"Tall, skinny, white-boy seeks cute, intelligent brunettes and loathes Asian girls who hanker only after skater-boys. All need not apply."
The above personal is a mutation of Karen Eng's [1] experiment in teasing out instances of Yellow Fever: white-boys with Asian girl fetishes. I promised myself that next time I saw an article/zine on the topic, I'd say something. However, I wasn't sure what I'd say. Issues of preference, fetish, and culture are complex, particularly as I think I could be defensive — and even if I don't think I am, my self-critical reflex asks if I'm merely too biased to see it. I fit the stereotype she portrayed: I like anime, mecha toys, and Kung-Fu flicks; I think highly of Buddhism, and I appreciate eastern design/aesthetics. I've dated two Asians, my present partner included. And while I've seen beautiful people the world over (and I personally express stronger generic affinities over lifestyles like goth/punk than ethnicities) I can think of only a few ethnic generalizations I've made on this note. For example, when walking around in Oslo, "Boy, a lot of these Norwegians really are stunning" and upon returning from Japan, "Americans on the subway sure are weird looking."° I've even theorized in my analysis of porn that the Asian niche is an escape/alternative to the dominant white/tan/silicone/blond representation prescribed by American mainstream porn. And I believe people have a right to their sexual preferences (even if crudely expressed [2]) as long as they aren't harming themselves or others.
However, I don't intend to attack Eng's article. Like most things in Bitch (it rules!) her article is an insightful analysis based on personal experience. And I share her concern about "sincere, personal attraction and superficial, prepackaged desire." No one likes to be labeled and judged by an externally regulated norm. That's why I was miffed when someone made a comment that implicated me because I was dating an Asian. However, this was a single jest, I feel confident in my relationships and otherwise privileged enough for this to have little effect. I'm not being denied housing or employment because of this, so I don't expect any tears to be shed on my behalf!
With respect to preferences, I do not think anyone can deny that first impressions and inclinations are necessarily shallow. What is unfortunate is if those biases are the limit to understanding anothers' depth. To take it to an extreme, the Diagnostic Statistical Manual (DSM) defines a dangerous/damaging sexual fetish as when, "The fantasies, sexual urges, or behaviors cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning."
Of course, the creation and use of the term "yellow fever" is not intended as a diagnosis for treatment, but as a counter-norm (or chastisement) on men pre-occupied with "Asian-ness" and enforcing their own (fetishistic) definition of what that means, or at least that's how I think this is how/why Karen uses it. However, in my single experience on this note, and in the experience of a friend in an inter-racial relationship, inter-ethnic slurs are most often cast by and towards members of the same ethnicity. "Brother" is said to black women by black men; I was implicated by a white friend who frequently expressed her frank (and disapproving) assessment of anyone I was dating. I can't imagine any of my Asian friends bothering on this note. In fact, the thing I noted in reading and discussing this issue with friends is the counter-preoccupation with male lankiness. One Asian friend has jokingly refered to her "skinny white-trash fetish" and another has proudly stated that she's never dated anyone under 6'3"!
This lankiness theme was the (admittedly trite) thing I wanted to point out "next time I read a rant" on this topic and (ironically) Karen's article serves this purpose well: "Often these men were skinny", "He was a gangly boy white boy who suffered from too nice/too romantic syndrome, which unfortunately dulled any potential sexual energy", and "it seemed that almost at every other table was occupied by a gangly white guy accompanied by a pale, moon-face Asian lady with yards of hair." So what's up with that?
However, while it's a fun issue to think about (there's even a winter session class at MIT on the topic! [3]), I don't get too worked up about it. First, I like to see inter-racial couples, and if they're happy, so am I. Pre-occupation by others with this or any other racial pairing is more repugnant to me than someone's preference. Second, while Karen avoids this fault with aplomb, many "asian fetish" rants strike me as vanity wrapped in deconstruction: it sucks to be desired. That's like me complaining that girls are first attracted to me because I'm tall. Boo hoo.
[1] Karen Eng. Yellow Fever Pages. Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture. Summer 2000, n. 12.
[2] Courtney Weaver. Tiny, flat-chested and hairless!: A White Man Extols the Wonders of Asian Women. Salon. May 1998.
[3] Carolyn Chen. Asian Girl Chronicles: "Asian girl" - Exotic flirt?° Repressed goody-two-shoes?° This workshop will explore these roles - whether real or stereotypical, and other related topics through the medium of photography.
I often fear that the reasons people give for liking and disliking things are merely rationalizations; I fear that all of our intellect merely adds formal wear to the naked desire of the primitive mind. For instance, I know someone that hates the winter because she grew up in in Russia, and someone that loves the winter because he grew up in Canada. Same temperature, different preferences.
Or take another example, some people that grew up in Baltimore like it, and that's why I don't. And while much of my dislike stems from the fact that my Baltimore experience was a suburban one, there are a few things that gives me some pride in the place, and it just lost one of them: Atomic Books. I used to say to those travelling to Baltimore, "there's only a few things of noteworthiness: John Waters kitch in Fells Point, Edgar Allan Poe's grave, and Atomic Books." During my flight to Baltimore on Saturday I was reading Genetic Disorder #15 about the Kill Zines Summer Tour and noted with satisfaction Larry's approval of Atomic Books, and the fact that Scott, Atomic's owner, was kind enough to have beer on hand and point out the nearby spot where Divine ate dog shit in Pink Flamingos. Now that's Baltimore hospitality! Seven years ago Maddie, Jonathan and myself would take a break from our studies at UMBC whenever Jonathan could borrow the car from his Professor Dad for a few hours. And since I've moved, it's been one of my favorite places to visit when I return.
But no more: my brothers told me of the sad news, the City Paper gives the scoop, and I have one less thing to do so as to keep my sanity in Baltimore.
"Support" offices in a bureaucracy tend to grow in size and make demands on you out of proportion to their service, and in the end require more effort on your part than their service is worth. — Evelyn's Rules for Bureaucratic Survival
I'm beat. I thought MIT would be a lovely place to have the next Zinetown Beantown: a gathering of Do-It-Yourself writers trading copies of their independent publications. However, MIT bureaucrats thought differently:
"It'll cost you $200 and you must have a department sponsor."
"Fill out the space application form."
"Just fill out the form."
"Yes, definately Campus Police and they determine metal detectors, how many officers and pricing for them... Any food catering, or even given away, we need to see a million dollar insurance rider from the food vendor... An event registration form will have to be filled out with my signature, campus police signature and then the city of Cambridge for a license."
The sad thing is I've simplified my story for brevity's sake! (Though the last is a literal excerpt from an email response.) Fortunately, there is another option at a different University.
After reading slantgirl's critique of baddgrrl and baddgrrl's defense — if only people would build their journals so I could properly reference entries — I noticed that baddgrrl's site has had over 3 million hits in the past year: she's been featured on Rolling Stone, BBC, and ABCNews. Since I've had this site running on my own server (instead of web.mit.edu) for the past year, I was wondering what my statistics were for that time, and here they are:
All the data I can analyze only tells me two relatively interesting things. First, even if only a 10th of the folks arriving at my site over the past year actually read anything before realizing my site didn't have pictures of bouncing boobs, I reached a thousand people! Second, for some reason Google likes me; if you type something into Google for which there are no sites dedicated to that topic but I've mentioned it, it's likely my site will be listed — this is how I explain doc martin among others. If Google likes me, that's only fair as I like Google too.
Love tastes like a snow flake melting on the tongue after a spicy lunch at an Indian buffet.
Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee
Resolved to have a battle,
For Tweedle-dum said Tweedle-dee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
I haven't bothered to say anything about the elections because there's not much to say. For ten days we were relentlessly barraged with bemused pundits marveling that their pollster-powers failed to activate, "We were wrong three times!" they screamed with glee. For the next fourteen days we had to hear about how we had to hear it yet again. I would've preferred if the press had forgone its self-referential nipple twisting until the whole thing was over. "Ted, I've never seen anything like this in my life" ... "John, this day in the Supreme Court was the most exciting of my career." If picking your toe cheese and marveling at the funk is exciting, well my friends, you keep right on at it. Keep at it while the obese twins of our two party system continue bludgeoning money laden fists into the fat gobs of the respected opposition.
And don't worry about the people, I've just realized how appropriate the metaphor of a flock of sheep is. I've just realized the irony that every sheep has the ability to pursue its own path: not a single fence need cast a shadow on the "land of opportunity", but the sheep will be herded, laboring under the dead weight of the dueling twins. And the sheep will like it, they'll gather around the media wolves in sheep's skin and shiver in excitement.
The truly aggrieved in all of this are the privileged interests: a $500,000,000 tab and there's still no one to deliver another four years of bloody lamb to their table.
"Democracy is not a state in which people act like sheep." Gandhi
A young man sits in his chair and massages his forehead, then lightly scratches where the skin becomes scalp. His fingers scrape with a centipede's gate.° His legs are twisted and his mouth agape. Either he has to pee badly, or he fears his legs might betray him. Maybe he's caught half way between a yawn and a migraine. I suspect he is merely thinking because when he pauses from this odd performance and focuses with his pen to paper he looks normal and I feel relief.
A young woman interrupts my line of sight and hurries past. There are two types of people in this world: those that can make their way through a crowd of tables towards the bathroom with friendliness and ease, and those for whom the public knowledge of their pending need is too great — they pass by while radiating a guilty anger on all those who looked up with a potential smile.
The man is freaking me, and the passerby's are stressing me and I fear I'm going to lose it. What am I doing with my career, housing, education, money, and life? A quick image/desire flashes before my mind in which I spend my life happily polishing a marble stone so that it'll shine with a contentful light.
°