The Prop, The Object, and The Sacrifice
https://comfyprincessjo.substack.com/p/the-prop-the-object-and-the-sacrifice
The relentless misery of mistaken identity and of being a useful but unmemorable object is a pain that haunts me wherever I go in the world.
“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!”—despite having encountered me over three times—is something I hear weekly. Coupled with another weekly case of someone thinking I’m another Black woman they met or saw 30 minutes ago, I can’t help but allow a thought to enter my mind: “I am nothing more than a background object whose essence is meant to be sacrificed for entertainment or comfort.” It’s an insidious thought, and it opens the floodgates to even more thoughts that delight in the prospect of eroding my soul. The one buoy that keeps me from being swept away is the knowledge that there are other humans burdened by this systemic burial of their identity. I might not know anyone personally, but I know I can’t be the only one, because the oppression I feel is not targeted directly at me. It is indirectly targeted at humans who check the same boxes on the census as I do.
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