It's been another trip back, another time warp and culture shock. I left the field on Thursday, September 10th, then stopped in Juba, Paris, and New York before returning to San Francisco. I had a full weekend in Paris, taking my first hot shower and walking alone. I re-learned how to cross streets, enjoyed the convenience of supermarkets and reveled in the abundance of the farmer's market. Then it was on to New York, with a one-week pause to see family and friends. I ended up sleeping in a different place every night for 8 nights running, which was a bit of an adventure. Then it was back to the West Coast, adding another few hours onto the jetlag, and increasing my already-six-month-long sleep debt. Time for some relaxation.
Every time I return, I'm struck by certain differences. Last time, the technological gap seemed to me like time travel. This time, I'm really noticing the fashion and beauty standards of the two very disparate places that I live. Coming back, I feel that everyone here tries to be the same. As I take the bus in San Francisco, up into the Marina District, the stereotypical Marina Girl populates the bus. They have tight black yoga pants, a slouchy I-don't-care shirt, long gorgeous brown hair that costs a lot of money, a trendy phone in a cute case, ear phones, and makeup. I see them in a row, and I wonder what the story of each of their lives is like. I cannot fathom that they are each individuals. It's shocking to see this drive to homogeneity, in a society teaching every millennial "you're special," "you're unique," "you're a pretty snowflake." And many millennials strive toward the current flavor of beauty or perfection, turning themselves into indistinguishable dolls.
Coming back from Aweil, South Sudan, this is shocking to me. In Aweil, many people have never seen themselves. Open water is too muddy to provide a clear reflection. There aren't too many mirrors. Our security rules prohibited the taking of photos, but for my work, I needed to take pictures of construction works. I would try to avoid taking pictures of any person, since getting their permission is time-consuming. I'm just trying to take a picture of that latrine pit, excuse me. Sometimes, though, children would see us taking pictures of construction works, and clamor for a picture. They would grab the phone and turn it around and stare at it. When I took a picture of the progress of a pit being dug, the workers asked me to print out the picture. I brought it the next day and gave it to them. Eight grown men stopped work and clustered around. They stared at themselves.
People live a difficult life, and it is apparent in their appearance. Aside from being gaunt, they are scarred (many ritually, with tribal identification scarification) and sometimes disfigured. Missing eyes or limbs are not extraordinarily uncommon. People are stamped with the journey of their life. They are individuals, and show on their faces the times they have been through. They are self-conscious to different beauty standards. Much stake is given to someone's appearance and clothes. Shoe-shine boys wander the streets, making their living in polishing the population's shoes. Everyone has their shoes shined. Men wear button-down shirts, neatly pressed and laundered. Perhaps they are threadbare and torn at the seam, but they are clean and neat. Women wear clothes with a vibrant and colorful fabric wrap tied around their shoulders, adding splashes of color to the market. They do their hair and style it, or wear wigs and keep their head shaved for convenience. But no one is fixing their face. No one is changing their appearance to look more like a beauty standard of the country. There is no body sculpting, no plastic surgery, no make up. No journey towards a perfect beauty standard to make everyone homogeneous.
But maybe that's because they don't yet have the resources for it?
I'd say to show your scars, be yourself. You're beautiful the way you are.
Every time I return, I'm struck by certain differences. Last time, the technological gap seemed to me like time travel. This time, I'm really noticing the fashion and beauty standards of the two very disparate places that I live. Coming back, I feel that everyone here tries to be the same. As I take the bus in San Francisco, up into the Marina District, the stereotypical Marina Girl populates the bus. They have tight black yoga pants, a slouchy I-don't-care shirt, long gorgeous brown hair that costs a lot of money, a trendy phone in a cute case, ear phones, and makeup. I see them in a row, and I wonder what the story of each of their lives is like. I cannot fathom that they are each individuals. It's shocking to see this drive to homogeneity, in a society teaching every millennial "you're special," "you're unique," "you're a pretty snowflake." And many millennials strive toward the current flavor of beauty or perfection, turning themselves into indistinguishable dolls.
Coming back from Aweil, South Sudan, this is shocking to me. In Aweil, many people have never seen themselves. Open water is too muddy to provide a clear reflection. There aren't too many mirrors. Our security rules prohibited the taking of photos, but for my work, I needed to take pictures of construction works. I would try to avoid taking pictures of any person, since getting their permission is time-consuming. I'm just trying to take a picture of that latrine pit, excuse me. Sometimes, though, children would see us taking pictures of construction works, and clamor for a picture. They would grab the phone and turn it around and stare at it. When I took a picture of the progress of a pit being dug, the workers asked me to print out the picture. I brought it the next day and gave it to them. Eight grown men stopped work and clustered around. They stared at themselves.
People live a difficult life, and it is apparent in their appearance. Aside from being gaunt, they are scarred (many ritually, with tribal identification scarification) and sometimes disfigured. Missing eyes or limbs are not extraordinarily uncommon. People are stamped with the journey of their life. They are individuals, and show on their faces the times they have been through. They are self-conscious to different beauty standards. Much stake is given to someone's appearance and clothes. Shoe-shine boys wander the streets, making their living in polishing the population's shoes. Everyone has their shoes shined. Men wear button-down shirts, neatly pressed and laundered. Perhaps they are threadbare and torn at the seam, but they are clean and neat. Women wear clothes with a vibrant and colorful fabric wrap tied around their shoulders, adding splashes of color to the market. They do their hair and style it, or wear wigs and keep their head shaved for convenience. But no one is fixing their face. No one is changing their appearance to look more like a beauty standard of the country. There is no body sculpting, no plastic surgery, no make up. No journey towards a perfect beauty standard to make everyone homogeneous.
I'd say to show your scars, be yourself. You're beautiful the way you are.
Beautiful....
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