"What you wear is who you are, literally," Perez said. "People are not so much afraid, but weirded out. I get it every day of my life."
I know the feeling. These days I make an extra effort to let those who meet me, especially at night, know that I am harmless.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Saturday April 15, 2006 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 1 inches; 33 words Type of Material: Correction
Barbara's at the Brewery: The caption for the photograph that accompanied Sunday's West magazine article on "fear fashion" misidentified the location of Barbara's at the Brewery. It is in Lincoln Heights, not downtown.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Sunday April 23, 2006 Home Edition West Magazine Part I Page 7 Lat Magazine Desk 1 inches; 32 words Type of Material: Correction
The caption for the photograph with the article "'Terrorist Chic' and Beyond" (Men's Fashion Issue, April 9) misidentified the location of Barbara's at the Brewery. It is in Lincoln Heights, not downtown.
The need arose after I somehow ceased being Mexican American in people's eyes and somehow became Arab. At some point after 9/11, that's what strangers began assuming about me. My dark mustache and short beard, my sharp nose, my olive-brown skin--somehow it all began communicating foreignness and, therefore, danger. I became fear fashion walking.
I'm not indulging in paranoia or intending to trivialize the experiences of those who have been racially profiled. Still, when I stroll the streets of L.A. at night, I can sense my fellow pedestrians tensing up a bit when I pass. In stores, I can feel the shop owner regarding me with suspicion when all I want is to grab tomorrow morning's milk.
It's also happening to other U.S. Latinos, the products of centuries of ethnic mixing that spans the globe. Our sometimes Middle Eastern features can be traced to the Moors and Sephardic Jews in Spain, many of whom settled in the New World and merged with native peoples in Mesoamerica, creating nations that in turn drew immigrants from Europe, Asia, Africa and, yes, to this day, the Middle East.
So, responding to this, I bought a kaffiyeh last October from a military surplus shop in Silver Lake. I took it home and wrapped it around my neck and, standing before my mirror, my own countenance startled me stiff. I looked pretty damn Arab all of a sudden. No wonder my older siblings in San Ysidro, half-jokingly--I hope--call me "terrorista" when I approach.
I once wore the kaffiyeh out of my house to see a band at Little Pedro's downtown. Even among a gaggle of seemingly post-ironic and open-minded hipsters and indie rockers--on Halloween!--I couldn't get a pass. People were visibly uncomfortable in my presence. A few sneered at me.
Then I turned around one weekend, and it seemed everyone in Hollywood was sporting a kaffiyeh. Naturally, I haven't worn mine since.
