introductions, first names, & performance

Anyone who’s ever had to quickly adapt to another culture—whether it be for survival, clout, or just self-assurance—can tell you about all the trials and tribulations that come with creating a persona that matches your pre-existing identity with the expectations of this new environment. And yes, it is a persona. It would be impossible to ask for this level of transformation without creating some kind of protective mask.

But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. 

I’ve always struggled with introducing myself to people. It’s not so much a lack of confidence in speaking to them, but rather an uncertainty surrounding the expectations that they have from me: should I be Arismita or Aris? Do I use my white voice or is it better if I sound audibly Indian? Do I mention my pronouns, or leave it out and play it safe? 

This can have the inadvertent result of making me seem two-faced, from both sides of the equation. White people will often assume I’m trying to fit into a culture I wasn’t born in, while fellow Indians will pull the “stop acting white” card. Neither of those is particularly encouraging, especially in a situation where I already feel like shit. 

It’s not that I don’t like my first name—quite the opposite, in fact. I love the name Arismita. I love it too much to sit through conversation upon conversation instructing people on the right way to pronounce it, explaining what it means, correcting them multiple times before finally giving up and submitting to their mispronunciation. I would rather go by a different name, one I also like, than deal with ignorant westerners (though it’s not just them) who refuse to put any respect on my name. 

Maybe this force of anger seems at odds with the subconscious impulse that encourages me to assimilate. If, after all, I didn’t want to submit to the white people, why would I try so hard to sound like them in conversation? I don’t really have an answer to that, either. 

I suppose it’s because code-switching is ingrained into people of colour as a survival instinct since before we can remember. No one explains it to us, but we know. We get used to living between the margins, adapting to each unfamiliar environment as the situation calls for. Du Bois’ theory of double consciousness explains this inherent dichotomy as constantly looking at yourself through the eyes of the other, the white gaze, while at the same time looking through a perspective informed by your own lived experience. 

It becomes impossible to separate these two layers of consciousness from each other after a while, whether it be for better or for worse. Any situation you find yourself in will call for some amount of pretending. The very existence of such a dual identity is wrapped up in the need for performance, for a staged act. 

So, dramaturgy. Probably the most staged an act can get. I figured—if I’m never going to be able to escape this shadow of performativity, might as well wear it like a proud cloak, right?