Wearing the Guera

So, the past weeks have been fun. I saw Frida's house, went to some bars, got to see the pyramids. All great and fascinating experiences, but this post is gonna be a little more bitter. Frida was so in love with her indigenous culture, which she portrayed beautifully through her clothes and art, and so eloquently in her words. Also, visiting the pyramids, I was able to glimpse the astonishing origins of Mexico, and the honor still surrounding the noble and advanced ancestry of this country. Yet, those two instances are starting to contrast with the rest of my experience here. In California, the idea of being "brown" or indigenous is a source of pride for a lot of chicanos. People get tattoos of the Aztec sun calendar, and feel some sort of connection with an idea of the Raza, or a strong Mexican race made up of both Spanish and indigenous influences. It doesn't seem to be the same here. Granted, I'm no expert, and I've only been here like two weeks. But the value placed on being white is becoming increasingly apparent. All of the people on billboards and milk cartons, the telenovela stars. They're very light-skinned. I saw an ad on T.V. the other day for a skin whitening cream. Then, there was this girl doing promotions at the telephone store who, to be quite honest, was a little fug. But, because she had died her hair blonde and was wearing blue contacts, they slapped a skirt on her and everyone was taking pictures with her. When I first came here, I knew that there would be cat calls due to my new exotic status as an extremely white person, but I figured, "What the hell? I can deal with attention. I like attention, I used to act for Christ's sake." But it's just sad now. It's not about being pretty, it's about being white. I get attention because I'm white. I get yells and whistles and honks in a constant stream because I'm pale and blonde. It's not complimentary, it's just this ongoing commentary on the racism in Latin America that keeps slapping me in the face. I could look like a pug that just got ran over by an 18-wheeler, and as long as I had my blonde hair intact, someone would shoot me a whistle. I walked home in the rain the other day, and cars with single men kept stopping to ask if I needed a ride. It's a nice gesture, I guess, if it wasn't so rape-y. Maybe it's the U.S. entertainment industry pushing skewed perceptions of beauty all over the world. Maybe it's left over from the days when Spanish meant status, and being white signified wealth and class. Whatever it is, it's disturbing. I hate seeing little dark-skinned girls in the metro carrying blonde, blue-eyed dolls. Dolls that look like me as a baby. I hope she bought it because it was cheap or came with more clothes, not because she thought it was prettier than the one that looked like her little sister.