I always thought I understood my place in the world, until that world forgot I existed.
On Wednesday afternoon, I realised we had guests for dinner. I also realised my fridge resembled one that belongs to a bachelor. There were many beautiful bottles of pickles, dressings and sauces, but not any actual food. Luckily, there are three Woolies within a 3km radius, so off I went to remedy the fridge situation.
Within the first few minutes of entering the shop, something felt off. I couldn’t put my finger on what, but my frustration mounted. People moved out of my way more slowly, no one engaged with me, and people would push in front of me and then take their time choosing their products. It was if I was invisible. I thought it must be my imagination and that I was just generally irritated, stressed and of course, if you can’t blame anything else, just admit to being menopausal.
When I got to the cashier, she hardly made eye contact and did not ask for my Woolworths card. Did she forget, or did she just think I don’t have one? I paid and went to the car park, expecting the car guard to hot-foot it across the tar to help me, as they always do. No one came, despite the fact that a few guys were loitering around. As I was heaving my bags into my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. I was a sight for sore eyes. I was still wearing my old, frayed gardening clothes, a tattered sun-bleached cap and, to top off this fashion-crime, a bright reflector-vest.
On Wednesdays I usually have a “maintenance day,” and this week I spent most of the day outside on the pavement on Nanyuki road working with our gardening team. It was hot, I was sweaty, dirty and slightly sunburnt. I obviously did not look like I should be shopping in Woolworths. Is this why people ignored me… because I looked poor, or maybe they thought I was going to ask them for money? Or was it just that they knew I could do nothing for them? I was utterly dispensable.
I’ve taken for granted that people treat me differently because of what I look like. We often read about privilege, but I do not think we really understand it (those of us who are privileged, admittedly, maybe choose to misunderstand it, because then we can ignore our responsibility?).
They say (one day we need a blog about who these “they” people are) that there is a “halo effect” around how we look. It is a psychological bias in which people make assumptions about you based on your appearance. Edward Thorndike first wrote about the “halo effect” in 1920, and many psychologists still refer to it today.
Take me. I go to this particular Woolworths at least twice a week. Most of the time, I am dressed well, my hair is brushed, I smell fabulous, my face disguised behind some mascara and a touch of lip gloss. According to the theory, people will tend to make assumptions like: I’m trustworthy, I’m kind, I’m smart, I’m competent, I’m responsible. They have no evidence of this… just some mascara and socially appropriate clothing. These assumptions also mean I am more likely to be hired, promoted, helped, believed or forgiven.
I got in the car and felt totally ashamed of myself. Am I guilty of judging people based on how they look? Do people matter more depending on creed, colour, or wealth? Do I rank people unconsciously? Do I assess people’s threat, value, and utility as if they were objects to be used?
Speaking of the “them” – THEY all also preach the same message. Whether you are a believer in a monotheistic god (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) follow Buddhism or Hinduism, or are secular and rely on your own moral compass, we all agree that in theory we are all the same. We agree that no human is more valuable than another in principle, but we also all know this is not true in reality.
In 2007, the world-famous violinist Joshua Bell played incognito in a busy Washington, D.C., metro station as part of a social experiment. He played on a Stradivarius violin worth millions. He played the same music he played at a sold-out concert the night before, where tickets were over R2000 each. People simply streamed past him, focused on their day ahead. Very few people stopped to listen to him. He made $32 in tips. I’d like to think I would have stopped, soaked up the music and appreciated this moment, but the truth is, I would probably be rushing somewhere, answering a WhatsApp or placing a Sixty 60 order. I am quite sure I would have missed the moment. I would have been caught up in my own life, engaging with people who fit neatly into the boxes construct for them.
There are other examples like Joshua Bell. Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition and he did not even make the top three! Dolly Parton entered a similar competition and a drag queen won! Banksy opened up a stall in New York’s Central Park selling original artwork for $60, which in reality was worth tens of thousands of dollars. Hardly anyone bought his art.
Whether we want to admit it or not, we assess people’s value based on the signals they send.
The “Wednesday-me” was shunned for a short moment in Woolworths and it was really humbling, but that brief discomfort is nothing compared to what many people endure every day. Imagine living your life being unnoticed, ignored and unseen. Imagine being a highly intelligent woman in a wheelchair who is ignored because it is too hard to see past her disability? Imagine the CP child who gets avoided because he drools. Imagine wearing a burka only for people to assume you are a terrorist. Imagine walking around with your head bare, advertising your cancer like a scarlet letter. Are people willing to really see you?
Since we’re being honest, I know I make other assumptions too. If I see a smart-looking, tall, dark man in pointy snake skin shoes and a bright patterned shirt, I am convinced he is going to try and scam me. When I see an Afrikaner woman in capri pants, a floral top, too much make-up and short hair, I just infer she’s a conservative mother of 2.3 children who spends her time attending bible studies and selling pancakes at the church bazaar. When I see a black woman dressed in Jimmy Choos and driving a Range Rover, I suspect she’s a tenderpreneur or a member of parliament. This I do despite knowing many fabulous women who look exactly like her that I adore, and with whom I socialise and work! I judge people who are tattooed and pierced and secretly think they spend all their money on getting high. I do this despite having friends with pierced noses and chins and a new tattoo every month who are smart, generous and make me feel safe.
I might think a man in a two-toned shirt and a beard is a racist. I might think all police are corrupt and looking for bribes. I might suspect all bohemians believe a crystal can cure cancer. We might as well believe that all neurodiverse people are able to memorise a telephone book and that all blondes are stupid. To this day, people often label fat people as lazy or lacking self-control despite just about every reputable organisation in the world confirming that obesity is a chronic, progressive, multifactorial disease! We tend to assume doctors are male and nurses are female. We conclude that artists are emotional nightmares, ripped gym-bunnies are on steroids and Cape coloureds are alcoholics. We think all Catholic priests are paedophiles, we think all Trump supporters are bigots, we think Greeks break plates and Jewish mother-in-laws are psycho.
The list goes on and on.
Since Wednesday, I have made a concerted effort to acknowledge everyone regardless of how they make me feel or where in the world I arrogantly think they belong. I will not be party to someone’s dignity being erased moment by moment because I am uncomfortable with where I think they fit in our little world of labels, or because I am just unable or unwilling to really see them.
I thought we had evolved and no longer mistake the packaging for the product, but the evidence is all around us that we have not. We categorise, we sort, we judge, we filter, we rank and most of all we divide. We can’t always help the conclusions to which our brains want to jump far too quickly, but I think just working hard at seeing people – really seeing them – is a good first step.