While everyone is calling out their dissatisfaction about one thing or another, and making political correctness a common standard (slowly but surely), I am going to chime in my two cents.

For anyone who is tired of being called out for cultural appropriation let me tell you that you are upset about it because you have no culture to steal, so you cannot understand the deep rooted stigmas and criticism that accompanied those bangles and bindis that you wear so freely. Let me be clear, I don’t want to stop anyone from wearing saris and bindis, I am happy to share my culture with anyone who is willing to open their hearts and minds to something new. What does irk me and has led to this article is taking the cute, pretty, and marketable pieces of my culture’s traditions and reducing them to fashion trends that are “started in the U.S.” Just so I don’t come off as an angry Indian woman who enjoys ruining everyone’s good time playing dress up for music festivals, allow me to illustrate what I’m trying to say.

One day in third grade my mom was a field trip chaperone, and she waited outside my classroom even when my teacher insisted that she come inside. All the other chaperones were inside as us students ran through morning roll call and routine field trip information. I sat at my desk brimming with guilt and regret. It was my childish embarrassment that kept my mom outside that classroom. That morning, before we drove to school, I had asked my mom to take out her chuni (this is what I grew up knowing a nose ring to be). When she asked me why, my face said it all: I was embarrassed of my mom for wearing a diamond ring in her nose. I was embarrassed of my mom for displaying her Indian culture. So, when we got to the classroom, I went inside thinking my mom was mad at me for being so insolent and ignorant. Looking back, she was likely humiliated to have her own daughter be embarrassed of the Indian that her mother was.

I know that a nose ring is not exclusive to Indian culture, but it is a very prominent piece of it. In the late 2000’s I began to notice more women (other than Indian) sporting a ring or stud in their nose, and slowly the look became cool, trendy, normal. Now, I could finally look at my mom’s chuni and appreciate its beauty because I didn’t have to explain to my friends or classmates why my mom’s nose ring wasn’t weird.

There were multiple occasions where I was told or I heard a “red dot” joke. This red dot was referring to the traditional chanla that married Indian women wear. Seeing these kids ridicule chanla and bindis hit me pretty hard. I was too young to realize they were just kids who didn’t bother to understand what a chanla is, so in normal kid fashion I rejected chanla for a long time. Bindis are worn for celebrations as well, so when I refused to wear one with my Indian outfits for weddings or parties my mom eventually realized it was because I was embarrassed to wear them. She was disappointed in me.

Fast forward to the 2010’s when celebrities like Selena Gomez and the Jenner girls are seen wearing beautiful and exotic bindis in their performances and at Coachella respectively. They, and other famous non-Hindu women made bindis out to be gorgeous and a must-have trend. No more jokes to be had, just a bunch of Indian American women with their jaws on the floor reeling at the hypocrisy (it couldn’t just have been me!). I don’t wear chanla on a regular basis, but I do associate that red dot with Hindu rituals that I hold dear, and the glitzy bindi with auspicious occasions like weddings. So it is absolutely upsetting that this important piece of my culture was laughed at when seen on brown faces, and lauded when seen on white faces.

I cannot tell you how many times I had to explain to a classmate that the oil in my hair was not cooking oil. If only I got a dime for each one, maybe I’d have a couple extra dollars. Bottom line, it was weird to have oily hair that smelled funny. It was weird that I only washed my hair once a week. While I’m glad to say me and my mom were doing it right from the start, I hate that it was only after white America approved and encouraged coconut oil hair treatments and less hair washes that Indian girls don’t have keep their oiled hair a secret on the playground.

My parents’ generation in America, the ones who immigrated here with us when we were children, don’t see cultural appropriation when a celebrity comes on screen with a bindi or bangles. They are excited to see their Indian culture being recognized and shared among Americans. When my parents began their lives in California they had to work hard to assimilate for survival, so seeing pieces of Indian culture infiltrating American lives meant they didn’t have to hide their saris and chanla anymore. They were in a sense, liberated.

All the while in the house they were teaching me the values and traditions of Hinduism, they were raising me as an Indian girl. That was a difficult identity to carry to school where no one understood it. So I had to turn on my American identity while in the classroom, then go back to being Indian at home. The differences were stark, clearly defined lines between the two identities, but even so, I constantly struggled to find a balance I was comfortable with among the two. It is this struggle that justifies my cries of cultural appropriation. White Americans wear my culture once they’ve popularized it, I wore it my entire life whether it was cool or not.

My cries are justified, but any of this only matters to me because it’s genuinely personal. The tiny sticky jewel or felt bindi may be a disposable party accessory to many Americans, but for me they remind me of my mom because for me she is the embodiment of Indian culture. She is the connection to my roots to an ancient and beautiful culture that has been misconstrued and picked apart by the Western world. I still sound angry don’t I? Well, in my shoes you would be too.

P.S. Don't get me started on white America's obsession with Lord Ganesh (or as I grew up knowing him, Ganpatidada). There are tattoos, shirts, decal, it's ridiculous.