Prompt: Write an essay dealing with your own experiences, perceptions, or ideas about issues of race, gender, and stereotyping. 

Growing up as a mixed-race female, I often found myself caught between worlds, navigating identities that sometimes felt at odds with one another. I am half Japanese and Hawaiian and half English, Irish, and Russian. On paper, this blend sounds rich and fascinating, and it is, but living it comes with complexities that many people fail to consider. Being mixed opens a lot of doors to uncomfortable questions and interactions. For better or for worse, many of these moments have shaped my perceptions of race, gender, and the way society handles stereotypes. Over the years, I have realized how deeply these experiences have influenced my sense of self and the way I navigate the world.

From a young age, I was aware that I didn’t necessarily look like my peers. I grew up in a predominantly white area where I was often the only person of color in my friend group or class. I knew I looked different from my friends, but I was proud of my Japanese heritage. As I got older, however, my pride began to diminish. Whether it was outwardly said or not, I could feel the differences becoming more apparent. My mother had blonde hair and blue eyes, and despite us having the same facial features aside from our eye shape, people liked to say we looked “nothing alike.” When I entered high school, a time when I was trying to figure out who I was, I consistently got asked if I was adopted. The question was never asked with malicious intent, but it always felt intrusive. It was as if people needed a label or a neat explanation for why I didn’t “match” my mother. These comments made me hyper-aware of how others perceived me, and I found myself constantly having to explain my family background. The more common these comments got, the more distant it made me feel from my mother, my best friend. Not internally, but externally. I did not like that people could not look at the two of us and see us as family. I wanted to more closely resemble her, give people a reason to see our connection. I saw it. I saw it both in our physical features and our actions, but others were too quick to see a different hair color or eye shape and count our relation out. I started dying my hair blonde in 7th grade. This went back and forth for a multitude of different colors, but I began consistently dying it blonde again starting junior year of high school. As my mom got sick and eventually passed, my need for people to see our connection grew stronger. I wanted people to see her when they saw me. My hair trends continued to get blonder and blonder up until this year, my senior year of college, when I finally decided to go back to my natural brunette. My mom always preferred my natural hair. She said it was gorgeous and she never wanted me to change it. I think I finally realized I did not need to have the same hair color as her or the validation from others that I “looked just like her” to be connected to her or to carry on her legacy.

The comments about my specific appearance did not stop there. When I was younger, older men would approach me and my mom in public spaces, telling me I looked so “exotic.” At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant. Part of me took it as a compliment because it was often said with a smile, but as I got older, I began to understand the underlying implications. To be called “exotic” is to be othered, to be placed on a pedestal for being different in a way that feels less human and more like an object of curiosity. It’s unsettling to think back on those moments and realize how often my appearance was treated like a conversation starter or a spectacle. Even now, the word carries a weight that makes me uncomfortable. It suggests that I am somehow foreign or unusual, despite being born and raised in the United States.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable experiences come when people feel entitled to guess my race. It happens in places where I least expect it—at work, in line at a coffee shop, or while minding my business in public. Without prompting, someone will approach me with a pointing finger and the exclamation, “Chinese!” Oftentimes without other context besides “did I guess right? I am right, aren’t I?”  It turns into a game for them, like a puzzle to solve, while I stand there awkwardly forced to participate. Even if the guesses are accurate, the experience is invasive and tiring. There’s a fine line between genuine curiosity and making someone feel like a riddle to be solved. I know people don’t typically have bad intentions, but getting blatantly told that I am seen as a collection of racial categories rather than a person gets old quickly.

Race isn’t the only aspect of my identity that has subjected me to stereotypes. Being a woman comes with its own set of challenges. Personally, I have faced the brunt of gender stereotyping in academic settings. Growing up, I knew I was smart. I was placed in the highest math and reading classes in elementary school and continued to enroll in AP and honors classes throughout high school. Yet, despite my academic track record, I often felt underestimated. In middle school, I was one of the few girls in my advanced math class, and one teacher seemed to single me out in ways that other classmates never experienced. He even said he thought I was “dumb” and “air-heady” because I was “too girly” and resembled a stereotypical “cheerleader.” There were so many things wrong with those comments. However, at the time, this was an authoritative figure telling this to a young, impressionable girl. Who was I to question him? That kind of bias stayed with me, making me question whether being feminine meant being perceived as less intelligent. For a long time, I struggled with figuring out whether toning down parts of myself was necessary to be taken more seriously. Looking back, I realize how unfair it was to have to choose between being myself and being respected.

High school brought more of the same, but also glimmers of change. In my AP Calculus class, I was again one of the few girls, but this time, I had a teacher who valued my intelligence and respected my curiosity. He encouraged my questions and treated me as an equal in a room full of boys who often dismissed me. When exam scores were released, I earned one of the highest grades in the class. It was a validating moment, but even then, some of the boys turned it into a joke among themselves. I overheard comments like, “Caroline got a higher score than you,” or “damn, you got beat by Caroline.” Instead of acknowledging my achievement, they used it as a way to tease each other, as if being surpassed by a girl was something shameful. Moments like that were frustrating. They highlighted how deeply ingrained gender biases are, even among teenagers who should know better.

These experiences have taught me that stereotypes are pervasive and often subtle. They hide in well-intentioned compliments, casual jokes, and seemingly innocent questions. They shape the way people perceive me before they know me, forcing me to confront biases that I didn’t ask to be subjected to. Yet, they have also given me a sense of resilience. I have learned to advocate for myself, to push back against assumptions, and to embrace the parts of my identity that make me unique. That process hasn’t always been easy. There were times when I internalized the stereotypes, wondering if maybe I was being too sensitive or reading too much into people’s comments. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to trust my instincts and stand up for myself when something feels off.

I share these stories not to dwell on negativity but to highlight the ways our words and assumptions impact others. We all have moments when we act on biases we don’t fully recognize. What matters is the willingness to reflect and do better. I hope that by sharing my perspective, I can encourage others to think twice before asking intrusive questions or making offhand comments. Everyone deserves to be seen as more than just their appearance or a set of assumptions. I am more than a guess at my ethnicity or a surprise high exam score. I am a person with layers, stories, and a voice that refuses to be boxed in. It’s taken me years to get comfortable with all the parts of myself, but now that I am, I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything.