In a world where cultural sensitivity is increasingly important, the question of what's appropriate and what's not can be a minefield, as comedian and writer Sashi Perera discovered. When planning a belated celebration for her elopement, Perera wanted to ensure her guests felt comfortable and included, but the simple dress code she suggested sparked a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety.
"Don't ask me what's culturally appropriate, I don't know either," Perera writes. "People of color don't have a secret guide." And yet, the pressure to get it right is intense, with individuals often feeling responsible for representing their entire community.
Perera's experience highlights the complexity and confusion that can arise when navigating cultural identities and sensitivities. It's a constant juggling act, with new issues and expectations arising regularly, leaving individuals feeling like they're constantly playing catch-up.
"Every couple of months, there's a new issue that I must have the correct, concrete stance on otherwise I betray my group," she explains. "It's near impossible to speak as one."
This pressure to represent and speak for an entire community can be overwhelming, especially when individuals are expected to have a firm stance on every issue, regardless of their personal connection or understanding.
"I woke up one day and was already behind on the new polite way to refer to myself," Perera shares. "The polite way to refer to myself changed between countries."
The language and terminology used to describe identity can be a minefield in itself, with a seemingly endless list of terms to avoid and navigate. Perera's experience of traveling with her husband, who is simply "a person" in most places, but becomes "a suddha" (white person) in Sri Lanka, highlights the complexities and nuances that exist within cultural identities.
"I don't even like the term 'people of color,'" Perera confesses. "The first time I heard it, I thought of the Smurfs because they're blue."
In the face of such complexity and ever-changing expectations, Perera's approach is refreshingly simple: do what feels right for you.
"I started to refer to myself as a brown woman because that's who I see in the mirror," she writes. "To me, that doesn't feel reductive but reflective."
This personal approach extends to her party planning, where she encourages her friends to wear saris if they wish, not out of a desire for cultural appropriation, but because saris make her feel beautiful and she wants to share that experience.
"As far as I could tell, it would only be cultural appropriation if they claimed to have invented the sari and renamed it to something like the 'sick Aussie wrap,'" Perera explains.
The result was a beautiful moment of connection, with Perera's aunties and cousins lovingly pinning saris on her friends, creating a bridge between cultures and generations.
"The dance floor was swinging all night," Perera writes, a testament to the success of her inclusive approach. "It was a relief to have solved the issue of what to call myself regardless of what country I'm in and who it may offend or make uncomfortable."
Perera's story serves as a reminder that, while cultural sensitivity is important, it's also okay to approach these issues with a sense of humor and a focus on personal authenticity. By doing what feels right for herself, Perera created a space where her guests could feel comfortable and celebrate together, without the weight of cultural expectations hanging over them.
"I told my friends that I'd love them to wear saris if they wanted to because saris make me feel beautiful and I wanted them to experience that," she writes. "It was a beautiful moment of connection between my family, culture, and friends."
In a world where cultural identities can be a source of division, Perera's approach offers a refreshing and inclusive alternative, one that prioritizes personal connection and shared experiences over rigid expectations and rules.
