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I LOVE NEW YORK
April 7, 2008 - 8:49am — Gloria Bigelow
The I LOVE NEW YORK pang finally happened to me. No, no, no... not that ridiculously obnoxious show with that out of control black woman on VH1. No, no, not that I LOVE NEW YORK.
Photo by VH1.
Not the I LOVE NEW YORK t-shirts either... the ones they sell down on Canal Street 10 shirts for $10, or $10 a t-shirt in Times Square.
A real I LOVE NEW YORK pang happened. It caught me by surprise. It took four years.
See, it hadn’t happened before when I was running for a train or racing a rat up the 7th Avenue stop stairs in Brooklyn; or when I was standing in my shoebox-sized apartment with my foot through the floor screaming in my upper register, “I paid for this? I paid for this?!” Not then.
It hadn’t happened when I was being proselytized to on a train by a man resembling a malnourished George Clinton in a purple leather-like sparkly coat. It definitely did not happen on Bleecker and Lafayette by the 6 train while standing on the corner knee deep in pissy water and being splashed by an insane taxi cab driver in the rain. Go figure?
But it happened. It happened when I left New York. I somehow found myself increasingly grateful for the madness and complexity and the invisibility that comes along with living in New York City.
I grew up as “The Black Kid.” Contrary to my mother’s belief, this is not one of the reasons that I am gay. It is, however, one of the reasons that I prefer to be in a really diverse city. With the gay stuff, just fancy me lucky.
Recently, I spent a weekend in Gainesville, GA. It seemed harmless enough until I found myself at a karaoke bar on the final night. Excited about my rendition of “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi that I was planning on singing — I told you now, I grew up in a white neighborhood — when I walked into the bar, I was immediately thrown back into my shockingly white suburb of Pittsburgh. With my gay black self, I knew that I was the most of “other” that these people had seen in a long time.
A few minutes into the whole thing, one of the other faculty leaned into me and whispered, “Hey, me and you, the black and the Jew... we may need to sit by the door.” Suspicions confirmed — thank you!
I was just beginning to relax when I thought I felt something on the back of my hair. I shrugged and ignored it. My locks were probably just caught on my chair. A moment later, I felt the feeling again. I turned around to find an incredibly pale, bleached blonde waitress smiling at me. SHE HAD BEEN TOUCHING MY HAIR! I looked at her like what the f*ck? And she returned my look with a shrug and said in sugary sweet southern twang, “I can’t help it. I’ve always wondered what they felt like.”
Immediately, I was transported back to my first day of kindergarten, or a period in my life that I also like to refer to as “my days in the petting zoo.”
Uncomfortable with the entire situation, I began to wonder. Would this shit ever happen in New York? Of course not... OF COURSE NOT. A stranger would never start petting you in a bar — not that kind of petting anyway.
It was then that I felt it. I felt the PANG. The I LOVE NEW YORK, sung in the melody of the commercial from the 80s, pang. I realized that what I thought I hated about New York — the loudness, the business and the rat race of people — is actually what I loved most. With the loudness, the business and the literal rat race, no one here would have the time or energy to even CONSIDER starting their own petting zoo.
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27 Comments
Im Bi-racial and i grew up
Im Bi-racial and i grew up with my white mother and majority of my friends are white. From the age of 7 I got relaxers to straighten my hair mainly because my mom thought it was easier to manage. while i was in college i decided that i would shave my head and allow my hair to grow in naturally. My best friend seemed shocked by what my hair looked like once it started growing in. One day she asked me if i ever wish i had my moms hair. I was like why whats wrong with mine and she goes well its really kinky. i just stared at her and right away she apologized and went on to say that she was an idiot. So then i went on to inform her that my mom is Jewish so her hair is just as kinky as mine
not everywhere
Parts of Gainesville (doesn't that sound like it should follow breakupville and bingeatingville?) may be behind, but you'd never get that in Atlanta (where I'm originally from) or in Franklin, Tennessee (where I grew up) despite the fact that they're in the South. Actually, I shouldn't say never, because you could probably have a ridiculous encounter like that anywhere (even New York--which I love, too, by the way).
I think it has a lot more to do with the type of people you run into than the place. Clearly that girl had a f*cked up sense of what sorts of lines she is and isn't allowed to cross, but I don't think you should write off other places as being less open to diversity just because of one incident.
I'm reminded of why I left America and moved to Paris in the first place every time I return to the US (in Atlanta, Nashville, Franklin, Philadelphia, New York, Atlantic City--doesn't matter) but I still haven't written off the whole country. I'm not saying that you have done so with Gainesville or Georgia, just suggesting that you don't if you're considering it.
I grew up in the South, in the Bible Belt, in the fifth wealthiest (last time I heard) county in the United States and yet my school was a more accepting environment (most of the time) than the majority of my university friends' schools (in New York, New England, California...). Probably at least 20% of the kids in the student government were gay or lesbian (so was one of the drum majors) and Homecoming Queen my senior year was a stunningly beautiful 200+lb black girl.
On the opposite side from your experience, I have a fair number of friends who grew up in various parts of Africa (both white and black) and the white girls in particular frequently got a lot of attention there. One (very blond) friend was constantly having her hair touched, pulled, etc by total strangers.
I'm not saying that makes it right, but I guess curiosity sometimes gets the better of people. I'm reminded of an episode of Gilmore Girls in which one of the characters has fallen for a guy she barely knows, gets carried away in the moment and absently runs her hands through his hair. That girl you encountered may have been a nut job, but not everyone's that rude. She obviously went about it the wrong way, but I doubt she intended to offend you.
That said, I had a teacher start running her hands through my hair during English class my freshman year of high school. Her response when I looked up? "Oh, it must be the poster behind you, I thought your hair looked red." WTF? People are weird. I just try to laugh at stupid misconceptions and/or behavior when it comes to mix-ups between ethnicity and/or culture. I mean, what lesbian hasn't encountered someone who (upon learning she was gay) wanted to know how she has sex, what it's like, etc? It's stupid and rude, but I prefer situations like those to outright racism and homophobia. At least if people are talking to you (or touching you?--still really weird) there's an opportunity to educate them. :-)
If you deny any affinity with another person or kind of person, if you declare them to be wholly different from yourself, you have, in fact, alienated yourself...~Le Guin
NYC - no other city like it -
NYC gets in your blood and there is no place like it. You just feel the electricity - it surrounds you. You don't even realize until its not there anymore. Than you can't live without it!!
Safety in Numbers
Loved your post. It's true that the diversity present in a city like NY makes it easier to blend.
I've always felt like I'm too straight looking at the gay places and too gay looking at the straight places. It's strange how the company we keep can bring that stuff up.
Ahh, Black women and hair...
Has always been a subject of endless fascination for some non-blacks. They always want to know (a) how long it took; (b) how much it cost; (c) is that your "real" hair? etc. Questions are one thing, but to actually be petted?! Ick.
"(c) is that your "real"
"(c) is that your "real" hair? etc."
If you paid for it with real money it's your real hair (lmbo)
i too am to straight for the gay and to gay for the straight
Gloria Bigelow
that's comedy. i totally relate to that.-pause i have to check on my rice--
okay yeah, me too. this has always been a weird kind of thing to negotiate. i feel like in gay spaces, i always have to interject with a, "yeah- me too." or a "wow, my ex-girlfriend..." just so that folks know what's what. still don't usually get a date, but at least im not just the straight girl visitin' the club.
You need a wing wo(man) to
You need a wing wo(man) to run trouble for you who screams DYKE.Have her talk you up a bit and let the word spread..... Those icey stares will soon turn to warm and fuzzy wonder:)
Constant Pangs
What is it about recognizing something from a distance? I'm having that missing now with L.A. now that I've left but have it with NY when I'm in CA. But now living in the woods I definitely miss the crowds, the sounds, the smells and all of the urban chaotic excitement of NYC too. Oddly, the anonymity of NYC is probably the thing I miss the most. Thanks Gloria!
everything I hate about new york is everything that i love...
Gloria Bigelow-
it's bizarre because when i'm here i look around and all exasperated like damn there are just so many people and then the next day the sun can be shining and i'm like woo wee yeah- there are just so many damn people! i feel you!
really, I LOVE NYC TOO
The same thing happened to a friend of mine when we went out to a strip club to celebrate my wife graduating basic trainning in missouri, she had dreads and the waitress did the same thing. She was suprised at first but then she was a little offended. I have to agree with you and say that wouldnt happen here in nyc.
As for the pang thang you couldnt be more right, no matter where you go it would never really compare to the rhythm of nyc. I have lived in many other states and places and nothing by far compares.
I feel the pang
After living in Los Angeles for six months, I've been feeling the I LOVE NEW YORK pang more than ever. Even though the LA is definitely a welcoming place for people not always considered the norm it's definitely a different kind of "other" that I've been getting used to. I was born and raised in NYC and thought I needed a break from the rat race. Now, I'm figuring out any way I can get back.
Love New York. Love diversity. Love it all!
i just left l.a.
Gloria Bigelow-
i have to say that i do appreciate the autonomy of l.a. too and i think that the pace actually fits my insides more than the constant hustle and bustle, but both are places where i can relax if only because i feel like no one really sees me.
I have ILNY pangs on a daily....
I have ILNY pangs on a daily basis! I keep my hair low, low, low, low, low, low, low. That confuses them enough! At least it's been working for me. It's the shoes and my speech that gives me away. "You're not from 'round here, are ya?" "What gave me away?" Haven't been lucky enough to have been touched, but have been engaged in battles during football season! Giants fan in Cowboy country.I'm just sayin...
who are the giants?
hmmm... I don't think most people in Dallas have hair touching fetishes. I did get my leg grabbed while standing next to my girlfriend in a lesbian bar... that was uncomfortable, but even when my head was shaved no takers. If you see me around, feel free though to run your hands through my hair. :)
Glo, you nailed it.
I get the pang myself. In fact, I can't wait for my next excursion. I may just have to get a permanent NYC place to escape to when the otherness feels too thick. As for the hair thing, it happened to me at a dance concert in Seattle. (I wasn't my usual gracious self, I'll tell you that.)
V
we are...
Gloria Bigelow
we are waiting with bated breath ms. val for your return!
hmm
I'm sorry you were so "exotified." What an effective way to make you feel like an other.
Wow...maybe she was just
Wow...maybe she was just admiring you and got lost in the moment. :) Seriously though, that is really odd.
I love New York too. I've never had a stranger stroke my hair there, but I did see some pretty scary stuff. Once I was walking with a friend just after dark to find a good Indian restaurant and a black man jumped out in front of us and started to neigh and snort and shake his head like a horse. Apparently he was on something, or needed to me on something. Now THAT was freaky.
you can't beat a good snort...
Gloria Bigelow
LOL that shit is funny. A snorting man shaking his head like a horse... fabulous and somehow not at all to surprising!
Little Miss Ignorant
Gloria-- I kid you not-- this recently happened to a friend of mine at a party in the middle of bumblefuck Middlebury, VT.
We were at a party together when this girl comes up behind K and pets her afro! Yes, pets. K, has a large deliciously fabulous 'fro that I am boldly envious of.
K of course flips out at the ignorant "exotification." And the younger girl professes her bafflement as to why she was unable to perform a simple (admiring) gesture, but it was okay for ME to do it all the time.
Time to break it down: First of all Little Miss Ignorant, K and I are sisters. The kind of kinship that is created over nights and nights of proclaiming our disgust with our world and how exactly we were going to fuck the man up the ass, as soon as we move to San Fransisco in six months. The kind of sisterhood that is only possible after a girl stays up with you while you finish a major assignment and even though she's sick as hell, she's singing your praise and cheering you on!
Furthermore, Little Miss Ignorant, my hair, though shorter resembles K's so damned closely that my petting is blatant adoration, and envy that I don't yet have that kind of Afro confidence or power yet. She knows where it's coming from. I have access to her skin because we are sisters! And you Little Miss Ignorant are rude. It is still common etiquette to ask permission to touch someone that you are not well acquainted with. Not that K would have allowed after asking. It would have still be courteous!
i think that Little...
Gloria Bigelow-
Honey--- i think that LIttle Ms. Ignorant may be one of the funniest titles i have EVER heard. it's my new favorite thing!
pat pat pat
are you trying to tell me you are not a little pet?
Chrissy, I loved your post,
Chrissy, I loved your post, especially because I could hear you telling Little Miss Ignorant off with a cough here and there. I do hope you are starting to feel better, darling!
And, Gloria, I totally feel you and loved reading this post. I get I LOVE NYC pangs often and only when I leave NYC too. Back to the hair, though, people would always put their hands in my hair when I attended a predominantly white boarding school in New England.
When I would "bring out the fro," I would have people in my hair bouncing my curls like a spring. I hated it and kept my hair up so that people could just leave me alone. Coming from the diverse Bronx, I had no experience being an other, being a minority, and being different. I had no idea the world was split up into people of the minority or people of the majority. Everyone was brown and black from where I came, and it was at boarding school that I learned how fucked up the world really is.
Anyway, basically, I hated being called out because I had big hair unlike everyone else. In fact, your blog entry reminds me of something I wrote when I was living in the Dominican Republic. I was at a beach and being harassed by this old Italian man who was on the beach looking for young Dominican women like a sex vulture.
I caught his eye unfortunately with my brown, exotic skin and next thing you know, he was all up in my business, invading my space and privacy and completely ruining my leisure plans at the beach.
Not posting the complete story, I'll share some of what I wrote here and am still pissed that I did not do more.
"Several times, he attempted to get my attention, but I ignored him, immersed into my fake-reading. In the awkwardness of the moment, he conveniently noticed a friend and walked to him, away from me. “Thank goodness,” I thought to myself, and I finally joined my friend’s discussion. In his absence, two teenage Dominican girls, after being called over, joined the Elderly-Men-Who-Think-They-Are-God’s-Gift-To-Women Social Club. I watched these girls, who had nothing in common with these men, try to engage in meaningless conversation with them. They sat among these baked foreigners, putting on a show for them, entertaining them as though they were kings.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, in my pitying these girls, a hand brushed over my head. It was his hands, his dirty, disgusting, women-objectifying hands. All I could think was that this stranger old-enough-to-be-my-great-grandfather had touched me, had run his hands over my head, probably getting some kick out of feeling my what-is-for-him exotic hair. Shocked by his boldness, his utter disrespect for my space, I was unable to speak; I was unable to react.
After my initial trauma, I gave him a I'm-from-the-Bronx look. I felt so annoyed, so assaulted, so dehumanized by the way he petted my head as though I were some animal. Nothing about me said, “Touch me,” but he must be used to getting his way around here. I got up from my on-loan chair and hopped onto another crappy beach chair away from him, something I should have done sooner, and at the same time, something that I should not have had to do. I plopped my book open, looked out toward the horizon, and listened to the ocean’s music drown under Italian cadence."
Why are we subject to this objectification as woman of color? Why should I have to be inconvenienced because I am different? What do you all think?
hmm
Why is anyone who is considered "different" objectified? The novelty of someone out of the ordinary, I guess. Blond women visiting (or living in) certain parts of Africa are subject to having their hair touched or caressed, too. Lesbians are subjected to questions from complete strangers about their sex lives (including the all-time favorite, "can I watch?"). One of my Nigerian friends was touched (and well-loved and almost revered, I might add) by street children and adults alike on our trip to Romania.
I don't know, personally I don't mind answering questions and/or receiving attention due to my supposed "otherness," be it my orientation, or the fact that I'm an American living in France, or the fact that I'm a woman working in an English pub that's frequented by men, or the fact that I have small hands and unusually long fingers (complete strangers touch my hands), or the fact that I'm small (5'3--not soo short and thin, but that doesn't stop random people--mostly guys, a girl once--I don't know from trying to pick me up.) Having features that make you stand out can be nice, too. I have really blue, fairly big eyes and constantly receive compliments on them from strangers.
Anyway, I find curiosity a lot less disturbing than outright homophobia or racism. At least if they're close enough to touch you, or ask questions, they aren't avoiding you out of fear or hate. It's hard to educate and free people from their misconceptions and or naivete if they won't come near you. :-)
If you deny any affinity with another person or kind of person, if you declare them to be wholly different from yourself, you have, in fact, alienated yourself...~Le Guin
agree whole-heartedly
this reminds me of my sister; she took a trip to columbia a couple of weeks ago and i was worried, between the kidnappings and the fact that she's a blue-eyed, blonde-haired american who would stick out like a sore thumb in columbia. she said that she did get a lot of cat calls and "hey white lady"'s when she walking alone in the city. luckily, she wasn't kidnapped and made it home okay.
people are amazed by "novelty." people used to come up and touch my hair all the time in high school and i even get it today at times, they pet it, play with it, complement me on it etc. i guess it's just because it's long but it used to be longer. they just say that i have nice, soft hair. i don't get it, but whatever. it can be nice to be touched, and i always just regarded it as a friendly thing. there's nothing wrong with us touching each other in nice ways, though it can be kind of wierd sometimes.
i had a man, about 40/50ish come into my job when i was in high school and he said that he wanted to buy my hair. he jokingly said that he wanted to staple it to his head (he was bald). that was really wierd.
i get it all the time
not the invasion you're referring to, but the more general love it/can i touch it.
i never really take offense, though--even when people have walked up and just helped themselves to a handful.
guess i've accepted it as part & parcel of rocking a different 'do.
and once, a woman explained it to me in such a way that i never questioned the request/act again.
"your hair is magnetic..."