The Do's and Don'ts of Cultural Appropriation

“That’s some white people shit!”

Those were the words that came out of my Uncle Rey’s mouth as he stared at the TV. Three girls that had been captured and held against their will for two years in Ohio were being led out of a basement. If you don’t remember this particular story then you might be thinking, yes – that is some white people shit. White people have perfected the weird and fucked up crime for hundreds of years. Serial killers, mass shooters, and rape addicts are almost always white.  

But when the cops led the perpetrator out of his house on live television, and the man was Hispanic, my Uncle went into a tailspin. How could a Hispanic man, named Ariel Castro, commit such heinous acts. According to my uncle, who was born in the Dominican Republic, Hispanic men were known to hit or cheat on their wives…but this? This was just too damn far.

“Hispanic people don’t do that weird shit,” he said.

Our entire family, white and Hispanic, were on the floor laughing our asses off.

I thought of this story when I first heard about culture appropriation. It is a weird topic for me. When one side of your family is Dominican and Cuban and the other is Irish and Slovakian you’re caught in this weird limbo of cultures. I have to decide daily which side of myself I am going to act on. Should I act loud and obnoxious like the Hispanic side or quiet and reserved like the white side? Should I dance on beat or should I move like Elaine from Seinfeld? Should I make a delicious ropa vieja for dinner like my Nana taught me or should I put butter in my rice (yuck) like Grandma used to? Alright, in these three instances I’m going with the Dominican and Cuban side. But the point is that I am constantly straddling the lines of different cultures and I have never seen a problem with taking the bits I like from each one and incorporating them into my own life.

Because of this upbringing I’ve never really understood the entire cultural appropriation debate. It never made sense to me that enjoying someone else’s culture was somehow offensive. I’ve grown up with two cultures, both of which are awesome in their own way, and I’ve gone about picking things I like from plenty of other cultures I have no blood association with. Isn’t America supposed to be multicultural? Isn’t that our whole bag? Everyone come here (legally lol) - you can be who you want, pray to what you want, and live the life you want. Don’t be ashamed that when you get here someone is “stealing” from your culture, be proud. Each culture has something to offer and what’s the use of these specialties if no one else can use them?

With all that being said, there are SOME things I think should be off-limits. That’s right, even I of all people must draw a line. For each culture there is something that should not be replicated by other cultures. I don’t think the culture appropriation police are on to anything in general, but for some specifics, well, they might just have a point.

Let us analyze!

Italian (European, specifically)

I’m not going to talk about Italian Americans here. They are an entirely different bread with an entirely different culture than their ancestors on the boot. If you want to read more about American Italians, do yourself a favor and re-read this: (https://open.substack.com/pub/alexmuka/p/brooklynese)

But European Italians have given us some of the greatest things us Americans now take for granted. Pizza, cacio e pepe, linguini with clams, parmesan, calamari…I could keep going but I am starting to drool on my keyboard. To be clear, I will appropriate the shit out of all of these meals. What’s the point of having a great food culture if not to share it? If you live in New Jersey you can’t throw a stone without hitting at least three Italian restaurants and whether those kitchens are run by pasty whites, hardworking Guatemalans, or tried and true Italians, does not matter to me one bit as long as the food is delicious.

But one thing I will not be taking from the great Italian culture is their clothe sizes. Every time I’ve walked into H&M (or any other store that has European sizes on the tags) and tried to find something to fit my 6 foot, two hundred and twenty pound frame, I walk out looking like sand stuffed into a balloon. I get that Italians are skinny, but as men, do we really need to show off every inch of our unflattering selves? I succumbed to the tight pants trend in college and I want to burn my eyes out when I look back at the pictures. To this date in human history no woman has ever found male ankle attractive. And even if you have the biggest bulge in the world, nothing can distract a woman from noticing that the buttons on your shirt are screaming for help. And don’t even get me started with the banana hammock. I don’t care if you’re Jason Momoa, no woman wants to see a man in a thong at the beach (okay, maybe Jason Momoa gets a pass here). Americans are bigger people than the Italians, and thus must stick to their own clothing. Leave the H&M’s and Zara’s of the world alone and stick to Levi’s and T-shirts.

Mexican

Mexican’s get a lot of shit in this country for reasons I don’t quite understand. For the people that have given us tacos and tequila, I think they deserve more respect. You best believe I give my hard-earned dollars to my local Mexican spot anytime I’m in the mood for a burrito (fuck Chipotle). Any culture who can make something like mezcal deserves a golden star. Sure, I’ve donned a mustache and a sombrero on many-a Cinco de Mayo, what of it?  Not every Mexican I’ve seen has a mustache, nor do any of them wear sombreros, but you don’t see me complaining when a person who is not white finds themselves in a pair of boat shoes do you? Give it a fucking rest people.

There is one attribute Mexican’s have more than any other culture, and that attribute is something that I will not (or cannot) appropriate. They work harder than anyone else. Have you ever seen Mexican guys out there in the middle of summer with sweatshirts and long pants putting in 12-hour days without even breaking a sweat? They should be studied. It’s an unusual endurance that cannot be replicated by any other culture. I saw one guy work 8 hours straight and he only drank half of the water bottle I gave him. He did it smiling and cracking jokes. If I tried to work as hard as a Mexican I’d die of exhaustion in the first ten minutes. So if you are not Mexican and plan to re-mulch your yard in the dead of August, I’d refrain from appropriating Mexicans at that particular time. You can’t do it all in one shot, you can’t do it without water breaks, and your muscles will be so disheveled after completing the task that you’ll need about 12 shots of tequila to numb the pain.

Japanese

Japanese culture, for me, is in the top three. I’ve always been in awe of the little Island that brought us Samurai, sushi, and sake. The Japanese take their art, their food, and their drink very seriously. I love serious people. You might think that’s an oxymoron considering this entire Substack is built off taking the piss out of everything. But I truly love people who take their work or their passion seriously. The Japanese define this practice.

But the Japanese tend to take perfection a little too far. If you haven’t heard of seppuku then I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It is a practice in Japan that started with Samurai who were forced to kill themselves by sticking a knife in their own gut, disemboweling themselves. This ritual began after being defeated in battle. The dishonor of losing was so heavy that the only way to save face was to end your life. Unfortunately this grew into a more socially acceptable practice. The suicide rate in Japan is still pretty high due to their exacting culture. You cannot dishonor yourself or your family, and for that reason I will not be appropriating this part of Japanese culture. If I had to stick a knife into my organs every time I embarrassed myself or my family I’d be dead 5000 times by now.

Irish

I’m part Irish. My grandmother’s maiden name is Kennedy. Doesn’t get more Irish than that. And the Irish have brought a lot of culture to this side of the pond that I will appropriate until my dying day. Imagine it was uncouth to drink Guinness or Jameson because your own culture did not make it? What a boring life that would be. And who doesn’t love an Irish Pub? I have dreams that when I die my ashes will be placed on the bar of an Irish Pub, it will be snowing out, Fairytale Of New York will be playing from the jukebox, and all the people who loved me in this life will be getting drunk off their asses, laughing, and telling stories. Did I take that scene of my wake from P.S. I Love You? Maybe. I’m a sucker for a good romantic comedy.

I have also perfected the Irish Goodbye. This is my second favorite part of Irish culture. It is the antithesis to the Hispanic goodbye, in which you say bye to everyone three times and take two hours to leave any gathering. I tend to go with the goodbye that leaves people bewildered, wondering when I left.

But my absolute favorite part of Irish culture is Notre Dame. I am a diehard fan. People have come out in protest about the name The Fighting Irish because it is a bad stereotype of the Irish people. I disagree fully. If you’ve ever met my friend (and best-man) Sean Smith, who is clearly 100% Irish, you’ll know this term is right on the money. Like most Irishmen his fists are as big as sledgehammers and he’s known to win a fight or two. Anyone who has a problem with the name The Fighting Irish can take it up with him.

Now, something we should all stop appropriating immediately is trying to drink as much as the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle. It’s something that is just impossible to accomplish. On my first trip to Ireland, I went out to a bar and drank like a fish with the locals. Luckily I ended up back in my hostel, but in the middle of the night I found myself peeing into a small garbage can in my room because I was too drunk to find my way out. Another time the Irish got me was when I visited England. My friend Gaurav was nice enough to take me to a Tottenham Spurs game (Coys forever). We got pretty smashed at the game and then headed out to a bar where we met a group of Irish women. They were crushing drinks at an astonishing clip. I tried to keep up and ended up alone on a random street in the middle of the night. The roads were slippery and I fell and chipped a front tooth. I have been called Chip Kelly ever since. I have never tried to keep pace with an Irishman’s (or woman’s) drinking prowess again, and I suggest you all do the same.

Black

Let’s just be brutally honest here – black people are cooler than the rest of us. There’s no reason to argue that fact. I will appropriate the shit out of black culture because it’s better. You think I’m going to stop belting out rap lyrics because some liberal freak says I should? Get a life. The truth of the matter is that I’ve never hung a poster of a white guy on my walls in my life. You think young Alex had dreams of becoming John Stockton? Fuck no. Michael Jordan over everyone. Every kid my age, no matter the color of their skin, idolized black men. So you can miss me with the everyone who’s white is racist nonsense. Black guys are our heroes.

But us whites tend to go just a tad overboard sometimes. For example, on vacation. A white woman (or man) goes to the Caribbean for the first time and suddenly has the bright idea to get braids. They think it will look cool. It won’t. It never has. Do I think white people should be cancelled for appropriating this black custom? No. Do I think white people should refrain from this at all costs due to how awful they look? Yes.

The main problem is the forehead. White people’s foreheads are just too wrinkly to be shown off in such a manner. If Black Don’t Crack than Pink’ll Wrinkle. There’s nothing worse than seeing a white person’s sunburnt forehead jut out under a set of newly made cornrows. It gets even worse when a white scalp sees the sun for the first time. It’s like wearing big flashlights on the top of your head. And there is a 0.0% chance that poor scalp isn’t going to burn and shed. In a few short hours, what started out as a cool new hair-do looks like you’ve aged 20 years and dipped your head in a kilo of cocaine.

I tried it once…the results speak for themselves.

Need I say more?

P.S. – braids fucking hurt.

P.P.S. – White People (in general) – Other cultures should not appropriate the proclivity of white people to keep women locked in their basements. Look how that turned out for Ariel Castro.