Personal Narrative Essay: Gender Stereotypes

Having a black father and a white mother has always had some family members question my kinship to them. The older I got, the more my identification became reliant on one aspect of myself over the other. The African-American part of me became suspect in the eyes of certain family members with no real comprehension on my part as of why. I saw ignorance towards my whiteness, not only within society but within my own family, which resulted in the inability to perceive my blackness.

Growing up, I always felt like an outsider. I yearned for a sense of belonging, but I would always have to bring myself to a constant realization about the implication of my existence—I was black and white, not one or the other, but both. The continual task of “checking one box” on surveys and papers didn’t really help the situation either. Being the product of an African-American father and an Irish-American mother made me appreciate and understand all the variations of race and culture in the spectrum, but it also left me in this murky-gray area with no sense of direction—a feeling that most multiracial

Growing up in the rural town of Browns Mills, being a Black girl was like a dime a dozen; it held no signifying factors for me. Whether you were White, Black, Spanish, or any other group, the people I grew up with accepted everyone despite it. Such acceptance while enjoyable, did not fortify me for the later struggles I would confront after leaving the socially idyllic neighborhood. Since my town was accepting of everyone there was never a need to learn about or claim aspects of my diversity. My biggest personal claim to diversity in my childhood was the being great (many times over) granddaughter of to a Seminole Chief. Even this story, passed down through my family, was hard to prove. I had a disinterest in carrying over my families

Growing up, race was never an issue for me. I almost always knew what racism was, but I always thought it was a thing of the past, and completely ended when Jim Crow laws were abolished. I thought race did not affect my everyday life, but recently I have learned that even today, being White in America has greatly affected my life. Being White in America has affected how I identity racially, where I grew up, who I grew up with, where I went to College, where I went to high school, and provided me with advantages that many minorities are not lucky enough to have. I have realized this by looking at my life and reflecting through C. Wright Mills’ Sociological Imagination(Lambert Lecture). I connected this to my collage through

Growing up in Bakersfield in Seven Oats and Rosedale, as an African-American family, I learned what race was and how it effects my family. Going to schools that were majority white race was difficult because parents seemed to look at us different and prejudged my seven sibling and I because they were uncomfortable with their children playing sports and hanging out with “black kids”. Even at a very young age, I learn what race was because I would get verbal questionnaires by friends, classmates or teachers about my hair, clothing style and athletic capabilities. Questions about why was I different from the majority always was whispered or written on many people faces. My neighbors would see my family living in a five-bedroom house with two back

With the exception of one show featuring a black woman with light skin and a nose much thinner than mine, I was immersed in pretty white women primetime almost 24/7. I decided that these women were whom I had to look like if I wanted to be beautiful. Light skin was beautiful. It was smart. It was sophisticated. Dark skin was ugly. It was uneducated. It was violent. These are the ideas and the stereotypes that were perpetrated through the media, through my friends, and even through some of my family members. I developed an irrational fear of being categorized as unintelligent or uncultured because of my dark skin. I realize now that I wasn’t the only one being unknowingly taught this kind of

Growing up in a white community, there was never any people I really related to at home. Since my mom and date are separated I grew up in a completely white household, feeling as if I never truly embraced my biracial color. All the girls at school idolized stars like Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato; so I followed in suit. However, these stars didn’t look like me, there weren’t many biracial stars portrayed in the media. That is until 2008, when Barrack Obama ran for president. I remember the excitement around him, a black man running for office. However, I was more intrigued by Michelle, I finally saw someone like myself in the media, I found a woman I could look up to.

Girls are one of man kinds most confusing creatures. they have random mood swings, try to be something their not, whine and bitch over nothing, create drama for absolutely no reason, and nobody gets them half the time.

While watching the movie I started to realize that the way people categorized me really did matter. In a white society, the more people identify you as ‘less’ black, the more they’ll identify with you regarding race relations. For a lot of people, I’m not “really black” therefore the treatment I receive from them is different than someone else’s. However, on the other hand people only see me as black and I’m treated strictly from their perspective of how a black woman should be treated. Yet, what I noticed through all of this is that at some point people will see me and mentally understand that I’m at least partially black in my racial makeup. I began to wonder, if the cops had arrived at the house after the deadly fights between Rose and Chris and I had been in the movie, how would they categorize me? Would the cop take one look at my hair and categorize me as a black woman? Or, would they view me as something else due to my skin being lighter and me having a look that is more racially ambiguous than most? Would I be considered a threat to

I like men, as in I only date men. Other than that most of them piss me off. I couldn’t tell anyone how many men have made me mad in just this year, and i’m not someone who gets mad very easily.

As a kid my little sister, and I spent a lot of time around my mother practically every day whether it be at home watching T.V, or out running errands although I never said or asked her about it I would always wonder why she always seemed to talk or judge those around her she never technically met. Growing up I was raised never to ask your parents such questions, and if I did I’d get a bleak answer as if she was just writing it off as me being a child and paying my question no mind and usually I would go right on ahead with her plan and ultimately forget the question I had asked. However this question always seemed to stick with me and not until recently I had finally got that question answered.

I was raised in a traditional Italian family. This meant that I grew up surrounded by warmth, love, and lots of pasta. It also meant that the men were in charge of the household and the women were in charge of the kitchen. Quite a cliche. Fortunately, the men in my immediate family weren't too chauvinistic, but being with my extended family felt like stepping into a different country and time. I knew the men weren’t intentionally dominant, it was just how things had been and would be. It was just tradition.

Sports magazines across the world are known for featuring buff, strong and sexy male athletes on their covers, where they’re usually wearing their uniform, looking heroic, muscular and powerful. Women also occasionally grace the sporting magazine covers, wearing scantily clad bikinis, pouting and looking beautiful with immaculate hair and make-up. The women are often models, sometimes pictured with male athletes, but nearly always are depicted in sexually objectifying ways. This brings attention to the body type and attractiveness, rather than the qualities that define them as an athlete. Objectification is used in this context to describe forms of marketing, promotion or attempts to gain media coverage which focuses on attention on the sexual

I grew up with five older sisters, but don’t let that fool ya. Girls are tougher then you think. They are mean and devous. I learned to be smart and bid my time whenever I wanted reveange. For years they tormented me and managed to always pin me to the ground when we wrestled. This is a story of payback, when we finaly get even.

Well, obviously, as a teenage guy, the first thing I do on Monday morning, after I've finished those designated duties, is head upstairs to his bedroom and find porn online. I've never really considered sex with a man — this is the conservative Midwest — but I dig into the straight material with vigor. A few hours later, I've jerked off four times, lying on his bed, scrolling through various websites, fast-forwarding through each video that catches my interest, my cock lubed up thanks to a big bottle of KY from my nightstand drawer.