As a design mentor, one of the things I encounter constantly is the stark difference between how some men and women speak of their own competencies. “May you be granted the confidence of a mediocre white man” is a phrase I utter at least twice a week. This morning, waiting for my local coffee spot to open, I saw a common occurrence of that level of confidence: somebody walked in before it opened, saying that, if undesired, the baristas would kick him out anyway. He returned three seconds later. I mused out loud, in front of him and two other friendly regulars who are themselves mediocre white men, that I was thinking about the thing I say to all my female and non-binary design mentees. I feel that my ability to do so in this social context proves that I, too, finally have the confidence of a mediocre white man. All this being said, though, I’m beginning to develop an appreciation for this alternative: “May you be granted the confidence of a disabled queer Muslim woman who, despite everything, dances in the rain.”

I edit my biography in a community app for Black professionals. Other people use the flags of their heritage, and I decide to do the same. Which one goes first, 🇳🇱 or 🇸🇹? I was born in the Netherlands, and consider myself not Dutch per se but definitely an Amsterdammer. Truth be told, I’ve never been to São Tomé and Principe, and the parent who hails from there left when he was ten. I wonder, brushing my teeth before bedtime, whether it’s appropriation for me to use the flag. And then I think of all the brown and Black faces I know, doing just the same, and entirely dignified and correct in doing what they do. It’s one of the prices of growing up Black in a white environment: I wonder when I’ll stop feeling like I’m the racist.

I am a Black person with privilege My privilege makes me uncomfortable I don’t want to think about racism My childhood experiences did more damage than I realized There are so many things I’ve said “yes” to that required a “no” (Continue)

The world beyond the gender binary is vast and diverse. As a queer facilitator, I’ve come to appreciate the value of writing my pronouns behind my name when it shows up in a video call or on Slack. (Continue)