É Carioca

Weakened and exhausted from the last remnants of Salmonella leaving my body, I sat on the edge of my bed, contemplating the suitcase downstairs. It wasn’t the suitcase itself—a reliable companion on nearly every trip I can remember—that preoccupied my thoughts, but rather the potential hassle of going downstairs to get dressed only to realize I might need to come back up. If that happened, I knew I would be unmotivated to attend H’s farewell dinner, an event I couldn’t afford to miss.

In American culture, where brute force and endurance are often celebrated, my reluctance to push beyond my physical limits might be perceived as a weakness. However, living abroad among various cultures has enabled me to rethink this perceived flaw and view it as a quirky aspect of my personality, as well as an opportunity to find creative and uncompromising solutions. I’ve learned that it’s not about whether we push ourselves to the limit, but rather how we choose to allocate our energy. This leads to a larger question about our priorities and whether our actions align with the values we profess. Over time and through countless small decisions, we reveal who we are based on how we direct our energy. H was important to me, and so I mustered the strength to get up and go downstairs. I threw on some shorts, a t-shirt, and Havaiana flip-flops. Since July is winter in Rio, I completed my outfit with a light jacket before stepping out into the thick fog that snakes low through Ipanema’s streets and wipes out mountains.

When H opened the door to her home, she greeted me with an astonished “É Carioca!” but I was too weary to understand her surprise. I blinked in confusion as H, with a broad smile and barely contained laughter, tugged at my jacket and pointed at my flip-flops. “É Carioca!” she repeated, then added in Portuguese, “You’re wearing flip-flops and a jacket—the winter uniform of Rio!” This was a stark contrast to the sleek, ink-black Issey Miyake pleated slacks I had worn when I arrived six weeks earlier. At that time, I was so obviously not Carioca that my hotel enforced a curfew for my evening walks along Copacabana, concerned for my safety. Now, dressed in my Rio attire and sporting a short haircut, people seemed puzzled when they spoke to me in Portuguese and I froze like a Madame Tussauds wax figure. After stammering out “Desculpe… não falo português. Não sou brasileiro…” their surprised reactions revealed that they had assumed I was Brazilian. Some praised me, saying I’d easily pass for Carioca, and while I appreciated the compliment, it also prompted me to reflect on how such remarks reveal deeper assumptions about cultural categories and who is deemed to belong.

I don’t fault others for their lack of awareness about the nuances in their speech, but this experience underscores a broader issue: most cultures often discourage critical reflection on the upbringing and cultural definitions that shape our identities. Maturing involves examining our behaviors and recognizing how our adherence to societal norms—norms we didn’t create but are complicit in perpetuating—can either broaden or restrict someone else’s life. Ultimately, the crucial question is: Who benefits from these categories, and how do their boundaries impact our ability to cultivate a more inclusive sense of self and others?

In the forthcoming essays, I will delve deeper into these tensions across various contexts, from the US Consular Office in Cape Town to a café in Amsterdam. Each piece is inspired by a moment when I collided with rigid cultural boundaries, leading to reflections about people, culture, and the ways we wield power to defend our sense of self and the communities to which we belong. I hope these stories will encourage you to examine your own categories and consider how they might restrict how we perceive others.