#double also am not Chinese by nationality or ethnicity so if you have corrections / differing experiences feel free to share

[jockvillagersonly]

I was just wondering a thing

In dmbj universe, people stay in wild of far away or in tombs for days. While staying there how women and trans people deal with their periods? Like whole tomb raiding shenanigans can't be scheduled with taking care of everyone's periods nor can they text periods to come later.

[emerges from my hiatus coffin Nosferatu style because it’s time to talk about GENDER]

Ok first thanks this is SUCH a good question. If NPSS wasn’t like, so aggressively a cis man we might have a canon answer, but as it is I’m gonna extrapolate from real life and make some guesses!!

My first instinct would be to look at how people with periods cope with long distance, multi-day trekking today. This website touches on a few practices I think tomb raiders with periods would probably also use: (1) keeping used sanitary items in Ziplock bags for later disposal, and (2) using unscented baby wipes and hand sanitizer for sanitation

It’s also possible modern tomb raiders with periods use birth control, whether or not they’re worried about pregnancy, for assistance in regulating / moderating their flows + hormonal shifts

For folks in the Mystic Nine era (1933), things would definitely look different! In the late 1920s, there were some pads available, so it’s definitely possible tomb raiders with periods in the late ‘20s were using pads. If they were, they likely used Kotex disposable pads, which were quite popular at the time (though far from perfect), and were being advertised in China as early as 1928. Keep in mind, though, that self-adhesive pads weren’t around until the 1970s; to wear a pad, a person with a period would also need to wear a ~sanitary belt~ or other clothing item designed to hold the pad in place. Annoying, but probably better than a just bleeding everywhere?

More under the cut, since I had a lot to say I guess!

Alternatively, 1920s-30s folks might have used / repurposed surgical gauze; many early pads — including those Kotex ones — came from wartime advancements in surgical gauze in WW1. Plus, a tomb raiding team would be sure to have a significant supply of surgical gauze on hand! Obviously, this wouldn’t be super comfortable (if you’ve ever stuff toilet paper in your underwear as a makeshift pad, it sucks), but it might be more flexible — a noted and necessary benefit for a tomb raider, whereas the Kotex pads were known to be cumbersome.

However, as the articles cited touch on, many of these pads were problematic in one way or another — reusable ones were annoying to clean; disposable ones were inflexible, burdensome, or not sturdy. All of that sounds problematic for a tomb raider on the go; it would probably behoove a tomb raider with a period to plan, as much as possible, for their period to arrive before they enter the tomb, when disposal / care of used sanitary products will be more convenient. This could, of course, be problematic if you were trans and not out or otherwise hiding the existence of your period; while Chinese attitudes were starting to open up towards periods in the late 20s, there was still a long legacy of periods as being deeply, inherently private — which would make openly planning around your period difficult, especially in a predominantly cis male setting.

The first commercially successful tampon was marketed in 1931, so it’s definitely possible our Mystic Nine era folks were using tampons. However, I’m gonna say it is probably unlikely, and similarly unlikely for our later Paracel Islands team and South Sea King team; according to consumer polls, tampons are not the preferred sanitation product choice in China today. A cursory Google search didn’t turn up much on advertisements for tampons in China in the 1930s, either. Similarly, while a rubber cup (think today’s diva cup) was invented in the early ‘30s, it wasn’t a commercial success; I couldn’t say for sure if it was even marketed in China at the time. Another unlikely choice, though for modern tomb raiders it would have the benefit of not producing non-bio waste?

For folks prior to the ‘20s (or folks using more traditional methods), I wasn’t totally able to verify if this is accurate but a few websites mentioned that parts of ancient China would wrap sand or fiber in cloth; when the “pad” soaked through, they would toss the filling and wash the cloth. This might be slightly more functional in a tomb setting (“don’t mind me, just gonna toss my period sand over in the corner here thanks”), though I’m not sure how disposal would intersect with traditional / Confucian norms around yin and yang energy, which we see discussed in DMBJ as part of tomb raising “etiquette” or sense

Tangentially Related:

NPSS originally conceptualized XG as a (presumably cis) girl, apparently, which: would her period blood have typical Zhang powers? Also, would the Zhang clan be a matriarchy OR would the title of clan head be non-gendered OR would the Zhang clan be patriarchal and she would be an exception? How would her gender figure into her being chosen as the replacement mythical baby, and/or her having to (unwillingly, admittedly) scrounge together the shattering, fragmented remnants of a clan collapsing in on itself? 

We’re talking early 1900s — how strong would she have to be to rally even the small amount of main line Zhangs that canonically have XG as their patriarch? Would her gender be weaponized against her, or seen as “proof” of her illegitimacy? If the Zhangs were inherently a patriarchal clan, would she be othered from her gender in the same way XG is (presumably) othered from his Tibetan heritage (acting under the assumption that XG’s mom is not Han Chinese living in Tibet; I haven’t read Tibetan Sea Flowers, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong!)?

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

submission

but only calling out Henry Golding for not being Asian enough to play a Singaporean character is not something I am here for.

Sorry, Nick is Singaporean (75% of Singaporeans are Chinese descent). His mother is Chinese-descent. His father is also Chinese-descent. His surname is Young, a very common Surname for Chinese families. How the fuck the did he get his White genes?

Why not complain about the fact that there’s more Malaysians playing Singaporeans than actual Singaporeans, for a start? What about the accuracy of representation there? Or is that too nuanced for anon?

Ah, for me nationality doesn’t matter. Because viewers don’t care about the nationality of the actors (except special cases like having a bad relation to that country), they just care how they look. People face more discrimination because of their appearance than their nationality. Like no one would care if Captain America was played by a Canadian, but they would flip shit if he was played by an Native American, who tbh is more American than a white person can be.

Also…I don’t understand why the anon thinks that people are going to expect Asian guys to look like Golding? Does he really think people are that naive?

People aren’t that naive, but many people are that stupid & illiterate. Take this from a gay guy who is often expected to look like at least, Eurasian by ‘potential’ dates. Just because you live surrounded by nice people, doesn’t mean that horrible people don’t exist elsewhere.

And, what even is his definition of Asian?

Yeah my mistake, should’ve said East Asian. Even though Singapore is in Southeast Asia, Nick is fully Chinese-descent.

(And which then feeds back into beauty standards in Asia.) Let’s be real, it’s the fair skinned kind (amongst other things).

That’s where you’re wrong. Example: (East) Asian Americans tans their skin a lot, especially those who are born there. But East Asians living in Asia wouldn’t do that. Hollywood likes their East Asian actresses / models looking like East Asian (slanted eyes, etc), but East Asians living in Asia do double surgery to enlarge their eyes. Fan BingBing is an exception (But tbh, Fan Bingbing isn’t a Hollywood actress). Look at Arden Cho, Awkwafina, Lucy Liu, Constance Wu maintain their Asian features, while East Asian actress in Asia try to look more White. What I’m saying is there’s a disconnection between what’s happening to Asian Americans & Asians in Asia. Asians in Asia don’t look at Asian Americans. They look at White actresses. Look at Korean / Japanese actresses & compare their features to Asian American actresses. Far different. So no, Asian Americans don’t ‘feed back’ into beauty standard in Asia (at least in East Asia). The feedback comes from the source, White people.

Fan Bingbing and Mindy Kaling, for example, are both Asian, but only one is considered the “right” kind of “beautiful”.

Disco, I think this is more about fatphobia. Priyanka Chopra and Aishwarya Rai are prime examples of Indian actress that are well accepted in Hollywood.

but it is selfish to ignore that there are other groups that are as deserving of representation.

That’s the problem. Crazy Rich Asians is about Chinese Singaporean family. If Nick’s mom/dad was White, I won’t be complaining anything. Seriously. But they’re not.

DW: 

You do know that neither me nor @chinadroll have read the books, though? And we both stated that we didn’t know if the character in question was purely of Chinese descent, or of Eurasian descent. Because my point was that being of Eurasian descent isn’t uncommon in Singapore, and a name like “Nick Young” could as easily belong to a character of British descent as of Chinese descent. 

Ah, for me nationality doesn’t matter. Because viewers don’t care about the nationality of the actors (except special cases like having a bad relation to that country), they just care how they look.

I think that some viewers very probably would care about nationality. I mean, Chinese and Malaysian aren’t the same nationality–and in many cases they’re not the same ethnicity either. (Although of course there are people of Chinese descent who are Malaysian citizens and vice versa.) But I think that when it comes to representation, it’s as valid a question to ask why an actor of part Malaysian descent is playing a Chinese Singaporean character. It’s certainly as valid as asking why an actor of part European descent is playing a Chinese Singaporean character. 

I’m not going to get into a discussion about colorism in the Asian American community–because that’s not something I have any experience of at all. Not Asian. Not American. But I think we all agree that the “beauty” of Asian actresses is judged on the standards of “white beauty”–whether that’s colorism, or eye shape, or other features. 

In @chinadroll’s reply she said

And his point about Asian women being considered beautiful by Hollywood. It’s only a certain kind of Asian beauty that is really appreciated by Hollywood. (And which then feeds back into beauty standards in Asia.) Let’s be real, it’s the fair skinned kind (amongst other things).

You said:

So no, Asian Americans don’t 'feed back’ into beauty standard in Asia (at least in East Asia). The feedback comes from the source, White people.

I don’t think you’re disagreeing here. When @chinadroll talks about a certain kind of Asian beauty being appreciated by Hollywood, I read it as referring to white Hollywood setting those standards of beauty. The Asian American actresses you mentioned stand out because they’re pushing back against that. And the fact is, those Asian American actresses might not have found roles as recently as a few decades ago (and very probably still have difficulty finding roles) because they don’t have the “right look”. 

You may be correct that Mindy Kaling isn’t considered to fit that narrow standards of “beauty” because of fatphobia rather than colorism, but it’s also a reasonable assumption that it could be both. 

That’s the problem. Crazy Rich Asians is about Chinese Singaporean family. If Nick’s mom/dad was White, I won’t be complaining anything. Seriously. But they’re not.

Which brings me back to my first point – both @chinadroll and I stated clearly we didn’t know this. 

You know what? It’s great that we’re seeing a mainstream Hollywood movie that tells an Asian story with an Asian cast, but I think @chinadroll​ makes a very valid point (and I’m glad she brought it up) when she says that Eurasians are “simultaneously not White but also not Asian enough to be considered Asian.” 

[orbemnews]

Why some Asian Americans are embracing their heritage by dropping their anglicized names This feature is part of CNN Style’s new series Hyphenated, which explores the complex issue of identity among minorities in the United States. Tshab Her grew up feeling like she lived a double life. Like many Asian Americans, the 29-year-old Hmong American artist was always switching between two names: an Asian name and her “American” name. Jennifer, her legal first name, was what teachers and employers called her, and what she used in “White spaces,” she said. But her middle name Tshab, which means “new” in the Hmong language, was what her family and close friends called her within their small community in Aurora, Illinois. The Hmong ethnic group is spread across China and Southeast Asia, but most Hmong Americans — like Her’s parents — are refugees from Laos who fled during the Vietnam War. “When I went as Jennifer, I felt like I was playing a role — this White-assimilated, American Dream type,” said Her, now based in Chicago. “Tshab and Jennifer were always at tension with each other … I felt like I was always living a different life as Jennifer, than who I wanted to be as Tshab.” There’s a long history of Asian Americans using Anglo or anglicized names — whether they adopted new White-sounding names like John or Jennifer, or changed the pronunciation or spelling of their original name to better suit English speakers. The practice was popularized in the 19th century due, in part, to fear in the face of intense racism and xenophobia. Tshab Her, a Hmong American artist whose work pays homage to her heritage and family. Credit: Tshab Her America has since undergone a cultural sea change. The past decade alone has seen surging demand for greater diversity, inclusion and representation. And as the national conversation shifts, many Asian Americans, including high-profile creatives and celebrities, are facing similar personal reckonings with their names. The list includes comedian and producer Hasan Minhaj, whose interview on the Ellen DeGeneres went viral when he corrected her on the pronunciation of his name; Marvel actress Chloe Bennet, who said she changed her surname from Wang because “Hollywood is racist”; and “Star Wars” actress Kelly Marie Tran, who called her family’s decision to adopt anglicized names “a literal erasure of culture.” After reflecting on her identity and how she presented herself, Her decided to drop Jennifer and go by Tshab when she started college. It felt empowering, she said — an affirmation of heritage, the Hmong language, and her parents’ journey to the United States in the ’70s and ’80s. Unbeknown to many Americans, Hmong soldiers were recruited by the CIA during the Vietnam War. They died by the thousands and were forced to flee when the US withdrew from Vietnam, essentially abandoning the ethnic group. To this day, the Hmong community is among the most marginalized Asian American groups. For Her, just existing under her Hmong name “creates space in itself” and pays tribute to her roots, she said. An artist, she also incorporates the journey from one name to another in her work, which celebrates Hmong history and iconography. One embroidery piece reads “It’s pronounced Cha,” while another reads “My name is Tshab, but the check is payable to Jennifer Her.” A history of violence and assimilation Asian Americans have been Anglicizing their names since the first major wave of immigrants in the late 1800s and into the 20th century — a practice also common among Jewish and European immigrants, according to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS). There are a number of reasons why, with the most basic being convenience. English speakers often had trouble pronouncing or spelling non-English names, and for many immigrants it was just easier to choose a new “American” name. There were financial motivations, too — immigrant business owners may have felt that an anglicized name would better appeal to customers. Over the years, USCIS archives have recorded countless such name changes from a Russian immigrant named Simhe Kohnovalsky who asked to become Sam Cohn in 1917, to a wartime refugee named Sokly Ny, who fled Cambodia in 1979 during the Khmer Rouge regime and renamed himself Don Bonus in California, inspired by a “bonus pack” of gum. Chinese immigrants play cards while waiting in the immigration offices at Ellis Island, US, around 1940-1950. Credit: Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone/Getty Images Any change that might smooth their way to the American Dream was seen (by many immigrants) as a step in the right direction,” wrote Marian Smith, a former USCIS historian, in a 2005 essay, adding: “There were all kinds of reasons, political and practical, to take a new name.” But this seemingly eager pursuit of the American Dream doesn’t fully capture the dark realities immigrants faced. Asians in the US were often demonized, exploited and discriminated against from the moment they arrived. Assimilation — including the adoption of a new name — was seen a survival tactic. Early Chinese immigrants were lynched by mobs, and anti-Chinese sentiment was so strong that the US banned all immigration from China between 1882 and 1943. The fearmongering “Yellow Peril” ideology meanwhile depicted East Asians as dangerous invaders. An estimated 120,000 Japanese Americans — the majority of whom were US citizens — were forced into concentration camps during World War II. Asian men being interrogated by an immigration officer on February 2, 1951 in Brooklyn, New York. Credit: AFP/Getty Images An increasing number of Japanese Americans changed their personal names during wartime in order to “prove their patriotism and to reaffirm their American identities,” according to a 1999 paper in Names, a journal dedicated to onomastics (the study of names). “Makoto became Mac, and Isamu shrank to Sam.” Asians in the 19th and early 20th century were largely portrayed as “strange, but also inferior, dirty, uncivilized,” said Catherine Ceniza Choy, a professor of Asian American and Asian diaspora studies at the University of California, Berkeley. “(Back then) the desire to fit in is also about surviving an overtly racist, hostile society” that targeted “Asian difference.” In the period 1900 to 1930, about 86% of boys and 93% of girls born to immigrants (of all origins, not just of Asian heritage) had an “American name,” according to US census data analyzed in the journal Labour Economics. Now, a century later, it’s common for members of the third or fourth generation not to have an Asian name at all. The cost of sacrificing a name The nation and its racial tensions have evolved since then — but Asian and non-English names continue to be othered, treated as strange or used as cheap punchlines. In 2013, for instance, a TV station reporting on a deadly Asiana Airlines plane crash fell for a prank, and announced that the pilots included “Captain Sum Ting Wong” and “Ho Lee Fuk.” In 2016, the governor of Maine joked about a Chinese man named Chiu, pronouncing it with a fake sneeze. In 2020, a professor at Laney College asked a student, Phuc Bui Diem Nguyen, to Anglicize her Vietnamese name “to avoid embarrassment” because Phuc Bui “sounds like an insult in English.” The list goes on. Asian Americans have continued to proactively adapt their names, many citing ongoing forms of discrimination. Bennet, who started her acting career as Chloe Wang, spoke out about changing her surname on social media after being questioned about it in 2017. “Changing my last name doesn’t change the fact that my BLOOD is half Chinese, that I lived in China, speak Mandarin or that I was culturally raised both American and Chinese,” she wrote. “It means I had to pay my rent, and Hollywood is racist and wouldn’t cast me with a last name that made them uncomfortable.” Kelly Marie Tran poses with ‘Star Wars’ stormtroopers on the red carpet in London on December 18, 2019. Credit: Tolga Akmen/AFP/Getty Images Tran, the “Star Wars” actress, has also spoken publicly about the pain of assimilating. Growing up, she internalized racist narratives “that made my parents deem it necessary to abandon their real names and adopt American ones — Tony and Kay — so it was easier for others to pronounce, a literal erasure of culture that still has me aching to the core,” she wrote in the New York Times, before declaring, “You might know me as Kelly … My real name is Loan.” Their public testimonies are part of a growing conversation about the potential psychological toll of adapting or compromising your birth name. Names aren’t just an arbitrary collection of letters and sounds; for Asian Americans, who often juggle multiple languages, cultures and socioethnic circles, a name can encompass various elements of identity. Tanaïs, a Bengali-American novelist and owner of a beauty and fragrance brand. Credit: Max Cohen For instance, Tanaïs, a Bengali American novelist and owner of a beauty and fragrance brand, was born with the name Tanwi Nandini Islam. Tanaïs, 38, uses they and them pronouns. Their parents, who had immigrated to the US from Bangladesh, chose their birth name carefully; “Tanwi” has various meanings in Sanskrit, including a blade of grass. “Nandini” means daughter, and is another name for the goddess Durga. And “Islam,” which also reflects their family’s Muslim background, means peace. Tanaïs, the name they go by today, is the combination of the first two letters of the three names. “To have a name that holds all these cultural meanings, is very powerful,” they said. “I am all of those things, from my ancestors to where I am now.” But during childhood, nobody knew how to say “Tanwi,” or put any real effort into learning, they said. Tanaïs does not even remember teachers saying their name out loud, with a first grade teacher declaring that “Tanwi” was too hard to pronounce and using Tony instead. “I was Tony for the whole year. I hated it, it wasn’t my name,” said Tanaïs. “I remember being very unhappy — I felt misunderstood. I felt misgendered because it sounded like a boy’s name to me.” To accidentally bungle someone’s name upon introduction can be an innocent mistake. But to deliberately dismiss their name as too strange or complicated to attempt, like Tanaïs’ teacher did, sends the message that “you don’t matter, you don’t belong,” said Choy, the UC Berkeley professor. “The consistent mispronunciation or misspelling of one’s Asian name — questions and requests for you to simplify or change your name — do take a toll on one’s individual psyche,” she said. “Names reflect your presence, your being, your history. When people constantly do that, they’re not acknowledging you — as a person, as a human being.” Research has reinforced just how pervasive this problem is. A 2018 survey of Chinese students in the US found that the “adoption of an Anglo name was associated with lower levels of self-esteem, which further predicted lower levels of health and well-being.” However, the study cautioned that it could be a case of correlation, not causation — for instance, people who already have higher self-esteem could be more reluctant to change their names, and less influenced by stigma. Another survey of ethnic minority students, conducted by California researchers in 2012, concluded that “many students of color have encountered cultural disrespect within their K-12 education in regards to their names … When a child goes to school and their name is mispronounced or changed, it can negate the thought, care and significance of the name, and thus the identity of the child.” Minhaj, the comedian and producer, called out Anglo-centric hypocrisy surrounding names during a segment on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” where he corrected the host on the pronunciation of his name. “When I first started doing comedy, people were like, ‘You should change your name,'” he went on to explain. “And I’m like, I’m not going to change my name. If you can pronounce Ansel Elgort, you can pronounce Hasan Minhaj.” A reclamation of heritage There are, however, signs of gradual change. The number of people adopting new names fell in the late 20th century, said Smith, the former USCIS historian. This was partly due to the emergence of automated systems, like those used to register drivers’ licenses, that are designed for just one legal name. But social change was likely a bigger factor, she said. “While the economic, legal, systemic pressure to maintain one name grew, social pressure to Americanize names also lessened as more Americans embraced cultural pluralism or multiculturalist views,” Smith said in an email. We see this cultural shift in how people respond to instances of discrimination or xenophobia. Things that previously may have flown under the radar are now being called out, loudly and publicly. For instance, the writer Jeanne Phillips sparked intense outrage in 2018 when she encouraged parents not to give their children “foreign names” on her syndicated column Dear Abby, adding that they can sound “grating in English.” Furious parents and minority commentators argued she was perpetuating racist and assimilationist narratives, in a controversy that made national headlines. The Laney College professor who asked a Vietnamese student to Anglicize her name also faced widespread backlash and was placed on administrative leave. Demonstrators gather for a rally against anti-Asian racism and violence on March 13, 2021 in Seattle, Washington. Credit: David Ryder/Getty Images In March, the Atlanta spa shootings that killed eight people — six of whom were Asian women — reignited similar conversations. After several news outlets released abridged or inaccurate versions of the victims’ names, furious and grieving Asian Americans spoke out online about the racist treatment of their names amid a wave of anti-Asian violence and hate crimes. “PLEASE STOP BUTCHERING THE VICTIMS’ NAMES,” tweeted Michelle Kim, co-founder of Awaken, an organization that runs diversity and inclusion workshops. “These might be small inconveniences to people. But our names are our IDENTITY. It’s our HERITAGE. It’s what we have left that remind us WHO WE ARE. WHERE WE COME FROM.” These recent controversies are a reminder of how much work is left to be done — but also show that minority groups, and wider society, are redefining the norms of what is acceptable and what needs to be held accountable. It reflects an increasingly multicultural context — a shift that has resulted from broader changes around the world like globalization and a reshuffling of power. “Going as Tshab was an act of resistance… That was the start of me resisting this Whiteness of American culture that was forced on me.” Tshab Her Some Asian countries have become major political and economic players in recent decades, and have also wielded influence in the form of soft power. Bollywood, K-pop, anime and other aspects of Asian pop culture, for example, have gained legions of fans worldwide. And in the US, immigration policies in the late 20th century have allowed the Asian American population to increase exponentially, said Choy. “That’s just such a different social context to be in, compared to the way it was in the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s,” she said, adding that technological advances and globalization mean the “dominance of Anglo-American culture” is now “lessened.” This new chapter is reflected in the growing demand for greater diversity across nearly every sector: entertainment, politics, food, education and more. And among young Asian Americans, there is also an increasing awareness of what their immigrant parents or grandparents had to give up to survive — a “realization that there is a loss of heritage and culture from the Asian home country,” said Choy. For some, this realization can spark a desire to get back what was lost. By studying their parents’ or grandparents’ first language, for instance. Others might visit their ancestral homes to reconnect with their culture. Tshab Her’s work “Returning,” is inspired by the first time her parents traveled back to Laos since they immigrated to the United States as refugees. Credit: Tshab Her For Her, embracing her Hmong name has become a way to assert her heritage. “Going as Tshab was an act of resistance,” she said. “I just want to be who I am, and who I am is Tshab, not (Jennifer). That was the start of me resisting this Whiteness of American culture that was forced on me. “I think, for me, it’s natural for me to feel like I am connected to my parents or my ancestors, going more as Tshab, and not wanting to forget where I come from, where my family (are from) and what the Hmong people have gone through.” Top image: A piece of embroidery by Hmong American artist Tshab Her. Source link Orbem News #Americans #anglicized #Asian #dropping #Embracing #Heritage #Names