I Am Not Your Fetish

Fetishes are not justifications to sexualize and objectify Black, Indigenous, and People of Color. Graphic by Ricki Kalayci.

My ex complimented me on many things: when I wore a plaid skirt with tights or high-socks, when I spoke Tagalog with my mother on the phone, or when I experimented with different hairstyles and wore pigtails occasionally. I thought it was endearing until I remember him saying, “I’m really attracted to Asian girls—you’re like a cute, little anime girl.”

Suddenly, all those compliments felt shallow. Instead of showing appreciation for my evolving style or acknowledging how important it was to chat with people I deeply love and care about, I was reduced to somebody’s “turn-on.”

The comments my ex made about me didn’t come out of love but rather, a fetish. A fetish that objectified my ethnic identities. He even flip-flopped between fetishizing my Filipinx identity and my Puerto Rican identity––depending on what seemed more appealing to him that day.

Fetishes can be benign and promote healthy sexual expression when the person respects their partners and consistently prioritizes consent. However, fetishes can also be harmful and discriminatory when they are used to divorce a person from their body and treat them like an object. The normalization of fetishes that sexualize ethnic and racial identities serves to justify the racism, colorism, patriarchy and rape culture that marginalized communities have to contend with.

The fetishization of ethnic and racial identities stem from a long history of white supremacy and colonization. Thefetishization of Black women throughout history originated from turning Black people’s bodies into exhibitions when European colonizers invaded different African countries.

Terms like “yellow fever” come from a Westernized fascination with light skinned, East Asian women who were stereotyped in mainstream media as either the “Dragon Lady”—a seductress who became the demise of white men—or as the submissive, obedient “Lotus Blossom” whose sole purpose was to be a sexual servant.

The sexualization of racial and ethnic identities have a long history that pervades generationally and not just within romantic settings. Fetishization is ever-present and seeps into the relationships of marginalized people everywhere. However, I do wish I could say my unfortunate relationship with my ex was the first time where I was satiating someone’s gross desire.

I experienced ethnic fetishes for the first time at a birthday party. Growing up, I always accompanied my mother to birthday parties with a tray filled with piping hot lumpia––traditional Filipino spring rolls––and my mother always received praise and questions about her secret recipe. It helped me feel more comfortable in my culture, especially growing up in predominantly white spaces of North Carolina. That was the case until an old-white-man infringed on the uplifting space, making me and my mother uncomfortable.

It started out seemingly innocent; raving about the lumpia and asking questions about her upbringing. But then, he confessed his gross obsession with Filipina and Japanese women and how exotic our features are. And, to my horror, his wife was Filipina, and he had three young daughters.

I was 14 years old, and I had just experienced a terrifying instance of fetishization for the first time.

I often return to this memory whenever I’m swiping on Tinder and the person I match with asks me, “What are you?” I always know how this conversation will pan out: it’ll turn into the other person ticking off a list of stereotypical ways my ethnic and cultural identity is desirable to them. Asian women are petite, feminine, and submissive. Latina women are sassy with boatloads of attitude and allure.

My matches on these dating apps are always casual with talking about my superficial attributes as if they are trophies to explore, to conquer, and to exploit.

Microaggressions like these had a detrimental effect on my self-esteem as I became more hyper-focused on my ethnic identities. Slowly, I found myself scrutinizing over my body and features rather than embracing them.

When fetishes are expressed non-consensually, it can reveal the inherent harm behind the fetishes and the history behind them, according to Cosmopolitan. I believe there is value in exploring our desires and expressing them without feeling ashamed. When I entered the dating scene, I made an intention to prioritize my desires and express them unapologetically. Women, especially women of color, are often shamed for wanting, not just being wanted.

But with pleasure comes consent, and there’s a big difference between having desires and weaponizing your desires at the expense of someone’s identity.

Fetishes are normal to have, but when they reduce a person's identity to a sexual desire, it takes away our agency to represent our whole individuality and causes oppression to be replicated in one-on-one relationships. This changes the dating landscape because it leads many to believe that their preferences are innocent and not prejudicial.

Nothing about problematic fetishes should be considered endearing or “a preference.” My ethnic identity does not deserve to be informed by white men whose fetishization only applies to the idea of me, rather than my actual self.

I don’t exist for your pleasure, and I am not your fetish.