Episode 7: Getting anthropological — a discussion on identity and imagined communities.
I think I accidentally wrote a college thesis.
Good morning!
I hope this email finds you rested. I’m in a good mood this week, on account of two things: I got my first round of the vaccine on Tuesday #teamModerna, and I am taking my first real vacation in over a year — a ~girls trip~ to an Airbnb in Oregon.
After texting my parents my vaccine selfie, my mom (who just got her first dose) and I joked about being in the “1st shot club” — an identity we were proud to take on. I felt a similar way walking out of the vaccination center. The doctor discharging me said, “thank you for getting a vaccine!” and I nodded while a lump formed in my throat. I was floored by the volunteers, doctors, and nurses who were working their asses off to get us back to a safer world. It felt like we were heading toward the same target, and I could sense the nightmare of the last year begin to clear, the uncertainty and pessimism replaced by a small nugget of hope.
As I waited the mandatory 15 minutes outside the clinic for observation, I read articles on my phone to pass the time. Three in particular caught my attention this week: Welcome to the jerk pit, a Substack piece on losing the status of being a coffee shop regular; Acting Black and White Onscreen, a simultaneous review of the films “Passing” and “The United States vs. Billie Holiday” which address struggles with racial identity in The New Yorker; and How the Public-Health Messaging Backfired on “5 Pandemic Mistakes We Keep Repeating” in The Atlantic. While they are about wildly different subjects, each article, in it’s own way, orbits around a similar theme. It’s one I keep coming back to (and one I touched on in my newsletter about relationships) — the role of community, which in turn, informs identity.
What I thought about this week
To summarize, the articles line up sequentially from small scale (a coffee shop) to large scale (our nation) and explore how interactions within our “communities” dictate how we see ourselves.
Welcome to the jerk pit defines community through the lens of physical space:
“Sociologist Ray Oldenburg developed the concept of the “third place” in 1989 to describe the shared social environments necessary to develop a sense of community... The idea is that you have a first place, which is your home, and a second place, which is your work, but for a community to develop you need a third social setting that’s neither… That could be a church or a library, but a lot of the time it’s a coffee shop or a bar. For people on sitcoms, the third place may be… Those TV cafes where every character is a regular… a reminder that to be part of the world, you must gather. Even if you only gather in the usual place, with the usual people, community is something we make together and we make it outside of work, outside of home.”
The author beautifully sheds light on how these community spaces shape our identities, which she recognizes as a loss during the pandemic:
“The loss of a place where you built yourself, alone and in relation to others, is a manifold loss: we are mourning ourselves as we used to be, in this place which is gone, in relation to others we may never see again, and we are mourning all the ways we could have been together in that place in the future, which now will not come. Losing your place hurts the way getting older hurts, or forgetting a language, or moving away. You left a part of yourself somewhere, and it disappeared, and it won’t come again.”
Similarly, I struggled in the absence of these “third spaces.” I saw a friend post a picture on Instagram the other day with the caption, “I used to be cool.” It was as if she didn’t recognize herself anymore, and the feeling seems to be pretty universal. Understandably, we’re all in search of other ways to define ourselves and remember who we are.
Instead of partaking in our usual physical communities then, comes the replacement: imagined communities. The concept of imagined communities, or imagined geographies, was coined by Benedict Anderson and Edward Said who theorized that nations are, essentially “imagined” or “socially constructed.” Anderson posits,
“A nation is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.”
While the concept of a nation isn’t necessarily new, we saw more imagined communities of people coming together during the pandemic, since we couldn’t meet face-to-face. This appeal to be a part of something larger led to a sort of frenzy to align with SOMETHING — whether that be a brand, a job, a political identity, an idea, or, as we unfortunately saw, an intense and twisted brand of nationalism.
The other articles I read, Acting Black and White on Camera and How the Public-Health Messaging Backfired deal in some of the hot-button topics of the past year: racial inequity and pandemic restrictions. At the risk of over-simplifying, they both make a case for some much needed nuance and humanity. The first piece details the struggles of two characters in the 1920s caught between the identity of passing as a white person, and embracing their blackness. It explores the character’s complicated interaction with these identities, which are shaped in part by the lack of access to “an imagined community” (if you can call it that; what I mean is whiteness and the historic wealth, opportunity, and respect that comes with it) that has been systematically denied to them. The characters are three dimensional and imperfect, rather than flattened into stereotypes or something easy to digest. The second article also deals in a gray area, but in a different way: arguing for the humanization of pandemic restrictions rather than the anti-mask rhetoric of the right or the shame-based rhetoric of the left. It talks about how in sticking to these rigid identities, we’ve actually lost sight of the more practical, science-based solutions. The identity then becomes more about performance, and “what kind of person we are” and “which side we are on” rather than keeping people healthy and safe. The article ends with a call for more celebration of the progress being made.
In a landscape that felt increasingly over-simplified and divisive the past year, I found each article a refreshing challenge to consume. With the loss of physical communities, it’s not that imagined communities don’t have their place. But what became obvious is that we must be incredibly careful in how we imagine them, and what we in turn assume about ourselves.
In conclusion, I’d like to make the case to recognize each other’s humanity and explore the parts in between. To lean into nuance. And to remember that in addition to critique, joy lets us reclaim our humanity.
What I drank this week
Brovia Dolcetto d'Alba Vigna Villej 2018 $20 - $25
After a year away from one of our favorite wine bars in Napa, called Cadet, Oscar and I returned with a craving for Italian wine. We wanted a fun, lighter bodied red. Enter: this bottle of Dolcetto from the region of Alba, Italy. It checked all the boxes: uncomplicated bright cherries, wilted roses, and some earthiness. It kind of seemed like an Italian wine masquerading as a French Beajoulais. The producer has been farming in Italy for generations with the only break in production coming during the world wars. They own some of the best vineyards in the region: Rocche, Villero and Garblét Sue. The Dolcetto is aged in a combination of stainless steel tanks and neutral French Oak. We ate a small mountain of charcuterie and some cornichons with this, which I would highly recommend.
Pierre Paillard "Les Parcelles" Grand Cru Extra Brut Bouzy Champagne $40
If you have an occasion to celebrate, please PLEASE forego the Andre or Cooks or other cheap mass produced bubbles and get this!!! It retails for around $40 which is an INCREDIBLE bang for your buck, tastes 1,000 times better, and will be sure to please all your friends and fam. If they’re into well-reviewed wine, hit ‘em with the facts: this bottle received a score of 92 from Robert Parker and 91 from Wine Enthusiast. It is true Champagne, coming from the Champagne region of France, or more specifically, the Montagne de Reims (technically only wine from the region of Champagne can be considered true champagne, everything else is sparkling wine). The region is generally ruled by large champagne houses, or companies (think Möet) who buy grapes from tons of growers and blend them into a consistent product. This bottle is grower champagne, meaning it’s made by the little guy from start to finish — the family grows the grapes, makes the wine, bottles and sells it themselves. They blend about 70% pinot noir and 30% chardonnay — all coming from Grand Cru vineyard sites. On the palate, the wine is laser-focused but still rich and creamy with notes of pear and toasted almond. Makes you want to put your pinky up and break out the fine China. Or, drive to the sea and drink it with a bunch of fresh oysters, like my friends and I did. Unequivocally, it’s a wine meant to share.
What I liked this week
My perfect cat — I just wanna *squissssh* her!!!! A cozy queen!!!!
Eating a barnacle for the first time. It looked like a dinosaur toe. Kinda freaky. Tasty though once you got over how weird it was.
Blasting Dancing on My Own by Robyn in the car and singing our lil booties off.
Umm DANCING WITH MY FRIENDS!!!
These reductress posts… which are… perfect.
Getting to taste my friend, Elle’s, wine during my trip to Oregon. I mean, look at her climbing up on some barrels!! A pro-fresh-O-NAL!!!
That’s all this week. Love y’all, miss y’all. The future is looking bright. See you on the other side soon.
xoxo
Kate
"With the loss of physical communities, it’s not that imagined communities don’t have their place. But what became obvious is that we must be incredibly careful in how we imagine them, and what we in turn assume about ourselves." - I love you and your ability to say everything I was struggling to give clarity to, but had no idea could be given words in a way that would suffice. Back at work, I find everyone gets along more, because employees become those at the "coffee house" who needed recurring community with those they relate with, and realized the gift of work being that (versus gossiping about coworkers/dreading going to work/boh v fof etcetc) And our guests are more distanced from us and less regular, but the experience better these days for them because we all get along and work hard to not risk losing it now, and our moments with guests are memorable because we are allowed only so many (simply for the need to be a part of a community, maybe). But, in a mostly virtual world this year, I sense the need to gather being easier than sitting with self is at a breaking point for many - so I hope that everyone celebrates the smallest accomplishments/realizations in each other so we grow and don't forget what we've learned and gone through - but let's take it step by step - and not say "thank god it's over" when many of us still never got to grieve those who didn't make it to today, unable to roll their eyes at the LA gal ordering her coffee saying that and not tipping, as we sit at our favorite coffee shop on the couch we fight to get first. Obviously, you get this. It's refreshing to have these weekly love letters to us all be part of the way I am redesigning my world/community - and the wine recs are also fucking stellar.
Your articles on Sunday are interesting with so much foresight and intelligence. I love reading them. The pandemic has tested us all. I identify with your thoughts in receiving first shot. I felt like I did when Biden became president. A cloud over my head was lifted. So excited about your girls trip. I used to take them every year with high school friends. The best. Love miss you. Sending hugs to you and oscar