Cultural Appropriation by Any Other Name Still Smells...

Hello all, I hope your weeks have been more fantastic than the thought of playing on a life size Monopoly board (come on, admit it, it would be fun).

Well, this past week I happened to post a video on my Facebook page addressing the issue of cultural appropriation, particularly focused around "theme" parties that tend to stereotype entire races and cultures in a detrimental light (i.e. themes like "Ghetto Fabulous," "Asian Parties" etc). 

For context, and because it is an excellent piece, here is the video:

While most of the response I received from posting this originally was fairly positive. There was one comment that I received, in person no less, from a Caucasian acquaintance who is nearly as pale as I am that made me want to go high five someone... in the face... with a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

The comment basically boiled down to (and I am paraphrasing), "I don't see why people of those cultures would be so offended. I mean, it's just a reason to party and it isn't like we're trying to be offensive."

Sadly, I have heard this exact sentiment echoed by many white people I have spoken to about a lot of different forms of cultural appropriation.

"Come on, what's the big deal?" asks the white frat-boy dressed at Halloween as a Muslim wearing a turban with bombs strapped to their chest.

"I don't think this is offensive," says the white girl who is dressed in a "Thug Life" t-shirt, with a fake grill who is addressing everyone at a party using the n-word.

The point that these comments miss is this: Not being of that culture means that you DO NOT have the right to decide what is offensive and what isn't. (I bolded and underlined that, is there some other way I can make the "do not" more noticeable?)

It's as simple as that, just because you don't find something offensive, doesn't give you a pass to use other peoples' cultures, history or race as you please.

My family, on both sides, is Scottish. How Scottish am I? I know Flower of Scotland by heart, am helping organize the Highland Games and I can quite happily tell you where to go and what to ride on to get there in Gaelic.

You know what I find annoying? The phrase, "Oh, but Ireland and Scotland are basically the same thing right?"

Absolutely, if you ignore two completely diverse cultures, histories and just mash ancient traditions together like the ingredients in a haggis, then the two are exactly the same.

Don't get me wrong, I love the Irish, but calling our heritages the same is just not correct.

If I am annoyed by just that phrase, I can only imagine what it is like to have your entire culture hijacked and mocked publicly just because someone else thinks it is "fun" to do so.

Remember, the outfit you're wearing as a "joke" is something that someone else wears on a daily basis as part of their everyday life. You take off the costume and you return to your daily life, but that person gets to deal with the nasty stereotypes or stigma perpetuated by your disregard for their culture.

So how about next time you think, "Is what I'm doing perpetuating harmful stereotypes? If I wore this in a insert culture neighborhood would I find a lot of people who were very offended?"

If the answer to either of those questions is yes, then please rethink your plan.

As always I can be found on Facebook or Twitter (@AllisonHawn) and my books can be found here.

We Have a Winner! (And a Very Sore Writer)

Hello all of you who have managed to crawl through the workday to survive Monday thus far!

Well, first off, we have a winner to the the contest to win a signed copy of "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus" and have his or her writing featured in my next book!

There were a plethora of fantastic entries, but Diane Snyder's completion of "Going through airport security is like..." with "...trying to shave a grizzly bear's legs and then put her in a dress. Most of it is a waste of time, and the rest is a major hassle!" wins! Excellent job Diane!

If you did not win this time around don't despair, I promise there will be more contests soon!

So I apologize for the lateness of this blog post, but there's a very good reason for my tardiness. This weekend I was doing this:

And this:

And this:

If you can't figure out what I was doing (despite all the people, including myself, in kilts), I competed at the Spokane Highland Games this weekend.

Basically, I spent around 9 hours hefting, throwing and glaring at various heavy objects when they didn't go where I wanted them to go.

The Highland Games, for those who don't know, are comprised of several different events, such as weight for distance (first picture), weight for height, putting of the stone (third picture), hammer throw (second picture), the caber toss (which is when you see people in kilts running and throwing giant logs) and dodging flying projectiles.

So that last one is not an official event, but it is something one sometimes has to do if they don't wish to be killed by flying heavy implements.

It's kind of like a track and field meet, if track and field meets had you compete in every event offered, included people in kilts and were backed by bagpipe music all day long (I was hearing bagpipes for hours after I left). So it's a track and field meet with the intensity turned up about 93 notches.

It also provided me with a group of unique experiences that could only happen at a highland games competition.

For instance, it is not really a daily occurrence to have your kilt get caught on a chair as you're trying to stand up. Nor is it normal to high five someone and have your hands become grafted together because you forgot they were covered in tacky (a very sticky substance used to help with the caber toss). And while losing your car in a parking lot is common enough, losing it while carrying a log is less so. 

Truthfully, it was a fantastic experience, and now that I have a glimmer of an idea of what I'm doing, I will most certainly be training for next year's competition.

If anyone is in the Spokane area and wants to try it out, I would certainly encourage you to go to the Spokane Highland Games' website! Also, if you're interested but don't happen to have the joy of living in Spokompton, then I might suggest looking into the Scottish American Athletic Association for the games held closest to you.

Well, I had better go attempt to put my back into the correct alignment. Remember, you can always follow my exploits on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads!

It's Hard to Samba in a Kilt

I cannot dance.

I am not just saying this to downplay an actual ability like when people say, "Oh, I can't sing," and then they belt out an aria from Carmen (Jerks). No, I really cannot dance.

I have what I like to refer to as Caucasian Rhythm Disorder. I am of Scottish descent and we are a people known, at our stereotyped best, for throwing heavy objects, playing bagpipes, producing whiskey and eating haggis, none of which are really activities that bring about a culture of smooth and sensual rhythmic movements.

Even our traditional dance is called " The Highland Fling" and mostly revolves around hopping around like a one-legged bunny on caffeine (Not to disparage any of my dancing kin, it's very difficult to do, but I wouldn't call it smooth by any stretch of the imagination.)

This past week my friend Sarah invited me to go to an aerobic toning class, and always looking for something new to try, I went. Being a few days past laundry day I threw on the only clean piece of workout clothing I had left; my Sport Kilt.

We got through the aerobic class, with me happily sweating along, kilt probably befuddling the rest of the class. The class ended and as we were all leaving a Zumba class began to arrive.

For those of you who have never been exposed to the wonders of Zumba, it is basically Jazzercise on crack.

Zumba participants are devoted, much like the members of a cult, to their classes.  They show up several times a week, often wearing Zumba uniforms, and often chant along with the music.

My friend Sarah turned to me and said, "Hey, we should stay and do Zumba!"

I blinked at her a couple times with the same expression an antelope might have for a cheetah with a jet-pack. I tried to explain to her that I am not a dancer, that the second I am given a beat and rhythm to follow I become a danger to myself and others, but she did not heed my warning and so out onto the gym floor we trundled.

The music started and the first thing the instructor shouted was, "Go to the left!" And I promptly went right nearly crashing into a wall. Correcting my trajectory (because that is all it really can be labeled at this point) did not help much. I had no idea what the Zumba-trons were doing with their feet, much less what they were doing with their hands or hips. I do not samba, salsa, hip-hop or use my hips to tell truths (that's right Shakira, my hips tell terrible, terrible lies). They all moved in a wonderful synchronized form while I did something similar to The Time Warp meets the Highland Fling in a kilt.

I will admit I had fun, even when some older lady lady tried to help me learn some very basic steps, she eventually gave up.  But I can promise I was a dancing tragedy, a fact that was confirmed by the pitying/attempting to be encouraging looks I got from a very adorable gay couple across from me.

What I found fascinating is how into it everyone in the class seemed to be. It didn't matter how big or small the person was, orientation, religion, The Bachelor devotee or not, this was the most accepting cult I have ever witnessed. Though, I will probably not be returning anytime in the near future, I'm pretty sure I almost gave some poor woman a black eye due to directional mishap.

So what lessons did I learn from my boogie-bedazzled enterprise?

1. You can have a lot of fun making an absolute fool of yourself (a fact I already knew, but it's nice to have a refresher course every once in a while).

2. If at first you don't succeed, then do the Running Man for 3 minutes until the song changes and you have some smidgen of hope that you will have some sort of a clue what to do for the next song.

3. Always wear a kilt into new situations, just wearing one increases one's courage, I promise.