What White People Need to Question About Themselves & How They See Those From Other Regions

I’ve been living in Berlin for over seven years now. I’m originally from Chile, so there were many things — many — that I had never experienced before moving here. One of them, and the one I want to talk about today, is a subtle (or sometimes not-so-subtle) form of racism that experience and witness quite often, and that people from continents like Africa or Asia also experience.

I want to be clear: not all white people speak or act this way, but this behavior does tend to come mostly from them. And just to be fair, I’m not saying that people of color don’t stereotype others; they do. But I believe it happens far more often from white people toward other races, and that’s what I’ll focus on in this essay.

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When I first moved here, I wanted to improve my German. I had learned it at school back in Chile, but after graduating in 2007, I never spoke a word again. So I decided to find a tandem partner, a German native speaker who wanted to learn Spanish, and that’s how I found this guy I will call “M.”

M was quite nice at first; we became friends and everything seemed fine — until the comments started: subtle racism, microaggressions, even sexist remarks. But I’ll focus on the racial part, since that’s what this article is about.

About being “Latino/Latina”

The first awkward moment happened one day at his place, when he introduced me to a friend of his from El Salvador. M’s whole attitude toward us was as if we had so much in common and were “the same” just for being “Latinos”. He insisted that we should meet and talk — not because we actually had things in common, or because our personalities might click — but simply because we are Latinos (a term I completely hate by the way).

Photo by Bree Anne on Unsplash

For perspective: the distance from Chile to El Salvador is 5.772 km; from Spain to Norway, only 2.380 km; and from Germany to the Central African Republic, 5.034 km — just to give you an idea of how far apart we really are, and, consequently, how different our cultures can be.

So there is even more distance between my country and El Salvador than Germany and CAR, yet we’re supposed to have so much in common just because we speak Spanish. HOW and WHY are we supposed to be the same — or at least relatable? Because we come from the “same part of the world”? Because we were colonized by the Spanish Empire and speak the same language? Really? As if pre-Hispanic cultures didn’t exist, shaping the societies and cultural heritage of each country — and even within different regions of the same country, there are vast differences.

This kind of thinking ignores thousands of years of history, identities, and traditions that belong to specific territories and societies long before colonization. Let’s also not forget: we were never the same nation under Spanish rule, and, as I said before, the distances in Latin America are enormous. Yet people often ask or tell me things about other countries, as if I should automatically know because I’m “from the area.” I’ve had questions like: “What’s the name of that Mexican sauce that’s kind of orange?” or “How’s the food in Venezuela like?” or “Do you know what’s nice to visit in Peru?” Sometimes they even inform me, “My boyfriend is going to Colombia soon!” — as if that somehow relates to me.

The number of times I’ve said I’m from Chile and a European or American (or any person from the white northen-emisphere) responds with things like: “Oh, I have a friend from Venezuela!” “My roommate is from Uruguay!” “I was once in Brazil, but I guess it’s very different from Chile, right?” “I once went to Mexico, it was amazing!” But if they meet someone from the U.S., they’d never mention something like they have a friend from Canada, just as no one would tell a German, when they mention their nationality, “Oh, I went to Austria once, what beautiful country.” Because…of course not.

And why don’t we do that with other nationalities? Because the absurdity of doing this gets obvious when it involves people from the Global North. Yet non-Western cultures — including Latin America, even though it’s technically part of the West — are constantly subjected to generalization and exoticization. Many people from the “Global North” still perceive non-Western countries as “all the same” or “similar” reducing their populations to simplified collective stereotypes.

Entire continents get lumped together as if people from countries within Latin America, Africa, or Asia were interchangeable with one another — Chileans with Mexicans, Nigerians with Kenyans, Koreans with Vietnamese— erasing the enormous diversity within each region and even within each country.

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For example: Germans are very aware that people from Berlin are very different from those in other cities, that the south of Germany is quite different from the north, and even the east is still very different from the west — yet somehow, when it comes to a continent that covers roughly 20 million km² (yes, you read right and the number is correct) there’s no distinction at all. How is this not racism and ignorance at its peak? Thinking that we are all the same, interchangeable, that we know everything about everyone, as if we were a small village where everyone knows each other, instead of an enormous territory with a vast variety of cultures and ethnic groups, even if they share a common language. Every country is different, and even within the same country there are differences — it happens everywhere. Maybe in places like Malta, Monaco, or Luxembourg this isn’t as noticeable because they’re so small, but in most countries there can be major differences between its people.

I mean, the UK colonized many countries, but we don’t assume they’re all the same, do we? Even when they’re neighbors. If we’re fully aware that people within our own countries can be vastly different — that even within a single nation there are distinct vibes, identities, sometimes entirely different cultures, languages, or dialects, as happens everywhere — then how on earth do we still not think before saying these things?

It’s like in the Northern Hemisphere, the identity of each country is recognized pretty well. But the further south you go, everyone just gets lumped together — like “us” and “all of you.” There’s that moment in The Simpsons (see the clip below) where they do this with religions: we recognize what we know, and everything that’s different just gets thrown into the same pot.

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For some reason, people who make these comments think they’re being friendly, and maybe they don’t have bad intentions — but I honestly have to wonder: what is the intention here? If you don’t know anything about my country, that’s fine — it’s normal. I don’t know every country or culture in the world either; no one does, except maybe a few people who dedicate their entire lives to it, usually through related career paths. But trying to connect this way feels so performative and fake.Pretending you know something about me or where I come from, when in reality you’re just revealing that you know nothing and are only repeating stereotypes and clichés, isn’t connecting at all.

It becomes this weird, almost desperate gesture: **“Look! I know something about that area of the world, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with you!” Like… what are you trying to prove? Really? That you don’t live in a bubble? Because by doing this, you’re actually communicating the exact opposite.**

It’s a way of creating an artificial bond, because you see me as “exotic,” as someone different you don’t quite know how to interact with unless you mention my origin or highlight our differences — almost like I’m some kind of alien. And you don’t want to admit that you actually know nothing about where I come from (which, as I’ve said, is not a sin or anything shameful). But by doing this, you end up revealing exactly what you’re trying to hide: that you’re very white, living in a cultural bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world, and — most likely — about to behave in a condescending way toward me or stereotype me because of where I come from, even while fully aware that you know nothing about it.

You’re not trying to relate to me for who I actually am; it’s about you. It’s about performing “worldliness,” signaling that you “know the foreign,” even though that knowledge is superficial at best and comes with zero genuine interest in me as an individual.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

White people never or almost never do this with other white people from the U.S., Canada, Australia, the U.K., or most of Europe. (Sometimes they do it with Eastern or Southern Europeans, but far less.) This kind of behavior is overwhelmingly directed at people from Africa, Asia, and Latin America — and that alone says it all.

Because why is it so hard to bond with me the same way you would with anyone else? Why can’t we just connect through hobbies, interests, personality — as we should?

Back to the situation with M and my fellow ‘latino’ friend, I don’t really remember all of his comments toward me and the guy from El Salvador, it was a really long time ago, but everything was framed as if we were supposed to get along perfectly just for being latinamericans. Until I finally said, “Honestly, I don’t know anything about El Salvador” (not even the accent — I can recognize certain English accents more easily than the origin of people from other Latin American countries). And the guy said the same thing: “Yeah, I don’t know anything about Chile either.” And of course, we don’t — it’s almost 6.000 km away (even more, because I come from the far south of Chile).

A funny short story: Right before a surgery here in Germany, a nurse — maybe in his late fifties — was wheeling me into the operating room and trying to make small talk. On the chart attached to my bed, he saw my name and right under it my date of birth (I was born shortly before the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989). He noticed the date, commented on it, and then asked: “And where were you at that time?” I answered, a bit confused because my accent (the conversation was in German) makes it obvious I’m not German (I think): “I was in Chile, I’m from there”. His face lit up and he said: “Oh! Chile! I went to South Africa once, it was a very nice trip!” hahaha. I don’t even remember what I replied, I just smiled— I was about to get anesthesia. I had other things to worry about. Well-intentioned ignorance, but very funny too.

Again back to M, he also constantly made comments like: “Oh, Latina women are always so fiery,” “You must love blonde men,” or “But you must really like reggaeton, right?” Seriously, WTF, only stupid stereotypes.

No, not all Latin American women are the same, also not Slavic girls, or Asian girls , etc, etc. — we are different not only because we come from different countries, but also because we are different people, like everyone else, and that’s it. Is it possible to share traits? Of course it is. Usually, people who live in similar climates or environments tend to have similarities. People from the Middle East and Latin America, for example, often get along well or have cultural similarities. But this is not about race or geography — it’s an anthropological phenomenon.

And no, I don’t prefer blond men; why would I? Because I didn’t grow up seeing them as often as people do here so they are special to me, or what? I actually prefer when they’re not too light, and I also really like dark-haired men. (Fun fact: I’m adopted, and my family is white — all of them blond with blue or green eyes — so blond men aren’t exactly something exotic or “wow” to me. In Chile — and in that whole region of South America — there’s a significant amount of European ancestry. While being white and blond isn’t the statistical average, it’s also far from unusual.)

I also hate reggaeton just as much as bachata or salsa. (By the way, the stereotypes about being “Latino” usually come from Central American or Caribbean countries — cultures that are extremely different from the Southern Cone, where I come from.). This last summer, a friend-of-a-friend from Crete immediately asked me, as soon as she found out where I’m from, if I liked salsa and bachata. Why would I? That’s not even part of my culture! This stupid stereotype — that every Latin person is a very skilled dancer, dancing salsa on the beach while drinking mojitos needs to stop. I’m not only Chilean, I’m from Patagonia. In terms of weather, I feel closer to someone from Scandinavia than Colombia. I grew up seeing more snow and penguins than beaches and palm trees.

In fact, I’ve loved rock, trip-hop, new wave, and electronic music since I was very young — I’m a fan Björk since I’m around 9 years old.

Actually, here are a couple of more fun random facts: according to Spotify, the city that listens to the most grunge in the world is Santiago, Chile (yes — more than Seattle!). Chile is also one of the countries with the highest number of metal bands per capita, with around 16.10 metal bands per 100,000 people.

Photo by Chalo Gallardo on Unsplash

So while it’s true that some people enjoy reggaeton, merengue, salsa, bachata or whatever— just like in any other country — it’s actually far more likely that a Chilean person will be into rock than into Caribbean–style rhythms. I mean this girl was from Crete and she loved this music, is personal preference, not only based on where you come from.

This guy M, he was also was quite passive-aggressive. We’d meet for dinner, and if I was supposed to bring something, he’d comment, “Oh, this brand isn’t very good, Germans don’t buy this,” or “This isn’t done like that here, it’s better this way,” or “You shouldn’t say that, you shouldn’t do that.” Basically, he acted as if it was his duty to educate this uncultured girl from a third world country.

Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash

The funny part is that my family is of German/Austrian origin, and I’ve been very familiar with the culture here long before moving to Germany — in fact is the reason why I moved here. I even have many German friends who jokingly tell me I’m “very German” in some ways (to be clear, I don’t pretend to be German — I’m Chilean — but I’m absolutely not someone who didn’t understand the cultural norms before moving here). I adapted to Germany quickly and comfortably. Yet he constantly felt the need to make me feel inferior, as if I didn’t understand the cultural nuances or ways — whether because I’m an immigrant, a woman, or, more likely, both — even though I wasn’t struggling or making mistakes. This condescending tone was all the time (In case you wonder, of couse we aren’t friends anymore — it didn’t last long for obvious reasons).

Also he always talked about being “left-wing” and “anti-racist” — though in reality, his behavior clearly didn’t reflect that, but is the politically correct thing to be and say.

One time we went to a bar/café in Neukölln (a district in Berlin) and we started talking about politics. I don’t know how it came up, but the topic of China came up, and I commented on how extreme the level of control China has over its citizens can be, and how other countries in the region sometimes have very strict laws as well — I literally said just that. Immediately, he got uncomfortable, rolled his eyes — which is extremely rude by the way — and told me “I shouldn’t make comments like that in a place like this because the bar is very Antifa and if they hear me saying thingd like this, I can make people uncomfortable or ask me to leave” all this while smirking in this condescending tone wanting to “teach me better.” I wanted to smash his face at this point.

And I was just flabbergasted because I hadn’t said anything offensive, yet he was offended and he is not even Chinese. I was talking about the government of a country, not about its people or their race. You can absolutely be anti-racist and still be critical of a country’s government — like many people are with Russia and Putin — any comment regarding that situation wouldn’t be an issue at all. The problem, apparently, was that I had the audacity to mention an Asian country and that is enough to be racist and he needs to educate me about it.

Another anecdote: in January 2024, there was a scandal in Germany. A media outlet called Correctiv published an investigation revealing that, in November 2023, a secret meeting had taken place in a hotel near Potsdam. Members of the AfD (the German far-right), an Austrian far-right activist, neo-Nazi groups, and several wealthy figures and businesspeople were there. During the meeting, they presented a “master plan” to deport millions of immigrants — and even German citizens with immigrant backgrounds.

There was national outrage, because in Germany, for obvious historical reasons, racism is a very sensitive topic (as it should be). I wanted to go to the protest that was organized in Berlin, and I posted on Instagram asking who was going, but I had no response.

BUT the very same day of the protest, a girl — German — whom I had met once at a party invited me to join her and her friends after seeing my Instagram story. I thought it was kind of her to invite me, but when I arrived, I realized they were all German. The thing is, this girl had never invited me to anything before, and she never did afterward either. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was included not because anyone actually wanted to hang out with me, but because my presence fit the context: the protest was pro-immigration and antifascist, and having a woman immigrant in their group made it “look right” or cooler. My personhood didn’t matter — just what I represented in that moment.

I keep questioning why she only thought of me in that specific context. That was the only time she considered me for a plan, and she contated me just hours before the protest. So what went through her head before inviting me? I’m not saying this was conscious, but that is precisely what I talk about in this essay: the subtle forms of racism, sometimes even disguised as good intentions. Was it really about me, or just about how having me there made her group look cooler, less white, open, and “integrative” in that moment?.

“I’m the white person, but I’d be the offended one!”

M is not alone in this condescending behavior. It’s worth noting that many white people, in a desperate attempt not to appear racist, overreact — sometimes excessively — to things that people of color often don’t even mind. In fact, in many groups of people of color from different regions, dark humor and joking about racial stereotypes is extremely common. Yes, we sometimes say outrageous things to each other — but the point of dark humor isn’t to mock the person who is the target of the joke; it’s to laugh at the absurdity of the idea or the person saying it. Most importantly: nobody gets offended, because we don’t have to perform anything.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

I understand there is a sense of white guilt, and it’s wonderful when people are self-aware and genuinely want to do better. But what I’m talking about here is exaggeration and performative wokeness — when the focus shifts from the real issues to showing others how “aware” you are, often more than the people actually experiencing racism.

Actually, on places like Reddit, you’ll find lots of posts talking about exactly this:

One summer we were sitting with two friends along the Maybachufer canal in Berlin, having beers. Nearby, a Black person (I mention their race because it will be important later) who was clearly on drugs and behaving in an extremely violent way was breaking glass bottles and throwing them dangerously close to people. Everyone was shocked — leaving, trying to calm him down — nothing worked. It really needed to be stopped; he was being dangerous. So we decided to call the police because no one could handle the situation, what else were we supposed to do? Just walk away and let him keep throwing glass at random people? Of course not. The group sitting next to us also called them. And by the way: we never mentioned his race — only what he was doing, what he was wearing, and where we were.

As soon as the police arrived, they handled the situation, the guy calmed down, and nothing escalated. But then a white German woman (who wasn’t even there before — she was just passing by on her bike and saw the guy surrounded by police) immediately approached us demanding to know who had called the police. We said it was us and explained why, and she began criticizing us, saying it was unacceptable to call the police because the person was Black. The problem wasn’t the man’s race — it was his dangerous behavior — but she turned it into a racial issue, performing outrage and implying we had done something morally wrong.

As mentioned, nothing happened to the guy — the police simply calmed him down, gave him a warning and left. But her reaction revealed something deeper: how quickly some white people turn someone else’s reality into a stage for their own moral performance. Instead of acknowledging the actual situation — someone putting others at risk — she reframed everything around race, not to protect him, but to display her awareness, her virtue, her progressive credentials. In the end, her outrage wasn’t about protecting him, or us, or the community. It was about lecturing others (and oh, I forgot to mention that in my group we were three non-white Chileans) And that, ironically, is what real racism looks like: when someone is reduced to a symbol in another person’s moral narrative — whether to demonize them or, just as damaging, to “save” them in a way that erases the reality of what actually happened. Nothing happened to her or to the guy, yet she was extremely offended.

Another experience I had was in a shibari class. The instructor was talking about the origins of the practice and how it should always be approached with respect because it comes from Japan — all good with that — but the instructor quickly became unbearable. They were the typical white person desperately trying not to seem “just white,” so everything was offensive to them. I think they were from Finland.

At some point, they told an anecdote about a shibari event where a white person was wearing what they called a “kimono” and criticized it as cultural appropriation. I don’t deny that cultural appropriation exists and can be offensive, but not everything qualifies. The funny part? They clearly had no idea what a kimono actually is. The garment they described wasn’t a kimono at all! It just a short jacket with very wide sleeves — yet they were lecturing everyone about why it was offensive and why it shouldn’t be worn, especially in that context.

How can you claim to police cultural appropriation, get offended by it, and “protect” a culture when you don’t even know what the culture’s actual garment looks like?

A kimono is a VERY specific garment: straight-cut in a T shape, tied with a sash called an obi, usually made of silk, and ALWAYS long — down to the ankles. I mean, we’ve all seen geishas, right? (At least in the media.) But somehow, western people call anything with wide sleeves a kimono — because, clearly, we have no clue. This person wasn’t just lecturing others about cultural appropriation without knowing what they were talking about, they were doing it on behalf of Japanese people, while getting outrageously offended while telling the story — ridiculous.

Photo by Naveen Kumar on Unsplash

Sorry, but calling every robe with wide sleeves a kimono doesn’t show respect or knowledge; in fact, just shows ignorance. I find that way more offensive than wearing a real kimono with respect.

Most likely, all the garments we call “kimono” are most likely inspired a Hanfu, which is Chinese garment, and it also has very specific characteristics, so we cannot call these pieces Hanfu either, and the thing is there are many pieces like this in different cultures. The guy from the story, was most likely, wearing something like this:

People, these aren’t kimonos. They might be inspired by kimonos? Maybe, as well as many other pieces from Asian cultures: hanfu, haori, hanbok, even saris. These pieces here are not culturally bonded to any culture, I can assure you. You are not offending anyone by wearing a blouse.

How can you give lessons on cultural appropriation if you don’t even know what you’re talking about? It becomes obvious that it’s all about them being the center of attention and showing everyone that they know better even if they don’t.

I’ve met a few Japanese people, and at least those I’ve spoken to enjoy seeing others appreciate their culture — including wearing kimonos (maybe not all of them, fair). The same goes for things like dreadlocks: some people (mostly white in my experience) say only Black people can have them, yet I haven’t personally met a Black person who’s upset by it (not to say none exist). The point is: let people speak for themselves. Don’t get offended on their behalf!! They know better than you about their culture, what is offensive to them, they don’t need your white opinion. Otherwise, it’s just performative, and you’re making assumptions purely to show off in front of others.

Also, cultural appropriation is often criticized only when we don’t wear or practice the thing in question. Let me tell you something: if there’s something that truly counts as cultural appropriation, IT’S YOGA!

Photo by kike vega on Unsplash

Yoga originated in India around 5.000 years ago, and is much more than a form of exercise — it’s deeply spiritual and rooted in Hindu philosophy, connected to meditation, self-discipline, and religious practices — so basically something very sacred and culturally significant. For millions of Indians, yoga is a way of life, a spiritual path, and a sacred tradition. And yet, it is widely practiced worldwide by white people — in gyms, studios, and retreats — often completely divorced from its spiritual and cultural context, with white instructors, and surprisingly, few seem to have an issue with it (not even Indians themselves). The double standard is striking. Meanwhile, people are quick to call out cultural appropriation in other contexts, even while they participate in this same kind of cultural detachment themselves.

Performative “Anti-Racism” That Ends Up Being Racist

Once met a guy from Cameroon at work who experienced exactly this— that white people constantly act “positively” or with “good intentions,” giving him a kind of “special treatment” that is noticeable, but in reality ends up reminding him of his race, that he is “different” all the time. It’s not that they explicitly comment on his skin, but their attitudes, questions, and constant “careful” remarks made him hyper-aware of being different. For example, people would frequently ask if he missed the heat (they do this to me too, and I’m from a cold region), if he’s ever faced discrimination (not a bad question, but it was constantly and by many people), or repeatedly commented on how “exotic” he must find Berlin — all framed as friendly “curiosity”. On the surface, it seems considerate, but it continually highlights a distance and difference, and he felt like he can’t just exist without this lens being applied to him. Why could’t they just ask him normal questions about himself?

He also shared a funny example: when it got dark, he’d joke that he couldn’t see his own arms because of his dark skin — he found it hilarious. But white people around him would instantly get uncomfortable, as if that were offensive. Seriously? Not being able to see yourself at night because of your skin color is a fact, not an insult. But white people seem to lose their minds over a comment like that.

A similar situation happened during the week of George Floyd’s death in 2020. I was living in Wrangelkiez in Berlin, near Görlitzer Park, which has a large Black community. Suddenly, many white residents who had barely interacted with the Black community before started engaging with them — having coffee together, chatting on the sidewalk, seemingly out of nowhere. It was so obvious: now that Black Lives Matter was visible, everyone needed to demonstrate that they were the “good” white person who cared.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

The point isn’t that white people shouldn’t be aware of racism — being conscious of systemic issues is crucial — but when attention is performative, temporary, reactive, or self-serving, it becomes about proving moral superiority rather than genuinely supporting or respecting the people actually affected. A large number of people engaging in this behavior, combined with how short-lived it was, made it clear this was more about appearance than action. Even if some were genuinely curious or wanted to understand the experiences of Black people in the neighborhood regarding police presence — particularly in a park known for regular raids and detentions — the collective behavior quickly became a performance. The focus shifted away from the Black community and their lived realities, and centered instead on white people demonstrating how “woke” and caring they are. Even if it was only for a brief moment, it was about maximizing the visibility of their own “goodness” — doing it at another time wouldn’t have had the same impact.

We have to question the intentions here: were these interactions driven by genuine concern for the community, or by a desire to cleanse their own conscience for something they had never cared about before? The performative nature makes it clear that, for many, the focus was on themselves, not on justice or solidarity. Even the guy I was dating back then, who also lived nearby, invited a guy from the park over for dinner to his place after a random interaction. Wanting to “be friends” or “bond” with someone solely because of their race isn’t allyship — it’s racism disguised as virtue. Of course, he never saw him again after that dinner; he had already “checked off” his quota of temporary racial integration.

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Once we were at an event with a friend and her friends (all white), and we needed to get our tickets to enter. The guy who had the tickets was Black, so when someone asked me who had them — since I already got mine — I said, “It’s the Black guy over there.” Some people looked at me as if I had said the N-word or something. I mean, he was part of the staff, all wearing black clothes — how else was I supposed to describe him? He wasn’t especially tall or short or had any other distinctive feature.

How on earth did describing someone as Black come to be considered wrong if they are, in fact, Black? You can freely say someone is blonde or red-haired without issue — so why not Black? Normally, if someone is wearing a striking outfit or something visually noticeable, you might comment on that to help others identify them, but this wasn’t the case.

So who is really projecting negative assumptions here? Highlighting someone’s skin color in certain contexts can obviously be harmful, but if it’s purely descriptive, it isn’t offensive. If someone is Black, they are Black — and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that fact. Being Black is not an insult! Also: Context matters.

Photo by Eye for Ebony on Unsplash

When white people often get more offended than people of color themselves isn’t just annoying — it’s condescending. It’s the attitude of “I know better; I’ll teach you, the person of color, what racism is, and decide for you what’s offensive or not.” And that’s when you realize: it’s not about the person of color or minorities at all — once again — it’s about them. It’s about showing everyone else how not-racist they are, how morally superior they can be, while silencing you and putting the spotlight on themselves.

A white person teaching a person of color about racism, speaking on their behalf without ever asking their opinions or feelings — is just wild and at its core, it’s pure white privilege and the entitlement that comes with it.

About being coloured & being white

I have very pale skin, but race isn’t defined by skin color alone — it’s also about features. I’m mixed race; I have indigenous features, and I’m 1.70 m tall (not tall, but not short either). Obviously, in Chile, I wasn’t considered “colored.” It was only when I moved here that people started calling me “coloured,” which felt really strange, because I had never experienced it before. I know I’m not white, but I also grew up in a white family.

It’s interesting that being labeled “colored” was not a reflection of how I see myself, but rather how others chose to categorize me. The moment I moved here, my features suddenly became a marker to distinguish me from the “default” whiteness around me. In many cases, these labels are less about identity and more about signaling difference, often by people who have the privilege of defining categories without having to live under them. The label felt arbitrary and alienating, marking distance rather than describing my reality or feelings.

So what does it really mean to be “white”? Is it about culture? Or only race? Both? Where do people who are considered white but are African or Latin American fall in terms of category? It’s a complex topic, and it can make having a clear sense of identity really difficult. In contexts like the U.S. or South Africa (just to give a few examples), using racial categories carries real weight, tied to histories of oppression and social hierarchies. But in my case, the label was externally applied, and it made me realize that race is socially constructed and deeply contextual: the same person can be “white” in one society, “colored” in another, or somewhere in between, depending on who is looking and the structures of privilege in play.

“I love latinas”

M’s comment I mentioned before about Latina women is part of a larger pattern — not all men in Germany behave this way, of course, but I’ve encountered it often. On dating apps, I got messages like: “I love that you’re Latina,” “I love Latinas,” or even more bizarrely, “My friends told me to date a Latina, but I wasn’t convinced. You sound like a soft onboarding Latina version though! (whatever the fuck that means — this was a ping I got on Feeld back in August this year).

Really, what is that even supposed to mean? How exactly is a “Latina” expected to behave? And what’s wrong with your friends recommending women by ethnicity as if they were recommending a brand of shampoo that “works really well”? It’s dehumanizing as fuck. Are we supposed to be sweeter? More sexual? More submissive? Louder? Funnier? Spicier? What’s the deal? Because I genuinely don’t get it.

And of course, when you ask men to explain this, they usually can’t. The moment they’re confronted, they realize how absurd — and racist — their assumptions sound out loud. Yet some still manage to get offended, or even insult you, simply because you pointed out the obvious.

Photo by Darya Luganskaya on Unsplash

This is part of a broader issue, though. Fetishizing races and ethnicities — and this adds another layer, because now we’re talking about both racism and sexism here. It happens to Asian women, Black women, and Latin women alike. Everyone can have preferences — I have mine too — but there’s a difference between liking someone and reducing them to a stereotype based on their race. Nobody says, “Oh, I love European men because they’re all like this and that” as if it were a norm on how they are and behave. Yet somehow, women from certain regions are treated as a category, a label, rather than individuals — like something you’d see on a porn website.

This behavior turns your identity into a performance for someone else’s fantasy. Instead of seeing and appreciating you as a whole person, they approach you based on their own imagined version of a “Latin woman” — a stereotype largely shaped by the media (and, in my opinion, heavily influenced by how U.S. media portray Latinos/Latinas) — which has nothing to do with who I actually am.

My use of social media is limited, but sometimes my feed shows me garbage that I have no idea why it’s there — the algorithm shouldn’t be suggesting that content since I don’t consume it and I’m not interested. Yet it appears. I’ve seen a lot of accounts from women where their bio says “Latina,” which shows that some women also embrace this concept — even though I still don’t really understand what it means — as a way to brand themselves. So, for sure, this comes from both sides, but one thing doesn’t cancel out the other. Besides, this concept of being ‘latina’ is often tied to self-objetification, a topic I touched in another article if you want to check it out.

Photo by Darren Lawrence on Unsplash

Just as women aren’t exempt from objectifying or stereotyping ourselves, we aren’t exempt from doing it to others either and women can, of course, be racist too. I’ve come across countless women who are obsessed with Black men, stereotypically believing they all have huge penises. Girls: not all Black men are extremely well-endowed or “stallions” in bed — please, let’s stop believing everything we see in porn, and maybe even consider stopping watching it altogether (I also wrote about that here). Choosing to sleep with someone for that reason is objectifying and dehumanizing. Black men, like anyone else, deserve not to be reduced to that. And it’s just as wrong to avoid getting involved with Asian men because they’re assumed to have a small penis. My God.

People can be disrespectful in so many ways. Once, a guy I was supposed to have first date with, made me wait 30 minutes without letting me know he was going to be that late. When I messaged him, his response was that since I was “Latina,” he assumed I would be late xD. I mean, it couldn’t be more stereotypical or disrespectful. And even if that were true, the respectful thing to do would still be to show up on time — not because he’s German, but simply because it’s the right thing to do, yet he tried to put the blame on me! I was, once again, flabbergasted. Of course, I didn’t want to meet him after that comment. I told him he was a racist bastard who clearly needed some manners, I unmatched him and just left… but the audacity to think that was an okay thing to say, was completely surreal.

No one is free from racism. Period.

Yes, no one is. Why? Becaue it’s a systemic problem, because the system itself is racist, and we all grow up within it. It’s also classist, sexist, and shaped by many other forms of bias. Most (decent) people don’t want to be labeled as racist, yet in the effort to not appear racist, it often backfires — as in the examples I’ve shared.

And let me be clear: I too have stereotyped or had dismissive thoughts about people from other parts of the world — I’m not a supreme being. No one is immune. People of color aren’t either; it’s not uncommon to see individuals from certain regions or continents holding prejudices against others in their own region based on stereotypes or some countries hating each other based purely on nationalities.

We are so focused on not appearing racist, sexist, or otherwise biased that we often forget the most important thing: we need to examine ourselves. Reflecting on our thoughts, assumptions, and behaviors is fundamental to challenging what we have been taught.

If you are truly interested in other cultures, make the effort to learn about them. Admitting you don’t know something is not a sin — and asking respectful questions is always welcome.

The problem is when people don’t know, but still assume, guess, or project clichés onto you. That’s how we end up hearing things like: “Oh, you must really miss the heat!”,“You must love the beach!”,“You love spicy food, right?”, “Winters must be really tough for you!”. But here’s the thing: when you rely on clichés instead of curiosity, you’re not trying to connect with someone — you’re trying to pretend you already understand them. You’re not seeing the person; you’re seeing a stereotype you’ve built in your head. And that’s not cultural awareness. That’s entitlement wrapped in “good intentions.”

Without questioning ourselves and confronting our biases, there can be no real progress and no growth, and that applies to everything in life. Saying “I’m not racist” is not enough if we don’t actively challenge stereotypes, misinformation, and generalizations. Understanding, reflection, and action are what truly matter.

If you enjoyed this article or have any comments, please feel free to leave them below! I’d really appreciate it if you could give me a clap to help the algorithm share this with more people, especially if it resonates with you. Thanks so much for reading and/or sharing — it truly means a lot to me! ^^