Reader Nancy L sent in an article from the New York Times with an opening that made even this jaded activist do a double take:

RESTINGA SÊCA, Brazil — Before setting out in a pink S.U.V. to comb the schoolyards and shopping malls of southern Brazil, Alisson Chornak studies books, maps and Web sites to understand how the towns were colonized and how European their residents might look today.

The goal, he and other model scouts say, is to find the right genetic cocktail of German and Italian ancestry, perhaps with some Russian or other Slavic blood thrown in. Such a mix, they say, helps produce the tall, thin girls with straight hair, fair skin and light eyes that Brazil exports to the runways of New York, Milan and Paris with stunning success.

So this is how we’re going now? What is this, the hybrid vigor myth on speed?

The smartly-written article takes an interesting turn – while the models associated with Brazil are overwhelmingly white, the country is beginning to embrace nonwhite women who fit their standards of beauty. And yet…

Despite those shifts, more than half of Brazil’s models continue to be found here among the tiny farms of Rio Grande do Sul, a state that has only one-twentieth of the nation’s population and was colonized predominantly by Germans and Italians.

Brazilians are equally perplexed:

The pattern creates a disconnect between what many Brazilians consider beautiful and the beauty they export overseas. While darker-skinned actresses like Juliana Paes and Camila Pitanga are considered among Brazil’s sexiest, it is Ms. Bündchen and her fellow southerners who win fame abroad.

“I was always perplexed that Brazil was never able to export a Naomi Campbell, and it is definitely not because of a lack of pretty women,” said Erika Palomino, a fashion consultant in São Paulo. “It is embarrassing.”

The article is interesting, both for its look into the fashion industry and the strange focus on sites of colonization as portals for beauty scouting. But the whole situation does make me wonder who is responsible for upholding white standards of beauty. This article, I believe, makes a strong case for those who control the images of beauty, and how their preferences can dictate the idea of what is sellable. However, they always throw their decision at the feet of consumers – but who conditions what consumers see as beautiful?

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

Continued from “Bela or Bust Part 2 - On Class” . . .

“We always want what we can’t have,” so the saying goes, a saying that is most fitting to describe the intersection of race and the significance of beauty in Brazil. Though many Americans think of a raven haired, dark-eyed, sun-kissed, bronze “cutie with a booty,” the standard for physical beauty in Brazil is anything but. In fact, when it comes to looks, fair skin, light eyes, and straight, blonde hair spell attractive forwards, backwards, and sideways.

When asked of the women by my male friends, as I mentioned in the introduction of this series, my reply was often what they were not expecting to hear, nor were my descriptions of the food, weather, and my ability to walk around freely, unmolested by criminals. The Brazil so many people were expecting could not be found in the stories I told. But even I was in for some surprises, one of them being how white film, television, magazines, and many other forms of media happened to be.

The surprise was not that whites were all over the television. Brazil has a large white population, made up primarily of several generations of Italians, Germans, and Portuguese, not to mention Spaniards, Syrians, Lebanese, Britons, and a few more recent French stragglers. Yet the concentration of said whites is its highest in the southern region of Brazil which, as a result of having a less slavery-dependent more immigrant labor-dependent economy, happens to be more wealthy, developed, and progressive than most of the states in the northern region, where poverty is at its worst. The surprise for me was that in comparison to Brazil’s diverse population, even diverse in terms of what was deemed white, television did not come close. The majority of people who were protagonists on television programs, at least those set in Brazil and not including foreign-based film or television programs (i.e. imported American or European sitcoms and reality shows) were practically Nordic – light eyes, light skin, and light hair.

While Brazilian tv has become increasingly more diverse over the years, as has the business of product promotion and advertising, it nevertheless continues to rely on whiteness to sell an image of success, wealth, and happiness. When coupled with the reality that whites still hold the majority of the nation’s wealth and political power, this image is all the more unsettling. Not only does the whiteness serve as shorthand for all these things, but with class as a determining factor of general worth, whiteness comes at a special premium. It means you’re automatically beautiful as well.

If I had a dollar for every time someone fawned over olhos claros (light eyes) or loiras (blonde women), I would be a billionaire. Bottle blondes, or in other words, women with dark hair who ended up with that unfortunate orange hue on their heads instead of flaxen, sandy, or gold, could be spotted in high numbers, as could the men who broke their necks with their passing. But most of all, there is the business of hair straightening. If one is not already born into whiteness, and cannot fit into the quintessential beauty associated with those on the lightest end of the spectrum, hair is one way to come infinitely close.

The hair wars are actually alive and well in Brazil, much in the same way as they are here in the United States. Though more than 60% of the population has naturally curly hair, the majority, at least those who are women, pay thousands of reais (Brazilian currency) a year to make it straight. By way of a chemical straightening process called escova progressiva (known in the U.S. as “Brazilian straightening”), millions of Brazilian women can control frizz and relax curls. While other forms of relaxers are used, including those made popular in the United States within the black community (made of lye, hydroxide, and/or other chemicals sold in the form of a cream that is applied and then washed out, yielding straight hair for a month or longer, depending on the hair texture of the recipient) as well as the Japanese straightening technique (which involves the application of the chemical then aggressive heat setting with blow dryers and flat irons, yielding results that last for several months or until the onset of new growth), the escova progressiva and its various derivatives (escovas with special scents and ingredients such as the escova de morango (strawberry) or escova de chocolate (chocolate)) are the most popular and easy to find.

Despite its popularity, the escova progressiva had humble and somewhat suspect beginnings, having been discovered by accident when a funeral home cosmetologist spilled formaldehyde onto the scalp of a dead client, only to watch in awe as her curls went straight. In the early years of its development, attempts to concoct at-home mixes of the chemicals (one of which is formaldehyde in a .02% concentration) resulted in deaths, mainly due to an excess of formaldehyde in conjunction with allergic reactions to the same. But once the Brazilian government became involved and worked to regulate the use of the product (beauticians utilizing the technique should be trained and licensed to do so in addition to wearing a gas mask during the application and supplying a mask and goggles to their clientele), the process* gained widespread acceptance and even celebrity endorsement.

Nevertheless, the process in its various forms (from the most strong and aggressive that leave one’s hair completely straight  to lighter versions that allow for lighter waves and slight curl patterns if left to dry naturally) has its opponents, and not just because of the potential health risks. Hair is political as much as it is an element of pop culture in Brazil. While many women opt to straighten their hair for the sake of manageability in the heat and humidity of some areas, there is also social pressure to straighten because curly hair, much like in the States, particularly if that curl pattern is tighter (Read: more “black”), is considered “messy” and “not professional.” Cabelo duro (a fairly perjorative term that means “hard hair,” aka “nappy”, in English) is considered plain ugly. Short hair, while increasing in popularity, is also sometimes considered too masculine for women, most of whom sport long hair (at least past their shoulders, but often longer), in addition to being seen as nonconformist in some regions. So you can imagine the impact of having a short afro or no hair at all.

Fortunately, cabelo afro (black hair, super curly hair, afro hair (the term can be used in several ways)), cabelo crespo (tight curls, super curly hair), black power (the term sometimes used for afros), rastafari (dreads), tranças (braids), and other natural styles of black African origin have become very popular in recent years (ironically, due mainly to and increased exposure to and the influence of black American films, tv shows, music, and other media). While there are still fewer natural options in the standard corporate workplace and these types of hairstyles are viewed as faddish and trendy, one can find people of various racial and ethnic backgrounds seeking and rocking these styles.

Special salons appeal to the demand and many natural stylists hold seminars and training sessions on how to create these looks, spreading the techniques throughout various cities and communities, a big step considering that natural styles and braiding techniques were at one time relegated solely to the North, where the majority of the African descendants of Brazil live. Now that natural hairstyles are en vogue at times beyond vacation season in Salvador (capital city of Bahia, a state with a high concentration of Brazilians of black African descent and the preservation of various African traditions and history), salons that specialize in such styles are becoming easier to find. There is even a national chain of salons that began in Rio called Beleza Natural (“Natural Beauty”) that specializes in curly hair and works to “reclaim” curls for women who have spent years chemically straightening them away (profile here in Revista TPM (in Portuguese)) by making the curls more manageable and defined (much in the same vein of Brooklyn’s Miss Jessie’s curl salon). Zica (pictured above on the left) the owner of Beleza Natural and former domestic worker  recalls being ridiculed and teased for having wearing her hair naturally as a child, only to have the last word with her popular and quite lucrative products and salon.

But Zica’s story is not uncommon as natural (black) hair (along with blackness in general) carryies a certain stigma of being asociated with all things lower class, uneducated, and unrefined. While few will actually come right out and make said association, the fact that dark-skinned black women are relatively absent from popular media and that natural hair is rarely seen as more than an interesting fad, a stylistic experimental alternative, or simply a case of limited means to do anything else with it (read: straighten) is telling. The widely spoken praise of whiteness and unspoken denigration of blackness (using “black” in the Brazilian context here, not the U.S. American one) leaves few options to think otherwise.

Obviously the issue of race as it intersects with beauty in Brazil goes beyond simple black and white. Other racial and ethnic groups (Brazilians of Asian and/or indigenous descent in particular) have been attempting to gain more media visibility and access to and proper recognition in the fashion and media industries. But in terms of the most obvious intersection of the two subjects, hair is a battleground (beyond the tension on the catwalks, which are now subject to racial quotas as a result of the discrimination limiting models of color from gracing the shows), as is television, most notably novelas and reality shows, both of which tend to have predominately white casts, even if the setting is somewhere outside of Brazil or a diverse section of the country itself.

While Brazil is actively working to increase diversity in the media, the not-so-subtle signs that whiteness is a symbol of power, wealth, and beauty remain the most visible and unsettling for many groups of the population within the “pais de todos.”
—
*As one who has undergone the process, I can speak a little bit about how it works. First, your hair is washed and deep conditioned (usually with a product rich in queratina (keratin), which strengthens the hair follicle and strands). Following this process, the chemical is then applied and the hair is blow-dried and straightened (in several passes) with a flat iron on a high setting. After the process, one is not to wash (or wet) his/her hair for 3 days (although there are other, newer forms of the process that allow one to wash his/her hair immediately following the session). During these days, one cannot use hairpins, barrettes, headbands, and/or anything that would restrict hair movement (including tucking hair behind one’s ears) as one then risks leaving an imprint and/or a bend in the hair until the next application of the product. In general, the results can last up to three months, depending on one’s hair texture (i.e. tightness of the curls, volume, thickness, etc). Clients are encouraged to use flat irons and/or blow-dryers / heat setting in order to prolong the results in addition to doing frequent deep conditioning sessions in order to maintain the structure of the hair and to seal in moisture. The process is also better for longer hair simply because it is easier to maintain and to straighten in the first place (with very short hair, you obviously risk scalp burns, etc via the flat iron).

In my case, I decided to have it done to control frizz. I had pixie cut short hair at the time and would end up going from Halle Berry to Sideshow Bob in a matter of minutes after I left the house with my hair wet. The process itself was a bit strange and reminded me of the infamous and slightly painful “Dominican Blow Dry” (anyone who lives in New York and has ever been to a Dominican-run beauty salon will know what I am talking about…ask if you don’t) plus a mask and goggles which, of course, made the process all the more…strange. Nevertheless, the results were great, though only for a short while as the process on shorter hair was not strong enough to withstand the 100+ degree weather. Frizz won in the end but I’d recommend it for people looking for a permanent straightening solution only if they happen to have long hair. However, as there has been little time for observing clients’ health, in the long run, there may be unknown risks that the gas mask and goggles won’t prevent. The other issue that has come up is the stress that it may have on one’s hair over time. Because the process itself and the upkeep involve heat (which is never exactly great for the hair) and chemicals, the hair itself is technically being damaged.

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

Continued from “Bela or Bust: Part 1: On Gender” . . .

Author’s note: My apologies for the delay between part one and part two! I have recently moved back to the United States and in between re-adjusting and job hunting, I had not had the chance or the mental clarity to sit down and actually write!

The popular anecdote goes “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” If I were to rephrase this expression to fit Brazil, I’d say “Beauty is next to Wealth.” Though Brazil has grown considerably with tourism, natural resources, and factory-based goods as its largest sectors of revenue, on the ground, the class divide is evident and going strong. One ironic way to overcome class and bridge the class divide, at least superficially, is through a well-kept appearance. I say ironic here because in order to appear a social or economic equal, one must continue to consume, thus depleting one’s income, even if it is far from disposable.

Luckily for many Brazilian women, maintaining one’s physical appearance is not so heavy a financial task. Even in large cities, one can get an amazing manicure/pedicure for less than $20 reais ($10 USD), a facial for $50 reais ($25 USD), a “Brazilian” wax for $15 reais (known there as “depilação de virilha”; $7 USD) and multiple sessions of lymphatic massage for $100 reais a month ($50 USD). In comparison to the cost of aesthetic maintenance in the United States, Brazilian women are the fortunate ones. In some ways, the cheap costs, even for the average Brazilian, allow for a democratization of access to beauty, whereas in the U.S., this is not so much the case. And when one can find cheap beauty related services in the U.S., the question of service, quality, and even employee rights follows the far too reasonable price tag.

With relatively equal access to stellar services, many women have access to maintaining an image that puts them physically on par with their wealthier counterparts. In other words, she may not be rich, but at least her looks are equal to if not superior to someone with greater material wealth. In the United States, this “phenomenon” of sorts, democratization and equality by way of the physical, can be witnessed in the purchase of clothing and vehicles by those of a lower income. As quality attire is not nearly as expensive in the States as it is in Brazil (due mainly to import taxation and trade issues) and the intellectual property rights of high end designers are often violated by chain stores like H&M and Forever 21, people of the working and lower middle classes have greater access to some of the same clothing styles worn by the rich. As wealth, at least in the past, seemed less of a precarious state in the U.S., the preoccupation with “looking rich” was not evident. In fact, I would go as far as to argue that in many cases, the wealthy in the States can be indistinguishable from the general public (look at stores like Urban Outfitters, which peddles the image of tattered, vintage, and reconstructed clothing at a high price). This is not the case in Brazil, where the wealthy can be spotted from miles away.

Beauty can also mean an escape for some Brazilian women living in poverty, hence the idea of being good looking and well-groomed being given such high cultural value. There are frequent favela (slum)-based beauty pageants, model searches, and even the same video model industry seen in the states, one of them being the ever-present competitions for the next “it” girl in funk carioca (known as baile funk in the U.S.). Named for the most abundant parts of their bodies, the Mulheres Fruta (“Fruit Women”) are famous for their physical beauty. Take Mulher Melancia (“Watermelon Woman”). Famous for her backup dancing for MC Creu’s “Dança do Créu” (NSFW) and her more than generous backside, Andressa Soares (pictured above, right, with Mulher Melão (Melon Woman), left) has been in Brazilian Playboy and even a European tour all as a result of her bottom. Amazing. But it sure beats poverty any day, I suppose.

While beauty may not involve a direct translation into fortune and fame, it nevertheless serves as a surrogate for wealth in the social realm, calling for positive attention that would otherwise be absent in the face of poverty. It also can become an exportable currency, a stereotype for which Brazil is famous (beautiful women), but one that has also led to destructive and exploitive relationships between women who use their beauty as a source of income and the tourists who flock there to consume it.

Even novelas, Brazilian soap operas, repeatedly regurgitate the same Cinderella stories, creating the framework for the myth that beauty is a ticket out of the slums (or at least can allow for a temporary vacation with a wealthy benefactor). But this dream, just as many other rags-to-riches narratives often do, falls flat when translated to reality. Class mobility, while a possibility, is a rare occurrence in Brazil. So even though beauty could be considered a temporary equalizer, the end result of glaring poverty and a large percentage of the wealth staying within a small percentage of the population is what continues.

Next: On Race (Part 3)

I go grocery shopping almost every day here in Brazil, but I rarely really study the packaging of the products I buy beyond checking out the price and the contents. However, a few weeks ago, while sitting down to remove my nail polish, I noticed that a grocery store purchase yielded a little more than I had bargained for: racist caricatures! Yes, ladies and gentelemen, racist caricatures, even on something as simple as nail polish remover!

After noticing this, I decided to take note of other products. Another one I found by accident happened to be on a small bag of rosemary I picked up to use at my friend’s house:

…little Chinese man (chinezinho) rosemary, that is.

In almost every country, racist caricatures have been used to sell every day products, but to still see such images in circulation is a bit troubling. It’s of little concern here in Brazil, but usually in the United States, these logos would bring forth quite a bit of criticism.

Have any of you seen any racist caricatures on grocery items in the States or abroad? How do they make you feel?

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse 

Continued from “Bela or Bust (Introduction)” . . .

Author’s note:
I recognize that to say that the preoccupation with being beautiful for women in Brazil boils down to three separate entities is oversimplifying. Gender, class, and race obviously intersect constantly and are difficult to consider beyond their Venn diagram-like existence. Yet for the sake of clarity and hopefully accessibility, I have decided to discuss this topic in three parts: 1) gender, 2) class, and 3) race.

Despite Brazil being one of the most powerful countries in Latin America, it is still working to develop an image that coincides with the nations with which it frequently interacts for diplomatic purposes and international recognition. While issues surrounding class are certainly a cause for shame to the Brazilian national identity, one of the other issues on its pulse for change is gender. Brazil has undergone rapid change in the last few decades in terms of women’s equality, with women moving from predominately domestic roles to working beyond the home and holding positions of power. Yet even with these achievements, the obsession with physical perfection has not dwindled, though in Brazil’s case, advances in women’s rights and an extensive beauty regimen are not necessarily at odds. In fact, in an ironic twist, what some women in the United States may find as a sign of oppression has become a mark of power and success.

Having grown up in the South, I’m accustomed to seeing women spend hundreds of dollars a month on their appearance and hours on maintaining it, but when I moved to Brazil, I was sincerely shocked to see that in both small towns and big cities, full-service beauty salons were everywhere, including people’s homes. Many Brazilians know someone who knows someone who does waxing, hair straightening, and nails in the back of her house. As Brazil has one of the largest informal labor sectors in the world, beauty certainly makes up a large part of this statistic, mean that many women have additional job opportunities even when they remain in the home. From Avon, Racco, and Mary Kay sales to nail care and lymphatic massage, the opportunities for a supplemental income are endless and easily accessible for women of all walks of life.

An intense focus on beauty has also been a mark of pride for women, especially as they climb socially. With more women each year entering the workforce in Brazil, peer recognition and respect are contingent on appearance. As more women hold positions of power, the pressure to remain beautiful only grows, as it can sometimes guarantee a better position and internal advancement within a company. However, this is not a phenomenon that is exclusive to Brazil, as this situation is often repeated in the United States, yet to a less obvious degree.

At this point, some of you may be asking what exactly I am implying when I say things like “intense focus on beauty” or “extensive beauty regiment.” When I say this, I am talking about what we would consider “high maintenance” in the United States as the accepted norm for women’s appearance. A woman must always be “bem arrumada.” This means that even when one goes grocery shopping, heels, nice clothes, and styled hair is the norm. One of my students once told me that she felt absolutely dirty when her nails were not done, and another informed me she would never leave the house with wet hair because that was super “pobre” (“ghetto”). Sure, some of the beauty norms make total sense, particularly those related to hygiene and personal maintenance (i.e. frequent waxing) considering the heat and beach cultures of some regions of Brazil. There is also a cultural connection in that just as many Americans obsess over cleanliness, Brazilians often obsess about neatness. This desire to be neat and clean goes beyond the household and can be easily observed in people’s overall appearance. But in terms of the daily need to be basically perfect, a pressure that is placed disproportionately on women, there is certainly room for questioning and criticism.

I’ve seen girls as young as 4 and 5 wearing heels and getting their nails and hair done, as if even female children are to be part of the adult beauty pageant I see on a daily basis. A recent article in the Brazilian magazine Veja indicated that more and more each year, young girls are becoming beauty statistics as they frequent salons almost as much if not more so than their mothers. With the expectation for young girls to be well-groomed, there also comes a similar expectation for them to be well-dressed. However, as clothing here tends to be generally more provocative (read: lower cut, worn tighter, more revealing), that expectation is somewhat poorly placed if we’re talking about children. Clothing here that would not be well accepted in the United States, at least not for daily wear (i.e. clothes Americans would wear to a club) make up the every day clothing, even work clothes, in certain regions of Brazil, so there is obviously a cultural difference. But I am not alone in my statement here that clothing for young girls has become increasingly limited to clothing that too closely replicates the clothing of their mothers and older female peers.

Even the clothing for women, at least that which is cheaper and more accessible to the general public, is somewhat troubling in that the focus seems to be to reveal as much of a woman’s form as humanly possible, yet at the same time, to infantilize her. I once remarked that I was tired of seeing clothing made for “baby prostitutes,” as so many of the items available for women would be incredibly revealing yet covered in pastel bows, equipped with tiny pockets, buttons, or additional frou frou that made me feel more like someone who is 5 instead of 25. Of course, style is different everywhere, clothing trends change, etc. But I mention all of this because I think it goes hand in hand with the gender divide and the issue of beauty.

Brazilian men, who certainly are the benefactors of such beauty standards (i.e. economically) are not held to nearly as high expectations when it comes to appearance, and that relates to anything from physical care to clothing choices. It is arguably the same in the United States, though in both countries some men are beginning to become more appearance-focused. What is different, however, is that in general, women in Brazil (appearance-wise) tend to fit into a very specific box and men in another, the divide being so great that determining one’s sexuality (i.e. gay, lesbian, straight) can boil down to the simplest of things like if a woman’s nails are manicured or wears dresses out dancing (or not) or if a man cares about his weight and hair color (or not).

So while from a distance, the idea of Brazilian female beauty being that of heavenly proportions, in actually, women in Brazil just tend to work much harder on average than women in the United States and some other countries in the West. But that beauty certainly does not come without a heavy price, one on which one’s social acceptance and class mobility can depend far more so than elsewhere.

Next: On Class (Part 2)

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

I hate to even give this guy web time, but here goes…

While doing some research on beauty industry revenue and plastic surgery in Brazil, I stumbled upon a little gem called Playing Brazil. At this point, I started holding back the bile coming up in my throat. It was hard, so I decided to channel my disgust in writing this piece, which basically wrote itself, meaning I just threw up in my mouth a little instead of puking up the contents of my entire stomach.

Check out the site introduction:

This website is a comprehensive guide to picking up brazilian women, for you the tourist. I’ve spent a long time figuring this out, so if you follow this advice you are seriously going to increase your chances of getting with a beautiful brazilian girl! There is also an easy to use phonetic Portuguese section, which is key for pick up. You will only need a few!

Lovely. It’s not like Brazilian women don’t already have a hard time. Now they have to worry about fighting off more nasty tourists looking to have a good time and charm them with their bad Portuguese.

The author also reminds us that, just in case we didn’t learn this from the media, all mixed girls are HAWT!:

Forget Ronaldinho or Pele, Brazil’s best export is their women. brazilian girls are the descendents of generations of racial mixing. Up until the 19th century, Brazil was mainly composed of three different people; the Portuguese, Africans and the indigenous inhabitants. In the 20th century the country received a flood of many millions of migrants from Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Poland and Japan. This recent migration led to Brazil being recognized to have received the second largest number of immigrants in the Western Hemisphere after the United States. So this blend of precarious races mixed into this melting pot has produced an exotic beauty that can be described as a masterpiece, a gift from god which is quite simply unlike any other type of woman in the world.

Major ew.

But wait. Just like in one of those terrible 4 am info-mercials, there’s more. Sooo much more!

Here are some of the author’s tips on picking up women:

Brazil is not like Thailand, Australia or Ibiza in terms of sheer number of tourists. Brazil still struggles to fulfil its potential in the tourism industry. It still wrongly suffers from an identity crisis. This is great for you as its still absolutely an untapped Mecca. The ratio of local to tourist is still exceedingly high so no matter where you go in Brazil or when you go. You are a “luxurious commodity” to the girls and they will view you as exotic. USE THIS TO YOUR ADVANTAGE. Remember you are a minority as a tourist in Brazil and will be very different to the everyday sleazy Brazilian guys in the club or bar.

See? Brazil is vulnerable. Go exploit that, and tap some youknowwhat in the process!

Generally speaking within 2 seconds of entering a club or bar the whole place will know your foreigners. Your pale skin and different mannerisms will be enough to alert them a mile off that you are not local (which is good!), not to even mention the different language you’ll be speaking.

Man, being white and male and foreign in Brazil is AWESOME! I wish I had this magic power over Brazilians, too!

He goes on to warn his readers not to get sloppy drunk because it’s not very common in Brazil (This part is true. Most Brazilians, while clubbing, stick to beer or lighter alcoholic drinks because, I don’t know, maybe they want to actually have fun instead of spending the night vomiting. What a strange concept!) He goes on to talk about how feminism in Brazil makes it a straight, white, male tourist’s playground:

Now if you’re not drunk you can give some serious thought to getting your Brazilian girl. Now there are two ways in which this can happen. The first is; she approaches you.
Yes, you heard right!!! She approaches you. Brazilian women and culture are very sexually liberated, and it’s not uncommon for a girl to approach you and with very few words exchanged want to then kiss you. They are very forward.

So if she is hanging around expectantly kiss her! Even if you’ve been speaking to her for less than a minute. Seriously, DO IT! It’s what she’ll be wanting, you’ll be able to see it in her eyes. So what are you waiting for?

This part is a bit true as well, though not in the way he says it. In Brazil, it’s common for people at parties or in clubs to “ficar.” The verb “ficar” technically means to stay, to remain, or to be located in a particular place, but it also means “hook up.” Yes, “o ficar” is the Brazilian Portuguese equivalent of that vague post-peck on the cheek, pre-sex place that some older Americans and even the New York Times (is it just me, or is it not so awesome that the author’s last name is Blow?!?!) waste their lives trying to figure out. But I will tell you one thing, in Brazil, it’s not that deep.

“O Ficar” is simply making out with someone as if the world might end tomorrow, but after that, there is no guarantee that anything is going to actually happen. In the States, if someone were to make out with me like that, the expectation on both ends would be to go beyond just a kiss, but in Brazil, kissing people, even perfect strangers, is the norm (in social/pick-up friendly environments like clubs). And when I say this, I don’t mean in it an insulting, judgmental way. It’s just a cultural difference that many foreign visitors have trouble adjusting to and/or don’t understand. The author of Playing Brazil is a perfect example. Sure, “o ficar” can lead to other things, but for some, it’s just a way to ease the tension of meeting someone for the first time. Kiss first, chat and drink (and sometimes even the person’s name) come later. That doesn’t mean, however, that it’s an invitation for easy sex.

Oh and last but not least, we must talk about the power of language:

So look to verbally seduce them. When you deliver your line in Portuguese i.e. “Oi, tudo bem?” Make sure you have a big smile on your face as it will portray that you’re a fun confident type of guy. . . By this point one of either two things will happen. Either she will speak some English in which case she will immediately start chatting to you in English as they are so keen to practice their English. If this happens then great you’re in. You will see how different Brazilian girls are compared to other nationalities; their enthusiasm is quite literally contagious!

So careful, guys. DO NOT learn Portuguese because you actually care about Brazilian culture or want to interact with people as humans. Learn just enough Portuguese to say hello, because that’s all you will need for a night of panty-dropping excitement. Ok, full on upchuck. This is insulting to women, obviously. He insults Brazilian women by making them out to be “easy” (and not in the good, hey she is empowered and has agency and understands the role of sex in human relationships kind of way, but in the these women are like porn personified, naive, stupid, and easy to objectify kind of way), but he also manages to insult women of other countries by making this gross comparison between “us” and “them.” He manages to insult Brazilian men several times on the site (they’re stupid, ugly, sleazy). And all in all, he is a big insult to white men, tourists, and a whole slew of other people.

If I were to revise his site, I’d simply advise his readers that if they really want girls, maybe going to a foreign country they know nothing about in hopes of hooking up with the population of whom they might have an incredibly stereotypical view might not be the best way to do it. In Getting a Girl 101, I am not quite sure if being an ignorant jerk is part of the lesson. Man, gotta love the democratization of the internet.

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

“So, are the girls hot?”

This is the most common question I receive from American men when I explain that I have been living in Brazil. These men come from all walks of life, are of various racial, ethnic, and class backgrounds, and of varying levels of education, exposure to other countries, etc. Long story short, this question seems to be on the minds of many men. It is, for better or for worse, a universal curiosity.

But in my response, I quickly put things in perspective.

“Well, for one, Ugly travels. I see just as many unattractive people in Brazil as I do in the States, and equally as many beautiful people on both sides as well. But I can safely say that the majority of women in Brazil work really hard to be beautiful, more so than the majority of American women.”

There are usually follow-up questions about body types (butts being the primary focus, of course) and clothing styles (are the clothes all skimpy?) and I handle those accordingly. The preoccupation with appearance in Brazil-related questions is to be expected considering that one of the primary portrayals of Brazil in the United States relates to beach culture, scantily-clad women, and sex. But when one takes the time to consider the reasons behind the high standards of beauty in Brazil, it is obvious that there is more to being beautiful and participating in the process of achieving that than just a bikini wax or the perfect nails. Beauty in Brazil is a complex matter involving gender, race and, most certainly, class.

In terms of statistics, Brazilian surgeons perform cosmetic plastic surgery at one of the highest volumes in the world. According to the Brazilian Society of Plastic Surgery, 1,157,540 cosmetic surgical procedures were performed in 2007, placing Brazil behind the United States in the volume of annual procedures (the U.S. ranks number one with 1.8 million, a number that does not include reconstructive surgery or non-invasive procedures like botox injections). For 2008, the Brazilian beauty industry (and this number only accounts for formal sectors) recorded $21.7 billion reais (about $11.8 billion USD) and a 10.6% growth in revenue since 2007. Articles upon articles remark at the growth of the beauty industry despite the pending doom of the global economic crisis. Coincidence? I think not.

In the upcoming weeks, this 3-part article on beauty in Brazil will continue with analysis based on race, class, gender, and media. Be sure to stay posted for more!

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*Bela (yes, just one L, aka that is not a spelling mistake) means “beautiful” in Portuguese
**Pictured: Brazilian model Adriana Lima
***For statistical citations, please see the following:
http://www.scribd.com/doc/6430219/The-Plastic-Surgery-Capital-of-the-World

http://www.yourplasticsurgeryguide.com/trends/asps-2007.htm

http://www.esteticafacial.biz/cirurgia-plastica-0
http://www.revistamercado.com.br/vernoticia/45/2/

models Joseph Ackon, Samira Carvalho and Ronaldo Martins for Osklen

Yesterday afternoon, I was talking to one of my colleagues when I noticed one of the most beautiful black women I had ever seen in my life walk through the door. Despite the young students running around at her feet, she remained calm. She stood out among all the other parents awaiting their children as she was the youngest, the one with the most poise, and the darkest. Amid all the other white parents, this young woman, despite the simplicity of her white canvas jacket and jeans, called for the most attention. She was simply arresting. My first thought was, “wow, she could be a model.”

Yet this moment of wandering imagination was quickly squelched by the loud voices of two young and rambunctious pupils approaching from behind. I continued to watch as the two pale, fair-haired children ran to join hands with the woman who could give Iman and Naomi Campbell a serious run for their money, the contrast of their skin colors and body language putting everything in perspective. She was the children’s caretaker, their nanny, possibly the family maid. And that is exactly the social order in which she would most likely remain, for no matter the intensity of her beauty, in Brazil, her color would be a disadvantage –  the mark of Cain, if you will. She was the color that I had heard some pray their children would not be. She was the color that stood as shorthand for crime and poverty. But in my eyes, she possessed a color that I quite frankly missed.

It’s rare that I see people who have very dark brown skin in the Southern region of Brazil, which is made up primarily of whites of European descent (the majority being of Italian. German, and/or Portuguese origin), Asians (of Japanese descent), and people one could classify simply as “Brown” or “Beige,” in that their racial background is multiracial and ambiguous or generally indiscernible (though this includes all of the aforementioned as well as African and indigenous origin). Though I occasionally see more blacks* in major cities of the south like São Paulo, they are few and far between in my neck of the woods. But upon seeing the woman who had come to pick up her charges, I was reminded of the simple fact that not only were people (especially women) markedly missing from the general population in the region in which I live, but they were glaringly absent from the fashion and beauty industry in Brazil.

A few moments later, I went upstairs to check my email, the UOL homepage reminding me to “VEJA DETALHES DOS LOOKS EXIBIDOS NOS DESFILES DE SPFW VERÃO 2009/2010.” Something had completely slipped my mind: It was São Paulo Fashion Week.

Though SPFW had just begun on Wednesday, it had already caused a pre-event stir thanks to allegations of racism on the runway. The fashion week runways in Rio, though particularly in São Paulo, were striking for something beyond the fashion. Instead of being recognized for innovative designs, the shows were marred by accusations of blatant discrimination toward and exclusion of models of color (in this case, meaning primarily models of African and indigenous descent). Despite Brazil being a nation with nearly 50% of its population composed of people with African descent (according to the 2007 study conducted by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (O Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística, or IBGE)), the catwalks were snow white. In a country as diverse as Brazil, it was a shock and metaphorical assault toward a large part of the population by way of their very absence from the nation’s most pivotal event in fashion and beauty after Carnaval.

After the allegations mounted to an all-time high during last year’s SPFW shows, particularly with the help of extensive coverage by Folha de São Paulo, one of the most widely circulated and influential papers in Brazil, the organizers of SPFW were taken to task by federal prosecutors. According to an official model count made by Folha reporters, of the 344 models who participated in the January 2008 SPFW shows, only eight of them (you read that right, eight) were black. Prosecutor Déborah Kelly Affonso, who is part of a group of prosecutors who concentrate specifically on the issue of social inclusion, initiated what would become the fashion equivalent of affirmative action.

“The percentage of black models at the event is far less than that of white models. The objective of [the public prosecution department for which she works] is to come to a consensus on social inclusion, to establish the minimum number of black models to participate in the shows,” noted Affonso.

As a result of this accord, SPFW was obligated to ensure that at least 10% of the models in each designer’s show were black, of African descent, or of indigenous origin, or otherwise risk paying a $250,000 fine. Considering the demographic profile of Brazil’s population, one would assume that meeting this newly established requirement would be easy. Yet some designers and stylists were less than enthused about the decision. Some denied all instances of racism, while others offered everything from straight up idiocy to petty, thoughtless excuses in order to legitimize and maintain their racist casting practices.

In reaction to the new racial quotas, one designer, Gloria Coelho exclaimed, “The quota can interfere with the work of the designer. Our work is art, something that has to convey emotion to which the people can identify.”

I suppose “The people” with whom she is talking about having this great connection are not the 50% black/brown ones. But Coelho does not stop there. She continues to put her designer shoe-adorned foot in her mouth.

“During Fashion Week, there are plenty of black people sewing, helping style the models, working behind the scenes, and making beautiful things . . . there are black assistants, black salespeople….why must they also be on the catwalk?”

And I thought I had heard it all when European designers gave the typical “but their skin color distracts from the clothes” response.

According to Coelho, having black people work in the background was enough. If their work is coming out on the runway (albeit under Coelho’s name, meaning they receive no recognition for their work), why must the people wearing it be black too? While I could mount a week’s long response to Coelho, I will refrain and restrict my grievances to the following:

Dear Ms. Coelho,

When people who share your skin tone or ethnic background become one of the poorest, underserved, and least frequently recognized, praised, or accepted groups in Brazil, or even the planet, give me a call. When you happen to live in a place where everyone from actresses and politicians down to dolls and cartoons look nothing like you, send me an email. When the people who look like you often portray maids, criminals or fools on tv, send up a smoke signal. Until then, please reserve your dismissive, self-serving, privilege-laden bullsh*t for someone who has the patience to listen and commiserate.

Sincerely,

Someone Black

SPFW organizer Paulo Borges is another one on the FAIL list, having made several contradictory statements regarding the quotas. First, he claimed that he had no control over which models participated in the shows. Yet in 2007, Luminosidade, an organiztion of which he is a part, signed an agreement to restrict the use of models with severe health problems (i.e. eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia or who were incredibly underweight) as well as models who were under the age of 16. Despite having been a part of this agreement and the organizer of Fashion Week itself, he has no say in who walks. . . Interesting. Then in hopes of distracting critics, he trotted out his adopted black son as a token of his being opposed to racism. Yet as noted by Folha, this decision is purely of personal political note and has nothing to do with the commercial side of his affairs. See! I am not racist! I have an ADOPTED BLACK CHILD! Cute.

Borges (right), sporting an Obama shirt (see? he’s not racist!), pictured with actress Alice Braga (left)

Casting agencies obviously play a major role in this runway racial struggle. As they are primarily responsible for sending the models to meet and audition for the designers, they hold many of the cards. Anderson Baumgartner, director of Way Model, an agency based in São Paulo, explains that there are fewer black models in the shows because they do not usually fit the body type sought after by the designers.

“They are more voluptuous, sexier; lots of them have bottoms that are a little bit bigger.” Others think the problem may lie in there being fewer black people in hot spots, or high fashion areas in São Paulo. “People of African descent are not at the restaurants or at the places where the scouts search. You see fewer of them on Oscar Freire.**”

Needless to say, Gisele Bündchen was discovered while eating a Big Mac at a McDonald’s in a São Paulo mall. The excuse just doesn’t fly.

And while other designers, such as Alexandre Herchcovitch , São Paulo born and based designer and creative director of SENAC, a Brazilian fashion and design school, do not oppose the quotas, there is more to the story than simple opposing or supporting the government’s attempt to level the catwalk. Some black models, organizations, and agencies are not exactly welcoming of the change, though for very different reasons.

According to Folha, Hélder Dias de Araújo, head of a black modeling agency, is one of the only people to accuse of SPFW of racism outright, yet he discusses racism with a twist.

“Sure, there is prejudice. But it’s more social, class-based, than racial. If [we were talking about] Pelé or Barack Obama, no one would ignore [the problem].” Yet he notes that he is against the catwalk quota system, mainly because he believes that “Brazil must be ashamed to see that it is not a place for a ‘pure race.’”

In other words, in continuing the racist practices in the fashion shows, Brazil would be setting itself up for embarrassment. Why host shows with an all-white cast of models when it is obvious, widely-known, well-documented that Brazil is a place of great ethnic and racial diversity?

Others oppose the quota because they believe it is not enough to remedy the problem of racism and exclusion in the fashion industry. Organizations like Educafro (Educação e Cidadania de Afrodescendentes e Carentes) is organizing an all-black fashion show in Ibirapuera Park (where SPFW takes place) as a protest to the continued absence of black models in fashion. They have also asked for invitations to the SPFW shows, primarily to conduct their own black model count, a task they have little faith in the Prosecution’s Office to actually do (as of today, no such count has been planned by the government).

Both their and Araújo’s argument make this issue a bit more complex and raise more questions about how to deal with the occupational hazard of racism in the arts. In such fields, do racial quotas and affirmative action-like measures have a place? Do they somehow infringe on artistic freedom or, worse, do they inhibit the prospect of viewing the models as individuals instead of statistics? And what is to be done to ensure the inclusion of non-black and non-indigenous models? What about models of Asian or Middle Eastern descent (both groups make up a considerable part of the Southern Brazilian population)? Though SPFW has only just begun, there are still a few more days and many more seasons to come for the public to observe how this will play out. Yet as racial tension mounts throughout Brazil as a result of multiple government measures to create equal access for all its citizens, regardless of race, one has to wonder what the state of race will be in Brazil in a decade or two. In the meantime, I’m going to sit back, relax, and watch my people work it on the catwalk. . .
—–
*I am using the generally accepted Brazilian definition for “black” here. For more info on this, please see my piece “Busy Being Foreign”

**Oscar Freire is a street, and by extension, quasi-neighborhood, recognized as one of the most upscale areas in São Paulo. The street is home to many expensive and well-known designer stores and boutiques. I have visited this area several times and even as someone foreign, I have felt out of place as one of the few middle class, non-whites gracing the pavement. The class tension is so evident it could be cut with a knife.

***check out clips from SPFW shows here: Fashion4FunBrasil

For more SPFW coverage (in Portuguese), go here: SPFW on UOL

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Sources consulted and translated for this piece:

Fioratti, Gustavo. “Cota para Negros Mobiliza a São Paulo Fashion Week” Folha de São Paulo. June 17, 2009 (link)

“Promotora Quer Cota Para Negros em Desfiles” Folha de São Paulo (Online Edition) April 12, 2009 via Geledés Instituto da Mulher Negra Blog (link)

Since I’ve been living in Brazil, I have suffered from memory loss. On occasion, I simply forget that I am black.

Let me explain . . .

I was born in the United States, in the South to be exact, during the early 1980s, to a mother with very fair skin who, along with her seven sisters and brothers, had witnessed and undergone Jim Crow segregation. My great grandmother and grandfather, a teacher and farmer, respectively, who both had dark skin, had given birth to a light-skinned child, my grandmother, who would then go on to marry a man of equally light skin who was raised to distrust black people who looked like his in-laws. My father, on the other hand, came from a family where the emphasis on high cheekbones and dark wavy hair was made more frequently than that of slightly flattened noses. We have Native blood, they’d say.

You see, colorism was alive and well in my family.

And yet years later, when I still feel compelled to remind my mother that her coarse, nappy hair is beautiful or that there is no need to insert the words “but” or “despite” as my family refers to model Alek Wek’s ebony-skinned beauty, I know that the remnants remain. At the end of the day, we are all of African descent, and in our slavemasters’, old legislators’, and white domestic terrorists’ eyes, we were all black. Yet within that category, we found various ways of re-categorizing ourselves to fit our own neat little model of racism. We created a home-kit, if you will, of silly divisions of what was acceptable and what was not in terms of appearance and behavior.

My maternal grandfather warned his daughters of the dangers of the villainous, malicious dark blacks. Of course, there were exceptions, my dark-skinned aunt and uncle being visible reminders of our inescapable heritage, and the only dark people my grandfather ever truly accepted beyond a superficial level (his race track buddies do not count). But for the most part, darker blacks were to be avoided, despite my family’s shared plight with them in a segregated south.

My mother, though quite young during the segregation period, still bears irrevocable memories. She has recounted stories of slapping a young white girl who had stared at her in a hospital bathroom because she had “never seen a Negro girl up-close before,” of thinking that “colored only” fountains would one day magically transform into a spring of rainbow-infused water, and of remembering her confusion as to why her older sister spent so much time “marching” in the street when she was not wearing her majorette uniform. And presently, in her work as a geriatric social worker, she is reminded of the divisions the period and the long-lasting subsequent effects they have had on the black community when her older, darker-skinned black patients assume she is “stuck up” or cannot be trusted because of her light skin.

Having grown up in a family like this, race inevitably became a daily topic of discussion.

Sure, we were undoubtedly on the privileged end of the spectrum. We had light skin, we were middle class, we owned property. My mother, father, and some of their siblings had coveted college degrees, no small feat for the select few blacks who made it through the southern university system in the 1960s and 70s. And even the family members who never made it to college still have successful, fulfilling careers of which they can be proud. Of course, my family, like any other, has its flaws, but nothing that was inherently linked to our skin color.

Yet again, race comes up all the time. My family holds the same hostility as other blacks towards those involved in the perpetuation of systematic, institutionally sanctioned racism. We are reminded of our race all the time by co-workers’ exclusionary behavior, by being followed around while patronizing clothing stores, and by merely having tastes, food traditions, and vernacular speech that differed from whites. Despite our color privilege, we existed in a third world of sorts, our own little space between “black,” as designated by whites, and “not quite black enough,” (or “almost,” as I was once called) by other blacks.

My going to a predominately white all girls’ school did not exactly alleviate this feeling. As the sole representative of blackness in my grade, I was a piss-poor example of the kind of black girl my white peers may have anticipated. I was not like the black people they saw on television, nor was I quite like their maids who, in some cases, had provided the only contact the girls had with other blacks. Yet despite my being “different” from other blacks, I (along with several of the black students from other grade levels) had to serve as a delegate for the race. I got the usual questions about hair maintenance, “ghetto” vocabulary words, and whether or not blacks are capable of tanning. Needless to say, the job was tiring.

Following high school, college led me to New York City where, despite the city’s never-ending layers of diversity, I was still confronted with lots of questions, comments, assumptions, and externally-assigned categories related to my race, the race of my partners, and the race of my friends. So considering my family background, upbringing, and personal history that warranted my admitted preoccupation with race, you can imagine my surprise at my ability to go days at a time during which I completely step outside of my skin and do not feel the often heavy weight of being a person of color.

That is the only way to describe my experience here in Brazil. I have never had so much time go by in my entire life during which I am not faced with unwarranted expectations, assumptions, and characterizations associated to my race. Why? Mainly because what I consider “my race” does not exist within the same box as it does in the United States.

In Brazil, the term “black” (“negro/a”) is often relegated solely to people of African descent who have much darker skin and/or used for political purposes (i.e. as a unifying, symbolic reference by people with invested interests in community building among blacks/Afro-descendants). So whenever I discuss race with my students (which occurs a lot considering that a discussion of race is inseparable from a discussion on American history and culture) and I declare myself as black, they get confused.

“But, Teacher, you are not black,” they often say, noting the lightness of my skin as the most salient piece of evidence. “You’re morena or mulata, but not black.”

Following their usual assertion, I have to explain that in the United States, the three terms are not mutually exclusive. As a result of the “One Drop Rule” and, later, the politicization of the term during the Civil Rights Movement, black was a term reserved for the majority of people who have African heritage in the United States, no matter the lightness or darkness of their skin. I then go on to cite the color gradation within my own family and that, in spite of their lightness, many much lighter than I, they still consider themselves black in both race and culture.

Considering that race in Brazil is dealt with mainly on a phenotypic level (based on physical appearance), you can imagine their surprise at what they consider an oversimplification of race in the United States. I recall once that when a Brazilian friend of mine came to visit New York, he remarked that he was surprised by the large black population in Brooklyn.

“There are soooo many black people here,” he proclaimed, leaving me a bit dumbfounded. “But you’re from Brazil. What are you talking about? There are plenty of black people there. Why are you so surprised?” I asked.

Then I realized; “Black” for him and “black” for me were two totally different things. In my eyes, he and I were both black, along with the other millions of people in Brooklyn whom he had singled out as having shocked him in their abundance and millions more brown-skinned people I had seen in Belo Horizonte, Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, and Salvador in Brazil. Yet to him, “black” only meant people with very dark skin and decidedly black African features. That term was reserved for a very small group of people in Brazil, some of whom continue to be marginalized in many ways on account of their color.

“Espero que nosso filho não seja preto,” (“I hope our son isn’t black” — “black” in this case being referred to by way of the now offensive term “preto,” which is used sometimes to refer to very dark black people) I once heard a white expecting mother jokingly say of her soon to be born biracial child. The father, moreno. The grandfather, according to the couple, preto, hence the fear. While the statement was harsh and said a lot about Brazilian race relations, I cannot exactly say I was surprised. It is just that normally I am not privy to such racist admissions. As a result of my appearance, I had been cast in the shadow of privilege and provided a front row seat to the racism circus, a performance I often missed in the United States because I was still black there. At home, I was not placed in some imaginary bubble of protection simply for being a few shades lighter than some others. Black was black was black. Brazil is a different story entirely.

Here, I have begun to recognize that privilege takes many forms, all of them unwelcome on my part. For one thing, I am American. While this aspect of my being is not immediately recognized, as most Brazilians assume I am one of them and/or have a parent who is, once this fact becomes known, how attractive, interesting, and accepted I am in public places skyrockets in ways that would never happen if I were simply a brown-skinned Brazilian.  In a country where many of the imports come from the Land of the Free including entertainment in the form of music and film, some of the most powerful mediums of cultural dominance, you can imagine what my presence means, whether I like it or not.

The other point of privilege lies in my appearance, at which I have already hinted. Being more caramel-esque than dark means I am afforded treatment that is strikingly different. I do not get followed around retail stores or profiled by the police. People who look like me are profiled in advertisements, have roles in novelas (soap operas), and are spokespeople for high end products. I am included in colorist, racist discussions and jokes as if people who have the same origin as I are separate species. I am pursued romantically and openly considered attractive by people of many different races. In relation to quite a few of the aforementioned, I cannot say the same with regards to my experience living in the United States.

The next aspect of privilege I have had to assess is one that is far more powerful than skin color and nationality: class. In the United States, I am middle class. Here, despite my weary checking account, I give off signs of wealth unintentionally. Clothes like those one could buy at H&M, Forever 21, and other popular chain stores are taxed to the hilt and marked up to the degree that they are almost inaccessible to anyone who is not upper middle class to rich. The same goes for items from Zara, which they have in larger Brazilian cities, but with price tags that would give any New Yorker, Lisboan, or Madrileña a heart attack. Electronics, international food, and even books can be added to this list of overpriced goods in Brazil, but to which I have easy, cheap access Stateside. With that said, my possession and consumption of the aforementioned put me in a higher class than many Brazilians who share my skin color, as the wealthy class in Brazil is decidedly white. 

With all that said, there are other recognizable differences in the way race is dealt with in Brazil that allows me to take a mental vacation, including but not limited to, a heavy presence of interracial relationships (and not necessarily those of the same racial pairing), multiracial families, and phenotypic diversity within groups of friends of all ages, all things still seen in smaller quantities in the United States, even in major cities.

All of these things make it almost too easy for me to “forget” that I am black, to not spend my days preoccupied with my race as I do in the United States. Yet, there is something unsettlingly unhealthy about that, mainly because it means one of two things: the United States has a long way to go, or I am temporarily blinded by a non-existent ideal steeped in privilege. I am going to go with option two. Of course, the States has a long way to go in terms of improving its domestic state of race relations, yet one has to be careful not to read those in Brazil as being utopian, as they, too, have a complex and somewhat dark past, one of them being the goal of ethnic cleansing by way of miscegenation to which I often reference. I have enough common sense to read between the lines and assess personal situations from an objective standpoint, and this is no exception.

I find that many Americans of color, upon traveling to another country, often remark on the striking differences between the treatment they receive abroad versus the treatment they receive in the United States, myself being one of them. But we must also employ the critical thinking necessary to realize that our experience is through the tinted lens of privilege, be it via nationality, skin color, class, and any other unrecognized differences that set us apart culturally from our international peers. I have to recognize that while the story I tell of my experiences in Brazil as an adult may be different from the experiences I underwent as someone who grew up in the South, someone somewhere in Brazil has a similar story that is going unheard or unrecognized by the thousands of Americans who travel to Brazil and deem it a racial paradise, a vacation spot for the oppressed.

____

*drawing courtesy of amazing French graffiti artist/cartoonist Fafi, whose work can be found here: www.myspace.com/fafinette

For those of you who are interested in learning more about Brazil beyond what I cover here, which is mainly from the pop culture/race perspective, check out this awesome site: Eyes on Brazil . The author and blog moderator Adam covers many facets of Brazilian life and culture, and gives the perspective of an estrangeiro (“foreigner”) without patronizing, belittling, or exoticizing Brazil and its people. It’s also a great site if you have general questions about Brazil and/or want to work on your Portuguese as Adam is highly responsive to comments and posts short video clips on Brazilian Portuguese colloquial expressions and slang. Here’s a bit more about the site from the author:

Eyes On Brazil exists in order to give a deeper understanding of the Brazilian arts (as well as all things Brazilian) to an English-speaking audience. Personally, I’ve spent almost 10 years studying (and dreaming of) the sleeping South American giant known as Brazil. Seven of those 10 years were focused teaching myself Brazilian Portuguese, and as such, I consider myself fluent.

Adam also has sibling sites on Belem (Brazil), Salvador (Brazil), and even Colombia.Veja já!

Considering that I am presently living in Brazil, everyone and their mother sent me emails to alert me that this year the America’s Next Top Model “exotic” location was going to be São Paulo, Brazil. Of course, I was on it like white on rice.

I have previously covered ANTM’s behavioral faux-pas (read: extreme insensitivity in relation to the respective racial/ethnic/national identities and/or sexual orientations of the contestants, just to name one of many problems), but I felt the need to take another stab at their culturally-oriented failures considering I am living here in Brazil, visit São Paulo every other weekend, and could safely say, before even watching it, that it was going to end up a hot mess.

In light of the fact that some of the comments made during the show were quite obnoxious, I decided to return the favor. I say let’s squelch fire with fire, ladies. And no, I am not talking about the burning sensation during a Brazilian wax, which seemed to be about the only thing this season’s gaggle of beauties knew about the country that over 196,000,000 people call home.

I have decided to write a little ditty about my take on the show. Check out the clips to see for yourself. Footnotes are provided for additional information. I would have set it to the beat of “the Girl from Ipanema,” but I was too tired from watching the stereotypes and stupidity unfold before me to actually do that. Here goes:

In São Paulo, samba’s not the really the thing. (1)

But hey, at least the girls got flip flops with bling. (2)

Oh and Spanish, speak it they do not. (3)

And in São Paulo, it’s hardly ever hot. (4)

So if you really wanted a sun burn or a tan,

You should have gone to beaches of Rio, a clip of which they ran. (5)

And though capoeirista Eddy speaks quite clear,

They decided to run subtitles as not to offend our AMERICAN ENGLISH ONLY ear. (6)

And Carmen Miranda— for the eyes she’s a feast.

Yet too bad home girl is actually PORTUGUESE.

While made famous as the face of Brazil,

She cemented stereotypes and a fake idea of what’s real. (7)

“She’s always very sexy and Latin,” says Sutan (8)

During a photo shoot in the backdrop of which poor children ran.

A favela it’s called, “oh how cute!” (9)

Look at the poor people who have absolutely no loot.

“It’s touching to get a glimpse of how these people live” says Celia.

But oh, I’ve got some news for you, filha: (10)

On the outside, it may be ugly and covered in garbage galore,

But inside some houses, it looks more like home furnishing megastore. (11)

So don’t be fooled so much by the things that you see:

So-called Brazilian sex appeal or a non-existent sea.

Brazil is a country of its own and not necessarily what we want it to be.

(To watch the full episode, click here.)

1. Samba is actually not popular within every state in Brazil. Music tastes, in a general sense, vary from region to region and even city to city (i.e. larger cities vs. the interior, aka “the country”). In Brazil, samba is said to have originated and found its largest audience in Rio de Janeiro, and was primarily associated with Brazilians of African descent. While there are certainly samba clubs in São Paulo (city), the majority of the clubs for young people resemble clubs in any other large city (rock, hip hop/rap, electronica/dance).

2. The models received Havaianas (awesome, super comfortable Brazilian flip flops) embedded with Swarovski crystals. Value: $200 USD/pair

3. Employing a habit of many an uninformed tourist to Brazil, one of the models begins to speak Spanish to the cab driver escorting her around during a challenge. Many people still seem unaware of the fact that Brazil is a Portuguese-speaking country. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me how good my Spanish was before moving here, I would be a millionaire.

4. It’s not hot all the time in Brazil, depending on where you live. São Paulo happens to be a city that actually gets super cold. Natalie, one of the models, continued to harp on her discontent with the cold weather, lamenting the fact that she would not be able to get as tan as she’d like. That’s why you go to the beach, honey (more on that in a sec). For example, today in São Paulo, it may rain and the low is 57ºF.

5. To further confuse American audiences, Tyra & the Gang run a clip of people on the beach in what looks like Rio de Janeiro. The state of São Paulo, of which São ‘Paulo (City) is the capital, has beaches, however, the city of São Paulo, mind you, is landlocked and does not have any beaches. But just in case people would get confused by seeing a city in Brazil that has nary a beach, they had to show one to appease the stateside audience.

6. Ok so first, capoeira is more of a northern Brazilian tradition. Much like the samba story, of course it’s practiced in Sampa (São Paulo’s nickname), but its origins trace back to Africa and have a greater link to northern Brazil, which happens to be where the largest concentration of Brazilians of African descent lives. Continuing on this note, Eddy, the capoeirista, speaks pretty clear English, but they still decide to provide subtitles for the dialogue. It’s like, um, it won’t confuse us too much if we hear English with a non-American accent. Not that difficult to wrap our heads around . . . or is it?

7. Carmen Miranda, referred to as “the Chiquita Banana lady” for the majority of the episode, was born in Portugal to Portuguese parents with whom she immigrated to Brazil as a child. Despite living in Brazil for almost her entire life, she kept her Portuguese nationality until death. Though stateside Carmen Miranda is arguably one of the most recognizable Brazilian celebrities, her legacy causes great debate because her image helped usher in and perpetuate stereotypes of Brazilians, particularly Brazilian women, as overly sexual and joyous at all costs. Her choice of costume is also interesting, as she often employed elements of traditional Bahian* women’s attire.

*of or related to Bahia, a state in the northern part of Brazil known and respected for its preservation of many aspects from West African cultures following the end of the slave trade in Brazil)

8. Resident ANTM makeup artist

9. The word “favela” in Portuguese means poor neighborhood or, in other words, “ghetto”

10. “Filha” is the Portuguese word for “daughter;” often used to mean “girl” or “honey”

11. There is a misconception that every neighborhood in Brazilian cities that has homes with slightly unkempt exteriors equates to being a favela. There are a few neighborhoods within Sampa for example, which look terrible on the outside, providing the backdrop of what seems to be a favela, yet once inside one of these homes, one may be pleasantly surprised. Just like in the States, home construction and upkeep is a costly and time-consuming task, and some people choose to forego it altogether until additional funds or time allow.

Tim, a Brazilian digital communications provider (cell phones, internet service, etc), recently launched an ad campaign entitled “Você, Sem Fronteiras,” which means “You, Without Limits.” “Fronteiras” is a Portuguese word* that means limits, borders, or restrictions, and is often evoked in reference to behavior, culture, and access to resources. In this ad campaign, Tim is encouraging its current and prospective users to think of all three contexts.

The first page of the ad reads: “ALGUMA COISA ESTÁ ACONTECENDO” (“something is happening”):

The second page reads: “UM HOMEM NEGRO COM NOME MUÇULMANO É PRESIDENTE DOS ESTADOS UNIDOS” (“a black man with a Muslim name is the President of the United States”)**:

The third page reads: “O PRÊMIO DE MELHOR JOGADOR BRASILEIRO DO MUNDO É DE UMA JOGADORA” (“the award for best Brazilian soccer player in the world belongs to a woman”)***:

The fourth page reads: “QUALQUER PESSOA PODE CARREGAR SUA PRÓPIA REDE” (“anyone and everyone can access their own wireless internet network”):

The fifth and final page of the spread reads: “É TEMPO DE MENTE SEM FRONTEIRAS” (“the time has come to have an open mind / a mentality sans limits”):

When I first saw the ad, a series of thoughts crossed my mind, but before I prejudice you, the readers, with my thoughts, I wanted to hear your first impressions. I will leave mine later via the comments section.

*I translated the Portuguese to make sense in English, not word-for-word, as that never quite works!
**Clearly, here they are talking about President Barack Obama.
***On page 3, they are referring to Marta Vieira da Silva, a Brazilian female soccer player who is considered the best female soccer player in the world.

Advertisement courtesy of Veja Magazine, March 19, 2009

As mentioned by countless writers who dare to venture into the dangerous territory of race and ethnicity, racism is a tricky animal. There are moments when racism stares one right in the face, begging to be confronted via the most obvious of responses, then there are moments when racism hides in the shadows, only to be perceived by the most observant, sometimes the victim alone. Yet what is to be done when considering racism when it has literally crossed borders, cultures, and history? Does it become a new species?

I was faced with this difficult question just last week. On Wednesday, I walked into our teachers’ lounge/meeting room to ask if anyone knew of any Asian restaurants in the city. This inquiry, by the way, is not completely out of left field. Brazil has a large and thriving Asian population, composed primarily of Japanese immigrants and their descendants, in addition to smaller Chinese, Indian, and Thai communities, and many cities in the region in which I live happen to have restaurants that serve Asian food or some Brazilian-Asian fusion dishes. The dialogue that followed, however, was far more out of left field than my request:

Brazilian Teacher (male, white, 25): “Yeah, there is a Chinese restaurant downtown. They have yakissoba and sushi.

Me: Oh ok. I thought yakissoba was Japanese, no?

BT: Meh, Japanese, Chinese, same thing, right?

Proceeds to do the “Miley Cyrus” (also known as “a derogatory gesture that involves using one’s index, and sometimes middle, fingers to stretch the skin around his or her eyes horizontally, in order to make one’s eyes appear like those of people who are of Asian descent”…just in case anyone was lost). Laughs hysterically.


Me: Takes a deep breath in order to remain composed. Um, no. They have some things in common, sure, but to say they are the same is not exactly correct. I mean the culture is different, the language is different… sometimes the foods have similar origin, but are still different . . .

BT: Yeah, but Korean, Japanese, Chinese…they all look alike right?!?!? “Miley Cyrus,” proceeds to laugh again.

Me: Disgusted. No, they don’t actually. Some people may have similar features because there was a lot of mixing going on in Asia for generations…(so flustered at this point, because I am thinking of thousands of years of civilization, and how exactly to explain that to someone in 30 seconds), but there ARE differences. It’s like if I said everyone from Spain, Portugal, and Italy look JUST alike and are all the same just because the majority of people are white. I mean people are different!

BT: All the same! “Miley Cyrus,”AGAIN

Towards the end, I decided to return to the original subject to preemptively extinguish a potential fight.

Me: Ok, whatever. Where is the restaurant?

So by this point, clearly I was fuming. But after the fact, I began to reflect on the exchange. Was I being overly sensitive? Did I miss something in my Brazilian history lesson about it being socially acceptable to derisively mimic people with Asian ancestry in public places? Was I being a “typical American” (read: over-reacting to the tiniest of issues)?

At first, I thought maybe so. I had carried around my own country’s baggage of sullied race relations and unpacked it in another place. I was analyzing the situation through the gray lenses of the United States and our racial past. But then I considered something that had a simple answer, but not exactly the easiest of solutions:

Is racism culturally relative?

The immediate answer is, “yes,” but in terms of addressing this version of cultural relativity or, in other words, the variation across different societies and cultures of what is considered of value, good/bad, and/or acceptable, there is no easy answer. Different countries may have similar histories, but the nuances of each nation’s respective past often yield a strikingly different present.

With Brazil carrying the heavy weight of being considered not only one of the most ethnically and racially diverse nations in the world, but also the most “utopian” in terms of race relations, to analyze the issue of racism becomes doubly difficult because to consider race at all is a bit complicated*. There are fewer fixed ideas of race in Brazil than in the United States. For example, there was never a “one-drop” rule here, nor was there legislated segregation following the abolition of slavery (though they abolished slavery in 1888, much later than the United States, many Brazilians cite the Jim Crow Laws when condemning the U.S. as a racist country). These factors, when coupled with pre-existing ideas allowing for slightly more social acceptance of miscegenation (“race mixing”), mean that race is a far more muddled category. Though complex, the Brazilian racial spectrum tends to be far more “open” in terms of racial categories and even provide for what one could consider racial transcendence, meaning that after a day involving a lot of sun exposure or a property inheritance, I can go from being considered one race to another.

The complexities of Brazilian racial history and general race relations I will leave for another article, as it is too extensive to discuss at this moment, but it is important to consider the aforementioned when thinking about whether or not the statements I heard and gestures I witnessed were racist or not. If I were raised in Brazil, there is a possibility that I may not have found my co-worker’s impromptu comedy routine racist, but I wanted to test this theory by running by a few of my Brazilian friends of various races.

The majority of my friends said it came down to a matter of city vs. country. In larger cities, much like in the United States, there is less tolerance for racial stereotypes and discrimination thanks to the increased diversity within the population who keep everyone, including the government, on their toes. Though there are residents of Asian descent in the town in which I live, there are thousands more in cities like São Paulo, which is where most of my friends live. They noted that the heightened political awareness and education level of larger cities may also be a determining factor in the response to my co-worker’s behavior.

But to add to this consideration, I also thought of how I deal with the majority of cultural norms I find outside of my comfort zone (i.e. female circumcision, socially sanctioned domestic abuse, or the exclusion of certain ethnic and/or religious groups from voting rights). I usually resort to using the Harm Principle, a concept coined by one of my favorite thinkers, British philosopher John Stuart Mill.

The Harm Principle rests on the basic premise that one should be allowed to do as he or she pleases, so long as his or her actions do not harm other human beings. In my own personal version of the harm principle, however, I extend the definition to go beyond the physical. I include the prospect of psychological “violence.” If you engage in an act of racism, by my definition, you are conveying a pre-existing stereotype you hold of one group of people in the presence of others. And even if those present are not of the group you seek to insult, the general affect on the listener is harmful because it results in the spread of stereotypes, which in turn can result in the spread of hatred and/or lead to discrimination (“Active” racism, i.e. legal restrictions for certain racial groups or hate crimes).

In other words, my co-worker passed my racism test. By considering all Asians to be the same, primarily based on a sole physical characteristic that most, though not all, East Asians share, and then, in addition, by relegating the cultural and culinary traditions of all East Asians to the same category, one that he then proceeded to ridicule, he scored pretty high on the b.o.b. (big ole bigot) scale. So while I fully recognize that race and the way we think about race-related issues varies across cultures, it does not mean, in my opinion, that we should give license to those who choose to engage in the perpetuation of stereotypes or complete misconceptions about one group or another. From one country to another, feeling as if your respective group is not considered equal or that your culture is somehow funny, strange, or insignificant in comparison is all the same: unacceptable.

Before I utter any statements of depth in this piece, I have to present a bias. Though not meant to offend those who believe in proselytizing, I find myself firmly standing on the side of those against it. If you feel that religion and/or a faith tradition of some sort is your source of hope, guidance for life, and possibly even your ticket to eternal salvation, so be it. I respect that, and I fully honor the right we each have to practice some form of the aforementioned. However, the second you start telling me or someone else which form is best (read: which version will prevent me from burning in hell for the rest of eternity), we’ve got beef.

With that said, I want to go ahead and put it out there that I take issue with the bulk of missionary work (past and present), especially that which takes place in developing nations. It is a reminder of the power of nations who sit firmly and comfortably in their G8 seats, spectators in a game of international tennis. Only in the case of missionary work, the victory comes at a higher price, one that can mean not only renouncing one’s culture, but also one’s religion (or at least denouncing it in public) as a means of attaining vital resources. This is not to say that missionaries have not done good work. There are countless records of missionaries who have helped others in excellent ways, minus all the religious rhetoric. However, even if the message of faith lies in no more than an utterance or the simple presence of the mission’s name, missionary work nevertheless boils down to a political campaign in the name of God.

In light of my objection to this line of work, I find myself dealing with a mental conflict almost every day of my present job. My campaign has nothing to do with God, but in terms of international influence, the English language and American culture come pretty darn close. Though I have been teaching English in Brazil since July of 2008, there are still a few things about my current profession that rub me the wrong way. The source of my discomfort in teaching my mother tongue lies in implications more so than tangible, empirical evidence, thus making my inner turmoil all-the-more “inner.” Much like a mosquito bite on the sole of your foot, my conflict has been an itch I can’t quite scratch.

Before enrolling in the program in which I am involved, I already knew I wanted to live in Brazil for a few months to a year to have more exposure to Brazilian culture, particularly an aspect of it that involved more of the quotidian variety. I was looking to go beyond the favela-riddled, bikini-clad, beach bathing, rainforested Brazil with which we are presented on our television screens and in our Netflix queues. I wanted to be forced to speak Portuguese on a regular basis and pushed a bit beyond my comfort zone. I was not looking for a spoiled, privileged, escapist ex-pat experience of the Eat Pray Love genre.

The easiest way to achieve my goal was to teach English here, but I knew in the back of my mind, I would be presented with interesting challenges that I may not have faced if I had chosen another route to secure a job in Brazil. For one, I would have to be a de facto representative of American Culture ^TM. My language and my country would be placed center stage during class, but what Americans do, eat, buy, and think would be the main topic of conversation at all other times as well. I would be reduced to a living, breathing souvenir. Yet in actuality, I find myself to be a bit of a disappointment to my students and the Brazilian English teachers, not for lack of teaching skills, but for lack of conforming to their ideas of Americans and American life.

Before moving to Brazil, I lived in New York City for six years, so even my view of most Americans was one I took with foreign eyes. I often considered myself somewhat isolated from what most would consider “American culture” mainly because I had lived in NYC, which is clearly more of an international city than say Memphis, Tennessee, the city of my birth. I listen to Metronomy, Surkin, and J*Davey instead of Rihanna, Fall Out Boy, and Snoop Dogg (all of whom have achieved considerable success in Brazil thanks to MTV). I have a considerable amount of tattoos. I am a vegetarian who likes international food. I am agnostic. I am not a fan of Nike, Tommy, or any popular clothing brands. I am not a classic American beauty. And on top of all that, I am black, which still throws some people for a loop here in Brazil because most people assume I am Brazilian until I open my mouth.

Though Brazil’s access to American media has expanded rapidly thanks to globalization, the films, music, and popular culture to which Brazilians are exposed is clearly the dominate culture, of which I do not really consider myself a part. The idea of Americans that many Brazilians have as a result of this type of media is not exactly the most accurate. We are considered arrogant, ignorant, and overweight on the one hand, but filthy rich, glamorous, and perfect on the other. There is very little room for anything from the margins, and even what is thought to be “alternative” is still the same old simulacra. Nevertheless, I have to put on a happy face and endure countless questions related to the subjects above, only to be followed by my response, which is usually something like “I have no idea who that is. I download my music from European blogs. Sorry!” or “Well, no, I don’t eat bacon in the morning, because I don’t eat meat, not even the white kind, which I know is not considered meat here.”

And though the questions can be tiring, I can understand why they are asked. What is more exhausting is processing the reality that as a result of the onslaught and heavy influence of American mainstream media by way of music, films, and other forms of entertainment (including sports), many elements of Brazilian culture are becoming a non-entity in the eyes of many young Brazilians. Brazilian televised news devotes about a fourth of their broadcasts to American politics. Brazilian culture, as the world becomes flat and so easily navigable because of the internet, is being quickly altered to closely resemble ours. Unfortunately, I am caught in the middle. I represent another side of American culture, which can be a good thing for my students, but I am American nonetheless, and some will never see me as anything more than that.

I have somewhat come to terms with my curio status, and at times celebrate it, mainly when Americans show a sign of intelligence in their choices (ahem Obama), but other times, I feel that my presence symbolizes a modern neo-imperialism, though through culture and language as opposed to direct territorial or financial dominance (albeit, those still play a major part in the case of Brazilian/American relations). There are zillions of English schools throughout the country, some of which have a direct link to the United States Embassy, and many Brazilians see learning English as a means of improving their lives, especially in terms of career success. Many of my adult and teenage students alike say that they are taking English in hopes of securing a good job in the future.

Yet in this time of greedy linguistic and cultural consumption, I worry of the looming backlash. I have some students who explicitly reject any and all aspects of American culture and are generally disgusted by Americans, save me (as an exception because I am their teacher), but who are begrudgingly taking English as language skills are seen as one of the few ways to separate oneself from the competition. Even some of my youngest students admit that they are only taking English because their parents are making them, unaware that their budding skill may help them put food on the table in a decade or two.

Seeing this saddens me and further fortifies my personal belief that though clearly beneficial in the long term, teaching English is its own form of missionary work. The parallels to missionary work that are demonstrated in terms of some students’ reluctance to learn when coupled with a frightening pressure to do exactly that in order to simply stay occupationally and culturally afloat worry me. In addition, access to recreational English classes are afforded only to middle and upper class Brazilians, which has previously caused a rift between some English teachers applying to work in Brazil and a few of the Brazilian consulate offices who believe that access to learning English and the skills thus acquired are deepening the divide between the rich and the poor. From what I have seen, I find it hard to disagree. And that’s speaking toward language studies in both Brazil and the United States.

In New York City, maniacal parents have infants who can barely articulate basic monosyllabic words in English taking baby French and baby German so their children will have a better chance of entering elite, private academic and hyper-selective public schools, and even then, nothing is guaranteed. Yet in general, beyond the basic needs met by pre-vacation language book purchases, i.e. how do you say “where is the bathroom?” few Americans are breaking their necks to learn any other language, despite our growing immigrant population. We barely have a handle on English, so God forbid we make an effort to devote attention to some foreign “babble” that we don’t need to speak anyway, right? “This is America. Speak English,” so goes the motto. Yet in our stubbornness to learn another language and general indifference to the prospect of our society and culture changing dramatically as a result of immigration and the expansion of 2nd-generation families in the next few decades, we are doing ourselves a grave disservice.

As a teacher of English in Brazil who already speaks Portuguese, I am a rare breed. Even my students were shocked that I had taken a time to learn a language that, in their words, everyone always just confuses with Spanish. In addition to the language surprise, my students were also interested in the fact that I had been to Brazil several times before, and knew that Brazil was about more than Carnaval. But despite these differences, the things that set me apart from other teachers they had previously had, I still wondered if intent mattered at this point.

In being an “unusual” American to them, there is an obvious benefit, but the shame that sometimes comes with my nationality, due mainly to the international reception of our behavior and the aggressive promotion of our culture abroad, can outweigh any good I intend to do as a teacher. In recognizing the big picture, I may be overanalyzing, but in being a part of this neo-imperialist process, whether or not I have direct control in it, I still have days when I am uncomfortable with my work. I know that I am empowering my students with a valuable skill that will earn them considerable respect in the future, but I wish that more of my fellow countrymen were making an attempt to be more connected to the world as well, instead of continuing to spread American culture with their blinders on.