A brief preface

As a member of the social justice community, I sometimes get asked to voice my perspective on various issues. The other day I served on a sexism panel for an “Intergroup Dialogue” class, a course housed by the Dean of Students Office which explores social identities and promotes dialogue. One of the questions posed by the facilitators went thusly: “What does it mean to be an ally and how does one do ally work?” For those who are not familiar with social justice language, an ally is somebody who refuses to accept misinformation about a certain identity group, who makes a commitment to educate themselves and others about the given community, and who recognizes and remains aware of their own privileges.

One concept raised by my fellow panelists was the ability for an ally–and any person pursuing social justice even for one of their own identities–to recognize their mistakes. This world in which my co-workers, peers, and I live is not perfect; partially because we are each armed with our own privileges and cannot always distance ourselves from them, and partially because we make other unconscious mistakes in our daily goings-on. But what makes us allies and community members in pursuit of justice is our ability to hold ourselves accountable for these mistakes.

So here I am, taking responsibility.

———————–

A gentleman scrutinizes his appearance

I met him over the summer. For those of you acquainted with my particularly Gujarati-infused summer chronicled in my previous article, you’ll guess that he must have been one of my coworkers. (More specifically, he’s the one who doesn’t like spicy foods and watches Gossip Girl.)

The first time I met him he had a full beard. It was sort of rugged, undeniably masculine, and—to my taste—a little dirty. He talked, booming and beaming, about the NBA Finals at the time and dared others to challenge “his” players. (So far, we had the Lakers in common.)

But when we really began talking, I realized he was a little goofy. I messaged him over company email asking if he had an iPod charger. He replied, “Look up.” I lifted my head over my cubicle wall only to see his head pop up from the other side. He shook his head. A fairly clever response tactic. Somehow that spurred conversation and we began discussions of Salinger and Rumi. He read. And that was rare—for a boy.

He left the office early that day. I text messaged him asking why, and he said that his best friend was getting his haircut and that they always did so together. I mean, they just had to have the other’s opinion. The literature taste plus the hair vanity, in my mind, began shaving his beard right in front of me–these things were hardly masculine.

Another day while at lunch with all of our coworkers, I was studying his face and noticed something peculiar.

Oh.
My.
God.

He totally had his eyebrows threaded.

I pounced on the revelation. “Oh-em-gee, do you get your eyebrows done?” To my great surprise, he didn’t look embarrassed and nobody else even batted a lash. “Yeah,” was the simple answer. A female coworker of mine clarified with a giggle, “Pretty regularly! Like every two weeks.” At this point I was almost impressed, because even I didn’t go that often.

And the incidents just kept on coming. While shopping with my coworkers, I indicated that I wanted to visit the beauty supply store Sephora, to which he readily responded, “Yeah, yeah! Let’s go!” I thought he was being sarcastic until I inquired further and learned that he purchased his high-end face wash and moisturizer from the store. I had no idea men even knew the brand Cosmedicine at all.

When I went to pay for my new foundation, the cashier asked if I had a Sephora Rewards card. Before I had a chance to say no, a card appeared before me and was handed to the cashier promptly. My fellow Sephora fan flashed me a pretty toothy grin. “WHY do you have one of those?” I demanded to know. He explained calmly that if he was making regular purchases here it only made sense to reap the benefits. The cashier mentioned I was eligible for a free concealer, moisturizer, or shampoo sample. I told her, quite pointedly, that it was his gift of choice. He gave me that toothy grin again, so I just picked the concealer for myself and we went on our way.

The next stop was a trendy European-based clothing store called Zara. I milled around the cardigans for a while and can’t remember what I really bought that day. What I do remember is that Mr. Sephora was standing in front of a mirror eyeing the fit of a jacket for a very, very long time.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Small or medium? I like the more tapered look, but it depends on if I’m zipping it up or not. And does it even look good zipped up?”

Never before had I ever seen a male spend so much time analyzing his clothing, its fit, and the style it portrayed.

I learned that he was a good shopping companion, though. I began to value his opinion on colors suitable for the South Asian skin tone. And while I couldn’t really bear to spend hours in Club Monaco (his very favorite), I could at least peruse Steve Madden with some other coworkers instead. One time we even visited the hair removal place together because he was so insistent that his “regular” was much better than mine. Our services were performed in two separate rooms, but I could hear him exclaiming, “Man, please don’t hurt me—OUCH!”

To be honest, I really questioned his identity. He was the least masculine man I knew, but at the same time I would become heavily perplexed when he would go play basketball with “his boys” and spend hours fixing his car. Perhaps my biggest mistake was when I questioned him to his face. And perhaps he did the best thing he could have done for me and himself—he responded calmly and confidently. Had he not done so, I probably would have celebrated a victory instead of taken the time to re-examine my analysis.

^{Man as enslaved by societal expectations of masculinity}

It was hypocritical. I had always wanted to get my close male friend’s eyebrows threaded. Its bushiness was always a point of contention for me, but he refused my offer time and time again. I also was raised by a father who often wore a lungi (a traditional wrap, similar to a long skirt) around the house. But why had I never asked my father why he wore “skirts” and why instead was I hung up on a guy who already got his eyebrows done even though I wanted a different guy to get his done too?

Frankly, it was all very sexist of me. I thrust the traditional idea of masculinity upon him and evaluated his characteristics accordingly. But the thing I have to highlight is that he did the most ‘manly’ thing he could have done and always stood his ground. He had that sort of stubborn confidence and instead made me feel ridiculous for questioning his identities.

This is the longest, most public apology I have ever issued. But out of everything I want him to know that I respect him so much for asserting his manhood in the manner of his choosing. And I hope that women who want to be in a sorority, major in Business or Engineering, or aim to be stay-at-home mothers do not feel as though their womanhood will be evaluated because of these choices. If anything, they ought to have the confidence to pursue these things and say that they are proud, just as Mr. Sephora does every time he looks straight into a mirror.

Photo Courtesy: benisntfunny, andreabauer

Related Articles:

• Riyaaz for AID - A Review
• Holi 2009
• Microfinance: A Remedy for Poverty or Just Another Business Venture?
• Billu: A Review
• Dr. Biju Mathew: An Interview