She asked me to help her put on a sari. So what?

It’s the “so what?” that gets me. It has been part of the narrative of my experience growing up Brown in this country. Of a whole host of things people have asked me and continue to ask me, the list includes:

“Do you know Dr. Raj? He’s the dentist we go to and he is Indian.”

“Do you know our neighbor Anuradha? She’s Indian and makes great samosas.”

“Do you know this woman named Kiran? She’s Indian and she’s also in marketing!”

We are surrounded by labels. And so at work and in our communities, we want to check the box.

Dr. Raj. Anuradha. Kiran. Apparently, I should also know every Indian person within a 50-mile radius. And sometimes the ones out of state, too.

After having worked for many years in marketing, I know we marketers make our living putting labels on products. That’s how we sell lots of stuff. Gluten free. Contains SPF 50. Paraben free. All natural. Dairy free. Made with no preservatives.

We are surrounded by labels. And so at work and in our communities, we want to check the box. We want to put people in boxes. We want to label each other. It’s an easier shortcut for our brains. To categorize, sort, and place people in the appropriate boxes. And stick a label on them.

Let me go and ask the “Korean” person I know where I can get some good bibimbap. Let me go ask the “Hispanic” person I know how to translate these instructions into Spanish for me. Let me go ask the “German” person I know where the closest beer garden is. Let me go ask the “Japanese” person I know if they can help me put on a kimono. Ugh.

When I walk into my workspaces and workplaces, my Brownness enters the room before I even have the chance to sit down and say hello. People put me into a box based on what they see as my identity. Female. Check. Asian. Check. Indian. Check. I am immediately labeled. Because that is the quickest and easiest way to understand my Brownness.

Labels do not belong on people.