An icon of so much that the culture pretends to honor but that it in fact patronizes and exploits. A conspicuous person standing apart from the crowd and yet devoid of any individuality. Here is what I sometimes suspect my face signifies to other Americans: an invisible person, barely distinguishable from a mass of faces that resemble it. And although I am in most respects devoid of Asian characteristics, I do have an Asian face. But while I don’t believe our roots necessarily define us, I do believe there are racially inflected assumptions wired into our neural circuitry that we use to sort through the sea of faces we confront. You could say that I am, in the gently derisive parlance of Asian-Americans, a banana or a Twinkie (yellow on the outside, white on the inside). Though I am an immigrant, I have never wanted to strive like one. I have never called my elders by the proper honorific, “big brother” or “big sister.” I have never dated a Korean woman. I, for instance, am the child of Korean immigrants, but I do not speak my parents’ native tongue. But every self-estranged individual is estranged in his own way. Millions of Americans must feel estranged from their own faces. But what I feel in these moments is its strangeness to me.
![asian drilled by music tutor asian drilled by music tutor](https://d39qw52yhr4bcj.cloudfront.net/catalog/product/cache/9/image/500x500/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/b/0/b07jgp4z5r.jpg)
I’ve contrived to think of this face as the equal in beauty to any other. An expression that is nearly reptilian in its impassivity. A pancake-flat surface of yellow-and-green-toned skin. Sometimes I’ll glimpse my reflection in a window and feel astonished by what I see.
![asian drilled by music tutor asian drilled by music tutor](https://image.shutterstock.com/image-photo/smiling-asian-businesswoman-wearing-wireless-600w-1408485929.jpg)
Grooming by Reneé Majour for Orlando Pita T3/Jump.