Tag: quakerism

In their book Writing The Other, Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward talk about how to avoid building characters that are mere stereotypes. This is especially tough for secondary characters, because we tend to see them only through the eyes of viewpoint characters, so we may only get a very shallow look at who they are:

Generally, a secondary character has one main character trait. However, a secondary character shouldn’t be that one trait exclusively. Neither should all the secondary character’s few illustrated traits point to the same ROAARS [Race, Orientation, Ability, Age, Religion, Sex] category. That makes a stereotype of even the most minor of “bit players.”

I took their workshop in June, and I’ve been thinking about this a lot since–especially in light of my own transition to Plain Dress. I’m getting used to people making assumptions about me because of the way I dress. I’m getting used to people staring, photographing me without my permission, and asking me about what my deal is, because my clothing is unusual. It’s a Marked State.

Nisi and Cynthia’s advice about writing secondary characters so their traits don’t all line up with stereotypes rings very true to me, in light of this experience. I’ve seen how laughably wrong people’s assumptions can be.

It is weird to me how many folks seem to rail against such a sensible suggestion–I’ve heard it called “PC bull” that “distracts from the story” over the wailing of “but stereotypes exist for a reason.”

Indeed, they do. That reason is confirmation bias.

If you only see me occasionally, or in transactional contexts, you’re going to notice that I’m a plain Quaker. I wear long sleeves. I cover my hair. I don’t drink alcohol. I make an effort to recognize the humanity in others, even when I’m having a bad day–not because I’m saintly but because I’m really, really not, and dressing the way I do can remind me of my commitment to being a good person when nothing else does. I can be stringent about my religious beliefs, and I’m not afraid to quote the bible if I think it’ll get someone off my case about not taking oaths or using honorifics. If you see me only through a mirror, dimly, it is easy to imagine that the parts of me occluded by the old glass line up in ways that you expect with the parts that show.

I know because I’ve watched people imagine this. I’ve watched them peer at me through their clouded glass and interact with the reflection their mind has made of me, instead of with the real me in front of them.

We are all accustomed to not knowing much about people we’ve just met. But the more marked your state, the less likely people are to know how little they know about you–their mind fills in the space behind the flaws in their glass so seamlessly that they forget the flaws are there at all. They’ll believe their picture of you is much more complete than it really is.

As we get to know people, the view through our glass naturally shifts–we see them from more than one angle, and in different lights. Through this process, we learn to see around the flaws in our glass to what’s actually there.

I have a motorcycle.

The plain clothes I wear are actually typical of men’s plain dress, not women’s, because women’s plain dress made me feel out of place in my skin.

I’m a computer programmer.

I’m bisexual, but that’s never been a crisis of faith for me. God made me this way, and God doesn’t make trash.

I cuss.

A lot.

I’m trying to stop, but it’s an ingrained habit.

There’s not much of the bible I can quote without looking it up. And by ‘looking it up,’ I mean ‘with google,’ because I can’t remember where anything is in there.

This summer, I went to a science museum with some friends, including two other plain Quakers. I bought a plush space shuttle from the gift shop. Shortly after leaving, I realized the space shuttle looked like a penis (seriously, it does). I giggled about this, because I’m secretly twelve, and the others started giggling too. Another member of our party didn’t get what was so funny, so one of my plain compatriots explained the joke by, uh, gesturing with the toy.

A cab driver stopped at a red light nearby nearly died laughing. “You’re so bad!” he called, before driving away. We laughed. Even from a distance, the cab driver could tell the toy designers were having a laugh at the expense of unobservant shoppers.

Later, I realized that what made it so funny to the cab driver probably wasn’t the toy, or even the pantomime. It was that my friend was making a lewd joke while plain.

No one expects people in religious dress to make dick jokes.

Some of us do it anyway.

It would be easy to dismiss me as ‘an exception that proves the rule,’ but that’s confirmation bias as well. The saying doesn’t actually mean ‘prove’ as in ‘confirm.’ It means ‘prove’ as in ‘test, challenge–‘ if you’ve found one exception, how many others might there be? If you’ve met one butch bisexual feminist Quaker biker with a pottymouth and a gutterbrain, how many other plain Quakers might be people you don’t expect? None of these traits are unique to me. For each one, I can name another Quaker who shares the trait.

We can’t always repair the flaws in the glass through which we see the world. These scratches, clouds, and nicks are borne of a lifetime of conditioning.

But when we’re aware of them, we can look around them–shift our view and actively look for the things confirmation bias would have us discard. It’s hard work, but rewarding. We live far more interesting lives if we interact with people face to face, instead of through a dim glass.

And you never know what kinds of jokes your glass obscures.

I wear religious dress. (Quakers call this “plain dress”). Sometimes, people ask me about my clothes or my religion. Most folks are very polite and respectful, and I’m usually happy to answer.

But I’ve also had to put up with a lot of bad behavior. Even innocent curiosity can cause a few moments of stress while I figure out if the person asking is genuinely curious, or if they’re just trying to engage me in conversation so they can be a jerk.

I want to talk a little bit about how to approach these questions respectfully. I’m not the Voice Of All People In Religious Dress, but I’ve user-tested this conversation enough times to have run into many of the common user experience bugs. So if you’re curious about someone’s religious dress and you want to ask about it without making the person uncomfortable, here are some ways to avoid the common pitfalls.

0. Be Mindful of Power Differentials.

Questions about religion have the potential to be fraught and uncomfortable. If I’m not at liberty to refuse to answer you, or may feel that I’m not at liberty to refuse, you should think long and very hard about where the burden of your curiosity should lie. Teachers, bosses, and law enforcement officers should be especially careful here. If you’re in a position of power and not absolutely sure of your rapport with the person you’re asking, it’s best to just not ask.

1. Choose your moment.

Asking people about religion can be personal, but before we even get to that, it’s still striking up a conversation with someone, and all the normal rules apply. Take a second to consider whether I look like I’m interested in a conversation with you. Am I rushing to get somewhere? Am I using body language or other clear signals (book, earbuds) that say ‘leave me alone?’ Am I already in the middle of another conversation?

When I’m at restaurants with other plain-dressed Quakers, people routinely come up to our table and interrupt us mid-sentence to ask why we’re dressed the way we are. Follow-up questions about what Quakerism is and what we believe are common. Sometimes I just want to have a nice meal with my friends and family without having to table for Quakerism to complete strangers.

2. Ask if you can ask.

If I seem receptive to conversing with you (or better yet, if we’re already conversing, or have done so in the past), ask me if I want to talk about my religion. It helps to phrase it in a way that makes your intentions clear. People sometimes bring this up because they want to start an argument. I appreciate it when people open with something like “I’m curious about your head-covering, but I don’t want to be disrespectful. Is it okay for me to ask about it?”

When you’ve asked, respect my answer. If I’m not up for it at the present moment but I’m okay talking to you about it later or in a different context, I’ll tell you so. Also, I may be up for a quick question, but not a lengthy theological discussion–when I tell you I’m done, I’m done.

3. Don’t argue with me.

I’m not going to try to convert you or tell you how to dress, and I expect the same courtesy. Curiosity is normal, but telling me I’m wrong to dress the way I do is incredibly presumptuous. I’m also not interested in debating my beliefs or politics with strangers in this context.

4. Be careful with assumptions.

The assumptions I get about my clothes range from the benign (mistaking me for an actor in costume) to the tiresome (launching into a tirade about my assumed politics without stopping to say hello first).

I don’t tend to care when someone asks me what play I’m dressed for, but they usually look super embarrassed when I tell them it’s not a costume, and then I have to assure them that they didn’t offend me, and it’s all quite awkward. You also shouldn’t open with “are you [name of religion]?” It’s easy to guess wrong, and keep in mind what I said about making your intentions clear–I’m unlikely to answer that question unless I know why you’re asking.

If you make assumptions about my politics and try to start arguments based on those assumptions, I might troll you. I’m not sorry. You know what they say about assumptions.

I’m not trying to scare people off asking. I’m quite a geek about religion, and we all know that geeks like opportunities to geek out. Just, you know. Treat me like a person, not a walking Google search, and we’ll get along fine.

On and off through my adult life, I’ve been carrying what Quakers call a ‘leading’ –a spiritual calling–to take up Quaker Plain Dress. In college, I did an independent study on Plain Dress that involved taking it up for a while, and I came this close to committing to it as a lifestyle. Plain Dress was very grounding, for me. I don’t want to get too theological about it at the moment, but suffice it to say that it helped remind me of the person that I wanted to be. In a bunch of little ways, it made it easier for me to live my Quaker values.

I laid the leading aside at the time because plain dress is a big commitment when you’re trying to break into the workforce, especially in a tough economy. But I always told myself I’d revisit the leading if my circumstances changed. Over the years since, the leading has revisited me quite a lot. My bookmarked plain dress resources made their way into my browser history every few weeks.

My professional circumstances have indeed changed, and pretty significantly. I’m now in a profession where employee dress codes are practically unheard-of. But even if I was still working in a formal office environment, I’ve come to a place where I think I’d try to make it work anyway. Among Friends, a leading isn’t a thing you necessarily want to do; it’s a thing God is telling you to do. I’ve been answering that call with “okay, but later.” And while I wasn’t looking, I arrived at later. It’s time.

I’ve started putting together a ‘look board’ to work off of as I construct my plain wardrobe. Since I’m making my own clothes, I have a lot of leeway in coming up with a style that works for me. What I’ve settled on is a fusion of traditional plain styles and what Quaker Jane calls “modern plain.” I’m trying for a look that is identifiably plain, but still modern enough that it’s not going to cause problems for me as a woman in the Tech industry.

So I’m off to go buy some fabric. I’m pretty excited.