Fetishisation and Racial Ambiguity
Experiencing fetishisation as a racially ambiguous woman
Louisa Hinks
It’s unlikely that I will forget all the strange and fetishistic things I have had said to me over the years about my ethnicity. And being racially ambiguous has meant that they are very varied in they way they present the issues with how society views women of colour.
Fetishisation is making someone an object of sexual desire based on some aspect of their identity. It’s something that pretty much all people of colour have experienced, predating even the colonial period. I can only base my observations off my own lived experiences as a cis, straight mixed-race woman. There are nuances of sexuality and gender within this that I cannot pretend to understand.
Feeling as though you are sexualised because of your ethnicity is demoralising and frustrating. I’d rather not be told that I look like Zendaya. (Yes, this actually was the first message one man chose to send to me on a dating app). Being compared to someone you look nothing alike really makes you think: am I simply just a brown girl with curls? Is that all you can see? I’m sure many other mixed-race women share the same feeling.
Racial ambiguity is when someone’s ethnicity isn’t easily pinpointed. Often mixed-race people like myself form a part of this group. Racially ambiguous people are commonly perceived differently by those they meet. If the individual is fairer, they may be viewed as white by one person, and as a person of colour by another. This is often my experience. The way I have encountered fetishisation is nuanced due to being racially ambiguous. Curiosity becomes part of a sexual fascination. The adjacency to whiteness is also part of the attraction, given Eurocentric beauty standards.
Before university, I always clung to the reality that I was lighter than most mixed-race people; somewhat white passing. I could straighten my naturally curly hair, so it was less obvious that I was mixed. I hated the sun and would stay out of it. I still feel the effects of these rigid standards, even though I am privileged enough benefit from colourism. But I try to not let it take ownership of the way I present myself and see beauty in others, as I did as a young teen. I correct thoughts that my curls looks big and frizzy or my nose too round.
Standards and trends of what is and isn’t beautiful obviously play into dating and hookup culture. Being aware that I can be perceived as white, I have found myself declaring my ethnicity, when relevant, to men I fancy – I’d rather filter out those who have a problem with it or who will fixate on it. I won’t accommodate their ignorance, as I may have done in the past, just to feel accepted. Given some of the things I have had thrown at me about my ethnicity, this is sometimes necessary for my own peace of mind.
When discussing dating with a close friend who is also mixed race, she told me that she has been treated as ‘fuckable’ by too many white men she has encountered - she has never felt like someone to be taken seriously or dated. So, at this stage, she doesn’t feel comfortable dating white men. This is not only a problem among white men though; both of us have heard similar things about light-skinned women from men of colour which reduce us to fun and flirty.
I first started referring to myself as racially ambiguous when I was a fresher at university. I felt it very accurately represented how I was seen and treated by others. No one ever knew exactly what my background was, and often seemed to want to make guesses. It became a running joke that I was Spanish among some of the people in my building. When I first moved in, one of the lads said something like, “there’s a Spanish girl moving in”. I seemed to be attracting attention from guys who had a thing for Latina actresses or singers, because in their eyes, I fit that aesthetic. It wasn’t important that I’m mixed-race.
It was a purely aesthetic fascination because, even when they knew I wasn’t Spanish, they continued to tell me I looked it and tell others I was Spanish. It was as though it was more exciting (and perhaps more palatable) than being mixed race. I’m pretty sure at the time I thought this was annoying, but I didn’t actually see the undertones of racism in their laddish banter.
I once received a message off a dating app from a white guy, saying ‘I love your hair and how Spanish looking you are’. This reaffirmed what my first-year experience taught me. Apparently, you just need to look a certain way to fit the type – you don’t actually have to be Spanish or speak the language – so it certainly isn’t an interest in Spanish culture. This displays a lack of interest in the individual woman’s real identity. The fascination is only skin deep.
Being perceived differently by different people means that I also receive fetishisation for being part black. The memory that springs to mind is walking up the stairs and being told by the guy walking behind me that my bum looked big. I was already aware that the same person had linked this observation to fact that I am part Jamaican. I can take a one-off flirty comment among friends as a compliment. What’s unsettling here is being made to feel as though one of your characteristics has been unnecessarily linked to your ethnicity. His comment was based off of stereotypes that were once, and still are, used to shame and animalise black women, but which have now become desirable following popularisation among white women. Why should Eurocentric standards dictate when and on whom something is beautiful?
The recent trend of ‘black fishing’ is another product of sexualising racial ambiguity. Those following this trend have decided to do things such as drastically tan themselves, and sometimes even undergo surgeries to attain a racially ambiguous look. I have intentionally said racially ambiguous rather than black because the black characteristics taken on are only those deemed beautiful by European standards. Jesy Nelson, former Little Mix member, is a prime example; many people who don’t know she is white would not be able to ascertain whether she is white or of mixed race, given the way she presents herself. The problem, is that she is benefitting from a trend that caters to the male gaze whilst making women of colour feel like their features are fashion accessories to be adopted when in style.
Jesy Nelson on the left, and mixed-race, ex-bandmate Leigh Anne-Pinnock. Jesy is white, and was called out for blackfishing in a music video also starring Nicki Minaj. Nicki defended Jesy against this. It’s hard to tell what actually happened, but it seems like Leigh also got caught up in the cross-fire.
I can’t count the number of times I have felt objectified when a man has asked me where I am from and then been fascinated by the answer (and it is mostly men who ask). It makes me feel so much more vulnerable than a simply sexist comment, likely due to the journey of acceptance that I and many other multi-racial individuals have to go through growing up within the cross-section of different cultures. I don’t value their curiosity at all. I’d rather they take interest in something else about me that doesn’t involve my simply naming countries my grandparents emigrated from in the 1950s.
With dating as a woman of colour, you have to filter through (and build up a defence against) so many problematic traits and backhanded compliments in order to date someone who understands how to properly treat and talk to you. The people I have always found to be the most sensitive and understanding of race tend not to care what my ethnicity is, and won’t be intrigued by it.
A recent realisation of mine which has been the most eye opening, is that the men in my life that have respected me the most, and not made me feel objectified, have more often than not perceived me as I am: mixed race. They have not been looking or hoping for anything else. When I discussed this with my mum, she simply said: people will see what they want to see. She’s exactly right. This is what the kind of men that objectify women based on their looks do. If their favourite pop star is Iranian or Italian, they'll see you that way, because being racially ambiguous means that your characteristics will be interpreted in a multitude of ways. I’ve had enough people try to guess my ethnicity to know this is true. And there are people that will completely project onto you something that you are not, because it’s desirable in their eyes.
My experiences with racism have almost exclusively been some form of fetishisation due to being a light skinned mixed race woman. Most of the microagressions I’ve heard have been from pervy men. It seems odd to say, but this is in part a privilege, as I have never really felt the full burden of prejudice that many people of colour face in most aspects of their lives. But still, no form of racial fetishisation should be overlooked. It’s a real and prevalent form prejudice that turns ethnic minorities into trends, or objects of fantasy. It plays a part in upholding grander structures of racial oppression.
I will continue to raise my voice on these issues, never accepting the weirdness and discomfort that I and others have to navigate. But it is essential to also elevate the voices of those who have it worse – colourism means that darker black and brown people are always sidelined within these conversations, even though they experience the brunt of the discrimination.