Identity – Filter Feeder or Filter Free?
by Alexis Combs
“But for some, filters are carefully selected to present a well-crafted image of perfection for the world to follow and idolize. The filter has now become an extension of our self – our true identity. ”
In the age of Snapchat, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and the other myriad of social media platforms, the filter is everything. Today, I can don a makeup filter for a glammed-up look or flower crown filter for an au naturale face, skin smoothed, shining, and blemish-free. On a sillier note, in Facebook messenger, I can chat with my brother with a pink unicorn head while he wears a goldfish head. Entertaining, good fun.
But for some, filters are carefully selected to present a well-crafted image of perfection for the world to follow and idolize. The filter has now become an extension of our self – our true identity. We have been programmed into being filter feeders, filling up on images of unnatural perfection, and causing influencers to continue serving up more dishes of filter plastered content. And while this is often done in the guise of good fun, altering one's physical appearance virtually or in reality can have lasting impacts.
Filter gif. Gif courtesy of Lifewire.com.
“We’ve all been there – collectively, we’ve all been judged based on our appearance, and at the same time, we have judged others’ appearances as well. Our identity – how we define ourselves – is directly tied to self-image and body positivity.”
Now, look – I think we can all agree social media has its bonuses. As indicated earlier, they can be fun and allow us to catch up with friends and family while being goofy. But let's defer to the science on this – the negative impacts of social media and ALL that comes with it can be severe and at times fatal. Dr. Alexandra Hamlet, a child psychologist at the Child Mind Institute, studies the effect social media plays on self-worth. She worries that "with makeup, with retouch, with filters, with multiple, multiple attempts, it's almost like you're never going to stack up." Multiple studies show that adolescents, especially girls, internalize the heavily filtered images and fixate on achieving the unachievable – a beautifully contoured, thin yet curvy image of perfection. This can turn into a vicious cycle of self-doubt, self-hate, cyberbullying, depression, and suicide.
So why does all this matter? Why should we care about the silly antics of filters and social media? All this culminates in building one's identity, and for a teenage girl, beauty is everything. Unfortunately, because girls are objectified early in life to be these perfectly beautiful creatures, they bear the brunt. It's what we are first perceived and judged by. We've all been there – collectively, we've all been judged based on our appearance, and at the same time, we have judged others' appearances as well. Our identity – how we define ourselves – is directly tied to self-image and body positivity. And when we negatively perceive ourselves, we shift our identity to match our lowered self-worth. But let me throw you a curveball – what if we add race to this puzzle of identity? In a world where white, blonde, and blue-eyed is the ideal image of beauty, how do those of other racial backgrounds fair? Beyond the perception of beauty, having different colored skin invites other challenges on the formation of identity.
I invite you to take this not so thrilling walk with me down memory lane. I'll reflect on how identity was built for a black daughter of a biracial mother growing up in a small Oklahoma town. No, this is not intended to be a historical recount of Alexis the 'Racial Enigma,' but I hope that it explains one facet of what identity can be built around. And while most of this memory walk pre-dates the current Age of Filters, there were times I wished for a skin-changing filter. Because while identity can mean many things, for me, it directly links to my race.
Years 0-10: Unaware Awareness
Oklahoma. Think about it. What's the first image that comes to mind? Nothing? Fields of waving grains? The musical? To be honest, those three would be pretty accurate descriptions – yeah, we sort of sang the Oklahoma! song in school.
What about the people? Go ahead, close your eyes. Take a wild guess, what do you think is the predominant race found in Oklahoma? If you guessed white, you're spot on. Looking back on life in Oklahoma, I'd say I wasn't aware of my blackness. My family life was a mosaic of white, black, and all that falls in between. I had a white German-speaking great-gram, the fairest white grandma, a blended biracial mother, and myself, a light-skinned black girl. No, I wasn't adopted. I am biologically related to all of these women; my identity at this phase of life was not based on any one image. Honestly, my identity circulated around these concepts:
I am a kid.
I really enjoyed time with my Nana.
Boys, especially my brother, are annoying.
Sure, I looked different from my mom, my grandma, and great-gram. My hair was coarser, my skin far browner, my nose a bit more rounded, but in my youth, these differences weren't focused on. Until I had a few experiences to show me the color of my skin would mandate my place in the world at times. My youth truly was ignorant filter-less bliss.
First grade rolls around, and I meet my version of Miss Trunchbull. Yep, Matilda's heinously evil teacher, IRL. For the sake of privacy, let's call her Ms. Best. Ms. Best is what I'll refer to as a generational teacher – she had taught my aunt previously and 20+ years later, was still around to teach me. I didn't fully comprehend her issue with me or what it was that I did wrong, but I was not her favorite student. Ever have a teacher not let you go to the bathroom? Remember, this was first grade – who doesn't allow a first grader to go to the bathroom?! I wasn't ever a bad kid; quiet but never bad (do you know how my mother is?).
I think I was one of three black kids in the class (not that I was overly aware of this – more a fact that needs stating), and not one of us did she have a preference for. I won't share the actual number of "accidents" I had in class for not being allowed to go to the bathroom, but enough that I was thoroughly embarrassed and enough times that my mother saw fit to intervene. Somehow, I managed to make it through pre-k and kindergarten with hardly any accidents, and now I've completely lost control over my bladder? My mother had many questions. And like magic – I was allowed to perform a very basic bodily function. While she never confessed her reasons for denying me the right of a potty break, I did find it odd that my white peers weren't denied this right. At this point in life, I had yet to associate that not so great things could/can/did happen to those with brown complexions.
This experience is the earliest I can recall of a negative experience tied to my skin color. It was the first negative experience with a white person that showed me at the age of six, it doesn't matter if you're good, sometimes people just don't like you.
Years 10-20: Big Growth, Bold Doubt
"You're smart for a black girl."
"Look at you, getting good grades. Why you trying so hard to be white."
"You're an oreo."
"Nigger!"
These statements sum up my middle years. Yeah, that last one hurt the most. Twelve years old, walking home from school with my little brother, and a white boy on the bus stands up, presses his middle finger to the window, and shouts through the crack, n****r. I cried. I'd never been called that before. My family was not the black family who embraced that term, nor did we refer to anyone by it. I remember asking my mom why someone – someone who didn't even know my brother or me – would call us that. And six years after learning this, I remembered, it doesn't matter if you're good, sometimes people just don't like you.
The other quotes came from countless peers. White "friends" awkwardly highlighting the fact that I was smart and black. Because, I guess, your skin color determines your intelligence. I mean, I never went to any of my white peers and said, "Golly gee, Karen, you're so smart for being a white girl!" Why then was it so necessary to link my skin color to compliment my intelligence? Black "friends" believing emphatically that I was trying to be white. This typically ended in an argument. By saying this, you are also stating that to be black means to be dumb, and I refused this notion entirely.
Eventually, it led to being called an oreo – you know, black on the outside, but white on the inside. Can you imagine the confusion and frustration that swirled in my brain? I liked being smart, I had immense pride in my intelligence, but to be smart, I would have to accept that my race would be called into question. But why? Why could smart only be affiliated with whiteness? It makes you realize the sad and sick effects of racism – making a race of people believe that they must embrace their ignorance to maintain their racial status. It didn't help that I have light eyes, light brown hair. In their eyes, this further solidified their truth of me – that I acted white because I wanted to be white. Sadly, this led to great self-doubt. I felt muted in class. I didn't want to discuss my test scores or grades in general – in my teenage mind; it shamed my race to be outwardly proud of my academic success. In a way, I filtered myself…
I ended my middle years with my identity taking a new shape:
I am black, so try not to show your smarts.
I am smart, but don't show it.
I want to be black and smart, but for now, let's keep that to myself.
Years 20-30: Fearful Acceptance
Ahhh, the college years. I was accepted to a prominent HBCU in Alabama, and the experience had quite a profound impact on my life. I remember sharing my acceptance with people at work. Many joyous congratulations and best of luck remarks were made, but there was one comment that stuck out. "Be careful out there. Stick to the main roads. One wrong turn or driving late in the wrong area can have very bad consequences." This was 2008 – not the 50's. Thankfully, I never had one of those experiences. I was out late with my roommate getting food once, and a hobo got dangerously close to my car that forced me to run a red light. But beyond that, things were pretty safe. It was here, in college, where I could be smart, black, and NOT bothered. I was surrounded by tons of brilliant, beautiful blackness. It was magical – so magical, one of my friends called it the black Hogwarts.
Hagrid gif. Gif courtesy of gify.com.
And at the pinnacle of this greatness, Obama is elected president! Celebratory screams and fireworks – we did it! Our first black president, leader of the free world. Obama was so much more than a president – he was a wish granted, a goal that could now be attained.
Gone were the days of "you're smart for a black girl." I could just be smart. No more, "oh, you're just trying to be white." I could just be me totally filter-free. And now, I could fully embrace my identity:
I am black.
I am smart.
I am proud to be black and smart.
And yet, with all this empowerment, there were very humbling times. Going to Walmart in predominantly white areas was one such moment. Have you ever witnessed a white person go to great lengths to get cheese while trying to avoid a black girl perusing the cheese section? I mean, she definitely got a workout, the number of laps she took to go around me easily could have been half a mile. Finally, once I made a selection and vacated the area, she swooped in angrily to collect her cheese. A simple "excuse me," and I would have happily moved. But it seemed like exercise was preferred to excuses.
I used to come up with elaborate excuses for why white people wouldn't make eye contact with us when we went out, why they wouldn't stand near us while shopping, or why they wouldn't even acknowledge pleasantries. Mostly just for jokes, but really to make me feel better about myself. (Obviously, still working on accepting that it doesn't matter if you're good, sometimes people just don't like you.) My two best theories: (1) they were afraid to catch the 'plague' and (2) fearful of me. First, what is the 'plague'? Well, that's my blackness. It made total sense to me. If I don't look at it, don't stand near it, and don't speak to it, then it doesn't exist, right?
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil gif. Gif courtesy of Weheartit.com.
“We must move beyond this era of proving black lives matter to an era of accepting black lives matter.”
And lastly, fear. Fear will make a person do just about anything.
And while their fear led to the avoidance of me, I also carried a similar fear. I still carry this fear. Because now we live in the era of Trayvon Martin, Freddie Gray, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, or most recently, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. The era of modern-day lynchings, where black people can be killed for nothing and their murderers are free to live their life with little consequences. This fear carries beyond me. It extends to my family. To my children – to my black son and black daughter, who will have to learn that it doesn't matter if you're good, sometimes people just won't like you.
I think God said it best when speaking with Samuel. 1 Samuel 16:7 states,
Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.
And so, our jaunt down memory lane has concluded. And while brief, these memories, moments, experiences are all woven to create the woman I am today. My journey was by no means comparable to that of a black person in the 1800's during slavery, or the early 1900's during Jim Crow, or even the 1960's during the civil rights movement. I am happy that I've been blessed by the sacrifices of so many before me to live the life I have. But I appreciate that there is much more to be done. We must move beyond this era of proving black lives matter to an era of accepting black lives matter. Hopefully, a future black girl from Oklahoma doesn't have to struggle with accepting her race and intelligence because she will know she is so much more than that. Ephesians 2:14 notes,
For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility,
And I am happy to say, while I no longer wish for a skin-changing filter, I surely do wish for a love thy neighbor filter. Something that doesn't change our outward appearance but replaces the hatred in hearts with love.
Resources
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