Growing up, I was always self-conscious of the genes my Chilean father bestowed upon me. Instead of the straight, shiny, blonde hair, green eyes, and long legs of my mother, I was a short, frizzy haired, brown-eyed mini replica of my dad. One of the traits I was especially resentful and painfully aware of was the long, dark hair that covered my arms. It was always on display in my short sleeved, Catholic school uniform shirts. It was a major reason I never felt “girly” or “feminine” as a young teen. One moment that burned into my still shy and insecure, 14-year old mind was a particular afternoon in freshman algebra class. I felt so lucky to be placed in a small group with Ernie, the most popular boy in our class, and one I had a crush on since the first week of school. After a few minutes, he acknowledged me for the first time, exclaiming, “Oh my god!! Why are your arms so hairy?! You’re like a man!” I instantly turned bright red and covered my arms, trying to mumble or laugh off the comment. But that day after school, I shaved my arms for the first time, and have been doing it ever since.

For all girls growing up and coming to terms with their own identities, it can be very disheartening when we don’t fit into the established norms and expectations for feminine beauty. The reason I didn’t feel beautiful as a girl was because I didn’t look like the girls in my class who were deemed beautiful and therefore, popular: blond hair, colored eyes, feminine features. I was a tomboy not only in my personality but also because of how I looked. My embarrassment of my hairy arms was a reflection of my naive embarrassment of being colored. Although I am only half Latina, I have always taken after the genetics of my father and have been assumed and considered Latina, not white. In middle school and early high school, I still felt awkward because of my looks and my mixed identity. Never feeling fully white nor fully Latina, I shaved my arms as a way to disguise the less attractive features of my Hispanic blood. I no longer think that the only way to be beautiful is to be light-haired, tall, with colored eyes like my mother and the popular white girls I’ve always gone to school with. I love the features my father gave me, especially my eyes and my dark wavy hair. I still shave my arms, not trying to hide my Latina blood, but to feel womanly. I still haven’t shaken the influence of hairless expectations of American society, but I’m ok with that. Overall, like Cherrie Moraga in “Loving in the War Years,” I feel more connected to the culture of my Latina half. I love and embrace my mixed-race, mestiza, white girl look. It’s fun because no one can ever guess what my nationality is. I enjoy being unique and am so grateful that, as my mom tells me, I am a carbon copy of my father. If only I felt that way in high school!