sunscreen and whitening creams because she wanted to fit in with her “[female] peers, older female colleagues, and overall cultural expectations attached to young women in Japan.” It is women who are most influenced by colorist beliefs, though women, too, play a key role in transmitting the message that light skin is superior to dark.

The essays in this section also reveal potentially conflicting definitions of beauty in Asian America and in the United States—especially as it pertains to skin color. While tanned skin is seen negatively in the authors’ Asian ethnic communities (as it is in Asia), it is viewed more positively in the larger United States. Arguably, the American tanning culture eases the pressure on Asian American women to seek out and maintain light, white skin, allowing them more flexibility in skin shade than those in Asia. Rhea Goveas, for example, describes an argument with her mother at a department store counter over makeup foundation when her mother insisted she buy a shade lighter than her recently tanned tone. Mindful of the mother-daughter struggle unfolding before her, the white saleswoman at the counter interjects, “We like all types in America. We like a bit of color. It’s okay to have a tan,” suggesting that America, indeed, has more relaxed skin-color norms as compared to those in India. Likewise, Miho Iwata observes that while light skin is “integral to the concept of beauty and femininity in Japan,” people in America tend to be more indifferent about her tanned complexion, illustrating that cultural context is important when it comes to colorism.

Divergent beauty norms in America and Asia imply that, for Asian-descended women, colorism is less of an issue in the United States than it is in Asian countries, though a closer look reveals that there is perhaps a limit to American “broad-mindedness” when it comes to skin shade. Tanned skin is undoubtedly more accepted in the United States than in Asia, and this is readily apparent in the lucrative skin-tanning market in America, where millions of dollars are spent yearly on tubes of tanning lotions, sunless spray tans, and tanning beds (as I suggested in the introduction, even I am not immune). Indeed, sun-bronzed skin is considered attractive in the United States, though at the same time, dark skin certainly remains highly stigmatized and negatively stereotyped. Americans with dark skin are typically characterized as unintelligent and lazy (to name two stereotypes of many), and JeffriAnne Wilder, in a study of attitudes towards different skin shades, finds that even in America, “the majority of the terms for dark skin are loaded with negative connotations.”1 Perhaps there is a fine line between sun-tanned skin and dark skin—tanned skin (especially that which is temporary) is considered beautiful, though dark skin is stigmatized and devalued.

Moreover, identifiable physical features, those features that diverge from Eurocentric norms, are racialized in America, and because of this many Americans of color, including Asian Americans, are routinely perceived as non-American even if their families have been in the United States for generations (see Mia Tuan’s analysis of Asian Americans as “forever foreigners”). Consider what comes to mind when you think of an “American.” For many, the image is probably that of a light-skinned, Caucasian person—an image held by many Americans, but also a common stereotype shared by many outside of the United States. As a child (before I knew better), when asked about my racial/ethnic background, I always responded matter-of-factly with, “I’m half Indian and half American”—and when I said “American,” what I really meant was “white” because I subconsciously equated the two. Similarly, Paco Mathew, a multiracial American Peace Corps volunteer, found while working in Africa that the stereotype of Americans is that “they must be blonde-haired and blue eyed. It was like anyone not fitting that description must not be American.”2 Ethel Nicdao, Filipina American, similarly recognizes the narrow stereotype and observes that because Americanness equates to whiteness in many minds, her brown skin makes her “a foreign object” in much of America. She also describes a summer trip to Taiwan, where she was told that she did not “look American,” which cost her a coveted job teaching English in Taipei. She observes that “to many Asians (as with many Americans), American means white.”

The American-equates-to-whiteness stereotype is particularly problematic for those whose physical features diverge from whiteness, and Ethel Nicdao recognizes that while white Americans may compliment her on her “nice tan” (a compliment she probably would not hear from other Filipinxs), she argues that their flattering compliments “ignore the realities, complexities, and consequences” of her brown skin versus their white skin. Skin shade and physical characteristics that diverge from Western norms may not always indicate unattractiveness (as they do in many parts of Asia or among Asian American communities), but they certainly indicate “otherness,” and several women in this section write about their personal struggles with this reality while living in America. Their dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, to name two examples, have led to ridicule, contempt, rejection, marginalization, racial slurs, harassment, and sometimes even physical attacks. Tanzila Ahmed, Bangladeshi American, writes of the disdain she felt from others growing up, including from her white classmates, because of her dark skin. Three women in this section write of being targeted for racial slurs (this is also the case for other women throughout the book)—“Hey Ching Chong” or “You stupid fucking Chink”—sometimes by fellow white schoolchildren and occasionally even by white adults. Catherine Ma, for instance, describes how white children mocked her eyes while she was growing up (something she also sees happening to her young children even today), and she suggests that this disparagement has long-lasting effects for some Asian Americans, including women who, as she contends, “go to extreme measures to change their features (their eyes, their skin, and their bodies) to match a Western, Caucasian standard.”

Though beauty standards differ somewhat in American and Asian cultures, perhaps attitudes towards skin color are not really so different after all. Dark skin and non-Eurocentric features may be perceived negatively in most parts of Asia, though they can also be alienating and isolating in white-dominated American society. In the final essay of this section, Bhoomi K. Thakore, Indian American, writes about her hopes for her light-skinned multiracial daughter growing up in America—in particular, that her skin color will not cause her the same disdain, judgment, and rejection that she herself experienced from other Indians and Indian Americans, and from Americans more generally. Bhoomi grew up in America feeling unattractive, stigmatized, and invisible because of her dark skin, and she hopes that her daughter’s experiences will be different. Her essay, like others in this section, highlights the problem of, one, skin-color bias within Asian ethnic communities, but also, two, the burden of racialization in American society. As a result of both of these factors, dark skin and non-Eurocentric facial characteristics can be doubly challenging for those of Asian descent living in America.

1

Wheatish

Rhea Goveas, Indian American, 22

I grew up in a progressive immigrant household. Although both of my parents are Indian, they come from different faiths and different regional-linguistic groups. They didn’t have an arranged marriage. In fact, they had a very standard love story (at least by Western standards): they met at work in Mumbai and fell in love. Their relationship made many people, both in their families and in their communities, very apprehensive—at that time it was very unusual for a Hindu (like my mother) to marry a Christian (like my father). I suspect this is why they eloped, and once they arrived in the United States, they were able to establish their own marriage and lives in a new and more tolerant country. This narrative of tolerance and progressiveness framed my family life. All the “divisive nonsense” (as my father would say) from the old country didn’t matter. Religion, language, class, caste, race, traditional gender roles, even skin color: those things do not matter to progressive people. And since we are progressive people, they don’t matter to us.

Though skin color didn’t matter in my family (at least theoretically speaking), I somehow learned all of the vocabulary for skin color. I knew I was “wheatish”1 and that this was a good thing. I knew that when my younger brother was born, everyone in the family was so happy because of his light skin and light eyes. Even today, everyone marvels at his baby pictures: “Look at him! Like a little white doll! So sweet! So handsome!” I also knew that as he got older, started playing soccer, and gradually got darker, some family members were very disappointed. But I know that since he is a boy, he is given a lot of slack for getting too much sun and not maintaining his skin tone.

It is not the same for me. Because I am a girl.

I know that everyone’s mom nags them to put on sunscreen, but I don’t know anyone who gets scolded for not wearing a hat at all times when playing outside. As a child, I was also not immune to the occasional snide comment about how I was “ruining” my skin after playing outside in the sun, but luckily I didn’t receive daily harassment to apply lightening cream, as did some of my other Indian friends—dire warnings of what would happen lest they become too dark.

I have been “blessed” by my run-of-the-mill complexion—not too light, not too dark. Despite the genetics of my darker Manglorean father, my brother and I inherited light skin from my north Indian mother. Due to this happy accident of genetics giving me a desirable skin tone and my unhappy condition of being born a girl with all the beauty expectations this carries, I learned very early that it is my job to protect what I have. The older I get, the more I notice little references to my skin color and the more I feel pressure to keep my skin as light as possible.

My father is quick to tell me that this is nonsense. He loudly proclaims that none of this matters to him, that both his children are beautiful regardless of their skin tone. I believe him. My mother is a different story. She says skin color does not matter, but is quick to comment on how “pretty and fair” someone is or to slather herself with “luminizing” creams or homemade turmeric masks to lighten her skin. She occasionally exerts this pressure on me—persuading me to get facials or to try new “brightening” creams with her. Occasionally, she buys me expensive products to “clean up” my skin or beautify my face.

On one such occasion, she took me to the mall for the purpose of trying the new Chanel Vitalumiere Aqua Foundation. My mother had purchased some for an event and absolutely loved it. I never object to getting fancy new makeup, so off we went to the Chanel counter in the Bloomingdale’s at our local mall—my mom, her friend, and myself. We got to the counter and my mom told the elderly blonde lady that I wanted the foundation.

“Alright, dear,” the blonde Chanel lady smiled down at me. “Why don’t you take a seat and we can color match you.”

So I sat in the chair and allowed her to dab foundation in various brown tints on my cheek. The first one she tried was too light.

“Hmm, this is a teensy bit too light, I think,” the Chanel lady observed, angling my face towards the light so she could get a better look.

“Yeah, I agree,” I said. The Chanel lady turned to select another shade from the display.

“Don’t worry, she isn’t normally this dark,” my mother interjected—a little too quickly, I might add. “She has been traveling quite a bit and got too much sun. When her skin is back to normal, she will be much lighter. You can give her a lighter shade.”

I sensed where she was going with this and attempted to head it off at the pass. “My skin is normal, Mom. I’m only a little bit more tanned than I usually am. It’s not like I am going to drastically get any paler.”

“No, no, no. You can be much, much lighter than this. I’ve seen you in the winter,” my mother insisted.

I opened my mouth to reply.

“You know what, Beta,” my mom’s friend interjected. “You should do a face mask of haldi and yogurt.2 It helps lighten the skin.”

“I know about that,” I snapped, getting prickly. I shot a furtive look at the blonde Chanel lady, wanting this conversation to end. “I hate those masks. They smell awful. They don’t even work. And I don’t need to use that crap. My skin is fine.”

“I promise you they work.” My mom’s friend was insistent. “And it is all natural. They look a bit funny, yes, but they work. I’ve been doing haldi masks for years.”

I felt their critical eyes on my face, taking in my sun-bronzed skin. I remembered feeling that same gaze from my mom two weeks earlier when my parents picked me up from the airport after my recent trip to Spain and Portugal. My mother had turned around to scrutinize me in the back seat of the car as we were driving home. “You got some sun. You are looking really brown,” she had said. There was a ringing accusatorial note to her voice. I suddenly wondered if taking me makeup shopping was her way of telling me to “fix” my skin.

“It’s really not so bad, Rhea,” my mom wheedled. “We can do one at home if you want. It will definitely help your skin. It won’t lighten it. It will just even it out. Make it look cleaner. Back to what it should be.”

“My skin does not need help,” I said loudly, suddenly irritated. I no longer wanted this overpriced foundation.

They didn’t get it. It’s not that I hate face masks. I love face masks. I love most skin care products. I just will not do a face mask for the purpose of lightening my skin. I was acutely aware that the lady at the Chanel counter was listeni...