Exposure mag 122 Identity

Editorial What makes you unique? How do you define yourself?

And how do you react when others misunderstand or pigeonhole you?

This edition, compiled by young people in Barnet, tackles the question of identity head on.

It’s human instinct to judge and to categorise others, but that can be frustrating for those on the receiving end. Even if our society here in London is more culturally diverse than ever, people still assume certain character traits based purely on appearance.

The mainstream media often reinforce such prejudices. Film and TV sometimes misrepresent minority groups, or even fail to represent them at all.

Yet, with technology giving us more freedom and opportunity to express ourselves than ever, we can

use our own media to speak out for ourselves – as young people across Barnet have done in these pages.

It’s hard to escape the pressure to look and act a certain way; social media in particular has both magnified and amplified how image-conscious many of us are. But young people know that identity runs much deeper than what others see on the surface.

We know that identity is malleable too, and we can wear different masks to protect ourselves or help us fit in.

Ultimately, what makes us unique is how we feel inside; what we care about: our pursuits and our passions. Pursuing our passions is a great way to feel confident in who we are — and then, what the rest of the world thinks, will matter less and less.

Exposure is an award winning youth communications enterprise. If you are considering a creative or media based career then get involved. Gain confidence, skills, know-how, contacts and experience to succeed in the media, visual arts, film and web-based industries. Complete the Exposure Award, and start your career with us now.

Exposure is a registered trademark of Exposure Organisation Limited, registered in England no. 03455480 Registered charity no. 1073922. The views expressed by young people in Exposure do not necessarily reflect those of the publisher or its funders. (c) 2016. All rights reserved. ISSN 1362-8585

Contributors

Alfie Cartwright

Jahan Jiwa

Niamh Haran Zoe Grant Jenna White Rhianna Stevens Memuna Rashid Alex Wills

Louisa Stratton

Katie Warren

Jamilla Sutton

India de Bono Andri Boda Umut Ekinci Naomi Shoretire Sheneil Francis

020 8883 0260 07715 642 918 info@exposure.org.uk www.exposure.org.uk

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Special thanks to John Lyon’s Charity for providing the grant to make this project possible. Thank you to Joanna Greatwich and the students at Woodhouse College, Christ’s College and Barnet and Southgate College.

Chloe May

Teens on screen The depiction of teens in film & TV is far from perfect says Jahan Jiwa Teenagers. What do you think of when you hear the term? Personally, I picture awkward males with weird facial hair and bitchy girls with hormonal problems and acne.

Most casting directors and producers, however, want us to be glamorous and sophisticated. We may not all be spotty and nervous, but the Hollywood version is definitely not the reality. That doesn’t stop them miscasting: Rachel McAdams was 27 years old when she was cast as the 16-year-old Regina in ‘Mean Girls’.

Alan Ruck was 29 years old when he played the 17-year-old Cameron in ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.

Adults playing adolescents is incredibly common. It’s not only unrealistic; it is also damaging to teenagers at home watching these inaccurate portrayals.

As an 18-year-old who has struggled with low self-esteem most of her life, seeing actors aged 25+ playing characters who are meant to be my age fills me with insecurity. Last year, I was the same age as Regina from ‘Mean Girls’... Was I supposed to have her curves, her silky hair, her flawless skin?

When I turn 27, am I supposed to look youthful enough to pass for 16? Being confident these days is hard enough – with ‘photoshopped’ models on magazine covers and celebrities getting plastic surgery. We teenagers already have a horrible notion that we are imperfect and need to get rid of what society considers to be flaws.

I can understand – to an extent – why adults are cast to play teenagers. They can work longer hours – which means scenes can be filmed more quickly. In the UK, 16-17-year-olds are only allowed to work eight hours a day or 40 hours over the course of a week; adults can work up to 48 hours. Adults don’t need to be in full-time education, which means they have more time to be on set and don’t have to stress about exams and studying alongside their job.

But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to cast actual

teenagers. One powerful example of doing this successfully is the Channel 4 TV show ‘Skins’.

Run from 2007-2013 and set in Bristol, it follows three groups of teenagers through sixth-form. They experience the things that real teenagers experience: homelessness, death, drug taking, binge drinking, depression, feelings of suicide, pregnancy, exam stress, same-sex relationships and cancer.

The relevance of these topics and convincing acting made the show incredibly moving (the show was seen as ‘raising the game’ of teen TV). I remember crying when Jal found out she was pregnant, when Effy was going through manic depression, and when Grace died in a car accident. These scenes were wonderfully written —but best of all, the actors were all around the same age as their characters. Compare that to the film ‘Grease’, for example: Stockard Channing was 34 when she was playing an 18-year-old high school student. Her character, Rizzo deals with an unplanned pregnancy — while Stockard was on her third marriage at the time.

Of course, even the the scenes in ‘Skins’ don’t necessarily reflect real life; one critic called the show a “glossy fantasy” – pointing out, for example, that

When I turn 27, am I supposed to look youthful enough to pass for 16? parents never seemed to ask where their kids were going. (Unlike some more realistic shows such as ‘The Inbetweeners’, for example.) But, in my view, that’s ok: this is TV drama, after all. A rather dramatic and perhaps unlikely but gripping storyline is acceptable.

An actor who I could never identify with, on the other hand, is not.

To all the casting directors and producers out there: I can understand that older actors are more experienced. But please represent us truthfully.

It is unrealistic for us to be played by fully grown adults, and doing so just further damages our self-esteem: which, to be honest, for some of us, is pretty low already.

As the world begins Louisa Stratton imagines the world as a social chameleon I’m in my shell this dawn, with tired eyes and fetid breath. Open my eyes, with no feeling other than wanting to sleep a little longer. Just like the others in my house, I’ll fill up my shell with what I find this morning.

There’s no one to see me, so I wander around these floors I’ve walked so many times with little expression or emotion; just with anticipation to see what I’ll become, as the world begins to watch me.

Time ticks on, more shells come out of their rooms.

We put on our masks and converse. I say: hello, how’s it going, or maybe just goodbye when I leave. I eat, drink and, most importantly, I collect my phone. I make my shell look presentable, eyeliner applied and hair carefully tousled. Then it’s time to go, in a rush

as always. I step outside and let the cold air influence how I should feel today.

I’m a fun one this morning, a being that forces myself out to greet my friends. In the middle of the group, I’m loud and obscene, trying to shock them – but only as much as will make them laugh. I feel happy when my friends giggle, screech, exchange banter. Inside, I wonder: who are they really?

For hours and hours teachers talk at me. What are they saying? What am I saying? Vocabulary that doesn’t feel like mine pours from my vocal cords. I won’t question if I’m saying what is right for myself. I do not wish to be an outcast.

I’m a polite one this afternoon, with no friends to surround me until the end of the day. I impress people older than me — teachers, careers advisors — by smiling and showing interest through my eyes.

And if I mess up, my innocent self arrives, face tilted down with wide and watery eyes, looking more like six than 16.

to watch me I might smile when someone is patronising me, and be modest when someone praises me, that way I can stay in a safe place. If anyone my age happens to see me, at the tip of hat, I’ll switch.

my family and their friends.

Vocabulary that doesn’t feel like mine pours from my vocal cords.

We’ll misbehave, stay out too late, drink what we probably shouldn’t and not eat when we probably should. We’ll take what others give us and we’ll do whatever will make us look cool.

My eyes dart and narrow, my tongue sharpens. I’ll be rude and cruel again, if it will make them smile at me.

No matter what I do I’ll follow the crowd, do whatever it is others do, until the school day is through. With some friends, I’ll leave this place. I fear that something might crack if I’m on my own with my thoughts for too long.

I’m a tired and confused one this evening, make-up smudged, hair dishevelled - too stressed to deal with people who don’t understand me. I won’t say hello to

If I’m lucky, someone will call me and tell me where I should go, and I’ll leave wearing things meant for fashion not comfort.

Then, when it’s time to leave, I’ll make an excuse so I won’t seem lame for not staying out until I’m too tired to function.

When I get home, I’ll avoid their stares, in case I splinter their image of the little kid they think I still am.

I’m in a shell this night, with tired eyes and shallow breath. I give in to sleep, where I’ll dream about other ones that won’t even show their faces in the light of day. I’ll wait until morning, to choose which version of me I will become.

My life’s a work of

Katie Warren considers what it means to define herself as a writer Identity runs deeper than what is visible from the outside. It’s more than skin colour, or gender, or subculture. It’s who you feel you are on the inside: what drives and inspires you.

It’s hard to pinpoint where I’d be without my creativity.

If I couldn’t escape into my own world when the real one was insufferable, I’d be lost.

At times it can feel that outsiders are mercilessly repressing what’s on the inside. “Most writers die poor and alone.” “You’ll never make it as an actor.” “Your band is the same as everyone else’s.”

We’ve heard these statements countless times; we’re encouraged to choose something more practical. But these creative outlets are more than just hobbies: they define who we are. For me, it’s being a writer.

My identity as a writer comes down to purpose.

Someone can enjoy writing but not identify as a writer – in the same way someone can enjoy cooking but not identify as a chef. I don’t just enjoy writing. I live and breathe my creations.

I imagine new situations for these characters even after I’ve finished writing about them. They allow me to explore different identities – for example, imagining what it’s like to be someone in recovery from a traumatic experience, or someone with a dream different to my own.

As I’ve grown up, if I hadn’t been able to explore the lives of my fictional characters, I wouldn’t be the same person I am now. I created my most complex character when I was seven years old. Harry grew up with me, and his story evolved as I discovered more about the world.

Harry began as a happy-go-lucky success story with perfect relationships. However, as time went on, a more intricate, darker back story was to unravel.

He became jealous and paranoid. He doubted his worth and felt the weight of other people’s expectations. The pressures of Harry’s life started to resonate with the pressures I was experiencing, and his personal struggles echoed my sometimes rocky relationships with friends and family.

fiction

I was able to develop Harry’s character through research on mental health, including how certain situations can affect the mind. With this, I have learnt a lot about the ways of the world, why people do what they do, the hardships that people face and how to overcome it.

I don’t just enjoy writing.

I live and breathe my creations My identity as a writer, to some extent, also comes from how others perceive my work. I have published stories online and had feedback from readers around the world. Praise for my writing is great – but nothing beats the feeling when a stranger comments on how they see themselves in something I’ve created.

Becoming a successful writer is tough, and those negative voices dissuading me will probably continue.

I’m not deluded: I know not every aspiring creator can make it professionally. I know that having a dream by itself isn’t enough. When mastering a craft, you only

get as much out of it as you put in.

Experiment with your work; don’t settle for the first thing that comes to mind. To hone your skills, you should know what works best for you.

For example, I could have settled with my original first person style of writing. But I soon realised I could delve deeper into my worlds by writing in the third person instead.

Perseverance and dedication helps to transform a dream into a reality; success won’t just appear on a silver platter ready for the taking. The creative industries are hugely competitive. To succeed, your creations need value, and that can only come from pouring every bit of yourself into them. For me, finding myself as a creator means finding myself as a person.

My dream is for my work to be enjoyed and understood by others, and I have no intention of giving up. It’s my responsibility to ensure I do everything in my power to make my work the best it can be.

After all, I am a writer. It’s my identity.

Abuse by gaslight* Stereotypes get under Jamilla Sutton has a bone to pick with people’s prejudices “What are you?”

“So is English your first language, then?”

“Aren’t you Chinese? I definitely thought you were.”

These are the first questions people usually ask me.

It may seem trivial but I find it more offensive, tiring and frustrating each time I hear them.

I have typically Asian features since I do have distant Chinese heritage. However, I am half English and half Surinamese and my nationality is Dutch. When I tell people this, they are perplexed. I always feel obliged to reveal my whole family history to satisfy their curiosity and so they can put me in a box.

The phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover” may be a cliché but it rings true for me: just because I look a certain way, it doesn’t mean I identify solely with a particular culture.

Most people just see me as the Asian stereotype: passive, not great at speaking English and unsociable (the last is definitely reinforced by my reserved nature). And so my personality is mostly inferred by my appearance – even here in London, one of the most ethnically diverse places in the world.

The Economist reported in 2014 that “the number of people claiming a mixed-ethnic background almost doubled, between 2001-2011, to around 1.2m… As race becomes less clear-cut, schools, hospitals and police forces, which record people’s ethnic identity at almost every opportunity, will have to deal with more fragmented definitions.”

My ethnicity and my nationality are two separate entities. Ethnicity is a social group that shares a common and distinctive culture, religion, and language; nationality is the status of belonging to a particular nation, whether by birth or naturalisation.

Although I do identify with both my ethnicity and nationality there are so many other aspects that define me, like for everyone; from my gender, sexuality, age, lifestyle and clothes to the books I read, films I watch,

music I listen to; the drinks I like, the food I eat, the clubs I go to, to name but a few.

I feel we must do something about people’s assumptions and beliefs, beliefs that can lead to marginalisation and even discrimination.

The media is one place to start. For example, British East Asian actors have criticised broadcasters for the lack of opportunities in TV: Eastern Asians are the third largest minority ethnic group in Britain, but this is not “reflected on our stages and screens”.

When Asian actors do feature, they are often limited to stereotypes: the generic Asian doctor, or the humorous outsider who doesn’t conform to traditional behaviours of society.

It’s hard enough discovering who you are without being constantly questioned and misunderstood by others

my skin It seems white is still the way to be if you want to be successful – a damaging message to young people and how they perceive their own identity.

More authentic representation, on the other hand, would allow audiences to relate better to depictions of their ethnicity – and to feel more comfortable in their own skin.

It is not only about the implicit messages conveyed by the media, we also need targeted education to tackle prejudice and misunderstandings between races.

The right education can make all the difference. For example, according to campaigning organisation ‘Show Racism the Red Card’, 60% of young people surveyed initially believed that “asylum seekers and immigrants are stealing our jobs”. However, after participating in anti-racism education workshops, this figure dropped to 17%.

‘#PraisinTheAsian’, a recent twitter campaign that I joined, created a powerful collective voice to raise awareness of Asian minorities and to celebrate their different cultures, heritage and languages.

Fundamentally, the key to understanding is knowledge. We have the power to focus our attention to this. We must eradicate misconceptions – not only about race but also culture, religion, sexuality and many other identity issues young people face.

It’s hard enough discovering who you are without being constantly questioned and misunderstood by others.

The mix of races in today’s society means the kind of questions people ask and the assumptions they make are less and less relevant, but the human instinct to categorise is strong and only natural.

Therefore there is more work to do in terms of understanding, communicating and celebrating our differences.

Self-conscious cage

by Chloe May How dare we let a glossy page trap us in a self-conscious cage?

It’s criminal.

It’s cruel.

It sets us up for our fall...

Product after product.

We drive ourselves insane.

Striving for perfection is as addictive as cocaine.

Now pause before you assume I only speak for I. I speak for all the boys and girls whose mirrors make them cry.

The cause is not their reflection Nor their perfectly imperfect complexion.

It’s society’s poisonous idea of perfection.

They preach it in the magazines, posing innocently on the shelves.

Will we ever see a realistic portrayal of someone like ourselves?

They show it on our screens, bright and inescapable.

But we need to be taught that with our flaws we’re still as capable.

Fighting for perfection is dangerous and frightening.

So you must learn to find your flaws enlightening.

Accept you for you.

And don’t allow social media to dictate what you do.

Put down that glossy page.

Let nature pay its wage.

Let falsity live in rage.

And break free from the selfconscious cage.