How to culturally appreciate and not culturally appropriate
It’s a minefield out there – here’s a guide to knowing whether you’re respecting or you’re ripping off
- Text Dounia Tazi
If you’ve been on the internet – like, ever – you’re bound to have heard the term ‘cultural appropriation’. You might ‘like’ tweets in agreement with someone calling out someone else’s bullshit, or you might brush it off as hyper-sensitivity and carry on scrolling through the #whitegirlsreclaimthebindi hashtag. Whichever way you play it, it’s a topic that's hard to ignore. Everyone fucks it up – fashion brands, pop stars, regular Joes.
Cultural appropriation is defined as a “sociological concept which views the adoption or use of elements of one culture by members of a different culture as a largely negative phenomenon”. Or, as I say, it’s picking and choosing which parts of a culture you want to participate in, often reducing significant cultural wear or styles to fashion statements. It’s wearing a hijab and bindi in a selfie without having to deal with the micro-aggressions many of us face while sporting the same attire. Especially with Islamophobia being pretty rampant right now, many hijabis face violent consequences for wearing things inherent to their culture, whereas someone posing in one is unlikely to suffer the same injustice.
Although it seems like a fairly easy concept to grasp, many people still argue that being able ‘express’ themselves in imitation dreadlocks and eBay-purchased bindis is more important than the consideration of the culture they‘re jacking from. It’s pretty comical to see the same people who once complained about wearing band t-shirts if you’re not a real fan of the band brush off the concept as over-dramatic.
Cultural appropriation is defined as a “sociological concept which views the adoption or use of elements of one culture by members of a different culture as a largely negative phenomenon”. Or, as I say, it’s picking and choosing which parts of a culture you want to participate in, often reducing significant cultural wear or styles to fashion statements. It’s wearing a hijab and bindi in a selfie without having to deal with the micro-aggressions many of us face while sporting the same attire. Especially with Islamophobia being pretty rampant right now, many hijabis face violent consequences for wearing things inherent to their culture, whereas someone posing in one is unlikely to suffer the same injustice.
Although it seems like a fairly easy concept to grasp, many people still argue that being able ‘express’ themselves in imitation dreadlocks and eBay-purchased bindis is more important than the consideration of the culture they‘re jacking from. It’s pretty comical to see the same people who once complained about wearing band t-shirts if you’re not a real fan of the band brush off the concept as over-dramatic.
Cultural appropriation’s toxicity is hard to fully comprehend if you don’t have an understanding of white supremacy. Picture this: you tweet a hilarious, well-thought-out joke and get zero likes or retweets. People might even call it lame or mock you for posting it. Someone with a lot of followers, who’s viewed favourably, copies your exact tweet and it goes viral. It ends up on large news platforms, screenshots of the joke repeatedly shoved in your face as you log on to Instagram, reminding you that someone who has a bigger presence on the internet has received recognition, credit and profit for something you created.
Black hairstyles (locs, cornrows, twists) are stigmatised and deemed unprofessional by many businesses and corporations, pegging a natural hairstyle as unkempt. There are countless articles about black people unable to get jobs because of these looks. The thought of a black woman with beautifully maintained locs sitting on a couch after being refused a job, watching a white singer sport ‘dreads’ on a VMAs stage is understandably unsettling. It’s hard to stomach watching a race that enjoys legal and financial superiority adopting parts of oppressed cultures while actual members of said cultures are demonised.
Black hairstyles (locs, cornrows, twists) are stigmatised and deemed unprofessional by many businesses and corporations, pegging a natural hairstyle as unkempt. There are countless articles about black people unable to get jobs because of these looks. The thought of a black woman with beautifully maintained locs sitting on a couch after being refused a job, watching a white singer sport ‘dreads’ on a VMAs stage is understandably unsettling. It’s hard to stomach watching a race that enjoys legal and financial superiority adopting parts of oppressed cultures while actual members of said cultures are demonised.
Admittedly, there is a fine line between appropriation and appreciation, and many grow frustrated trying to differentiate. The first questions to ask yourself before you pick up at that dashiki or book your henna appointment are: “Am I reducing this to a fashion statement? Are people of this culture the ones who are profiting off of this? Am I in an environment where this is appropriate?” Let’s have a look at some instances of moments when you should check yourself for cultural appropriation.
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