Especially within Western cultures, identity largely dictates opportunity and is responsible for the range and penetrability of connection that one may share with others. Its roots are richly fertilized by cultural history, social climate, and unique, personal experiences within those domains, eventually shaping the values and opinions that persist through an individual’s life.

In more collectivist cultures, this marker of “identity” feels less pronounced, as many people operate within the context of tight familial or communal systems that share similar priorities and outlooks that benefit society as a*** whol***e. For these cases, personal sacrifices are embraced and encouraged to promote greater alliance and unity across persons. To most American-born citizens though, regardless of cultural ties, this can be a challenging concept to grapple with. I find this to be a frequent a point of internal contention as a Chinese American—how do I respect my own autonomy whilst prioritizing the values of my culture? How do my other core identities play a role in the ostracization I feel?

For me, the answers can be sourced from my physical presentation. Tatum (2003) states, “The parts of our identity that do capture our attention are those that other people notice, and that reflect back to us. The aspect…that is the target of others’ attention…often is that which sets us apart as exceptional or ‘other’ in their eyes.”

What do others notice first when they see me?

First glance.* *
Brown hair, average height, mid-twenties, Asian.

Second glance.* *
Tattoos, piercings, jade necklace, masculine.

Many Asian cultures prioritize and view reputation as an observable trait; if an individual is hygienic, rests at a healthy weight, is neat and orderly, and is hard to distinguish amongst others, their reputation likely falls within appropriate societal expectations. In my case, the physical markers of queerness in my presentation prove to be disruptive, jarring, and indicates a potential inherent degeneracy. Why else would anyone choose to look like that?

One can infer that perhaps, this is a sign that another community may serve me better. Perhaps, the values of my cultural heritage are too conservative, too traditional, and too restrictive of personal exploration. Perhaps, I should seek out a community that is more forgiving in this way.

So, I land myself in the heart of the queer community in Los Angeles and yet again, I am quickly faced with a similar sense of difference.

The roles are reversed this time, as folks accessorize classic symbols of queerness (e.g., carabiners, piercings, tattoos, unconventional styles), but upon closer inspection, I find this dominant segment of queer culture failing to extend beyond a performance. Values rooted in whiteness and colonialism permeate the community’s status quo: a lack of awareness of intersectional privileges, a resistance against mutual aid, a disengagement from political mobilization, and a general disinterest in collectivism and fixation on hyper-individualism. Ultimately, these passive behaviors stem from inexperience with cultural oppression—an overlooked concept to those who are not marginalized in other ways, whether it be through class, race, or gender. I realize that, despite living adjacent lifestyles and experiencing similar hardships, there remains a clear disconnect that superficializes my relationship with other white queers.

The visibility of both identities within my presentation forces them to be the easiest parts of my personhood to discuss, yet the lack of intersectional depth between the two also bears them to be the most difficult. I fear misunderstanding by my peers of either community; either I am too Chinese to be Queer, or I am too Queer to be Chinese.

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Tatum, B. D. (2003). Who am I? The complexity of Identity. In M. Adams et al. (Eds.) Readings for diversity and social justice, 1st edition (pp. 9-14). NY: Routledge.