Tall White Men

On Covert Racism

As an adolescent, I loathed the mirror. I despised my kinky hair; a hatred cultivated by my racist mother who would apply smelly chemicals to my scalp and tug my hair into submission. Every week I’d sit under the hair dryer for an hour with big rollers in an attempt to achieve Straight Hair. But all it would do was look bouffant, which was hardly the desired effect. I’d never look like the straight haired hippie girls of the 60’s. I often thought I should just shave all my hair off and wear a wig.

I also hated my short stature, though I managed to blend in with some of NY’s many smallish ethnic groups. The school bullies, however, never missed an opportunity to make gym class a living hell. Back in the day, 2 popular kids were appointed team captains and got to choose their teammates. I was picked last for the tall sports. It wasn’t until we finally had a gymnastics unit in PE that I realized I was not hopelessly slow, clumsy and weak. I just had a gymnast’s body and not a basketball or volleyball physique.

I got by until I went to college in the midwest and was overshadowed by tall pale Northern Europeans, who’d never seen anyone my size and saw fit to tease me affectionately, as if they were pointing out something I’d never noticed before.

Naturally, as a gymnast with an interest in dance, I had to develop an eating disorder as well. Not only was I short with frizzy hair, but I saw myself as fat, even when I weighed 90 lbs.

In my NYC immigrant neighborhood, there were Irish people, Jews, Italians and a smattering of other Mediterranean, Hispanic and Asian ethnic groups. The black kids were bussed in during the era of desegregation. They were to be outright feared. My family was horribly prejudiced. Though my father was Panamanian, I was instructed by my imperious Spaniard mother to tell people I was Spanish from Spain and not Puerto Rican. Thus I grew up thinking I was 100% white and just unlucky about the hair.

Every boyfriend or crush I ever had was tall and often blonde. Not just tall, but often well over 6 feet. I was never attracted to men with curly hair or short men. Hispanic or black men were never more than friends of mine. Many fawned over me, but they never had a fighting chance.

Don’t get me wrong, maybe it was just a case of opposite attraction. But no, I looked under the wettest rocks for my boyfriends. There was a personality that went with many of these Tall White Men. They were remote, rejecting, stoic and completely inept at showing emotion. They were reserved, couldn’t dance and told me I was a bull in a china shop. I was too loud, I took up too much emotional space, I was an open book.

A couple of men I dated told me I’d look all right if I just got rid of my belly. Once I was only 95 lbs, the other time was years after I’d given birth to twins. A recent boyfriend told me he was usually attracted to tall, athletic, very attractive women, but he’d try to see if he could make it work with me. He couldn’t, and dumped me after several years of trying.

By the time I reached my 30’s, I began to accept the fact that I was, in fact, Hispanic. My travels and work exposed me to many tiny, indigenous, short-waisted women who, like me, appeared to have their ribs virtually attached to their hips. No amount of weight loss would ever make us have a waistline.

After my daughter was born, I found out we were both positive for sickle cell trait. I figured this was due to my Mediterranean background. More travel to Southern Europe and the Middle East made me wonder if perhaps I had some Jewish heritage. So, in my 50’s, I decided to get a DNA test. Lo and behold, no mention of Jewish blood but in fact 10% of me was sub-Saharan African. I am apparently somewhat Black.

So why the attraction to Tall White Men, who have no appreciation for what it means to be a small woman of color? Overlooked and even criticized for my appearance and cultural personality traits, like an addict I keep going back. Is it some kind of repetition compulsion, whereby maybe if I can just get a TWM to love me, I’ll finally feel worthy?

Those who would psychoanalyze me would probably blame my dysfunctional family more than latent racism. But in an era of “wokeness”, I’m increasingly aware that my own covert racism and self loathing does not come out of a vacuum. It is deeply ingrained in a culture where I could pass as white and just never fit in. I might not be chosen for a team, might be rejected by a boyfriend, and even fired from a job without even using the “race” card. At 65, I am just coming out of my chrysalis and seeing how living a life which doesn’t acknowledge one’s ethnicity is so very lonely. I am like a foreign adoptee of a different race from that of her family. Always left wondering how she can participate in the cultural rituals of her community, speak the language without an accent, and yet never really belong.

I wonder if it’s possible, at my age, to stop looking for love in all the wrong places. Whether I can fix that broken picker. Or will I have to choose between TWM and a lifetime of solitude?

Thanks for letting me share my experience.

Pam