"My brown skin does not need 'retouching'. Neither does yours."

Last week, I decided to get professional headshots taken. Freebie photos taken during work functions were no longer appropriate. The process was mildly relaxing; I couldn’t wait to utilise the fruits of my labour. 

Part of my headshot package involved 'retouched' images. I wondered what 'retouched' would mean in the context of my face.

When an image returned, I noticed my skin had been edited to depict me as 'whiter'. A significant change from the brown skin of my Iranian and Italian descent.

This alteration stirred up several thoughts.

The first was the culturally insensitive nature of this act; whether intentional or not. Whoever edited that photo made an assumption (in 2022, mind you) that I want to be lighter-skinned. I don’t.

It also made me question whether my skin colour is the wrong kind of brown. It’s not Gold Coast gold or olive. This flesh is a brown that belongs only to the subcontinent.

'Enhancing' my physicality by lightening my skin colour only reinforces the notion that my brown skin is not society’s ideal. And in the context of a headshot, my brown skin may not be perceived as professional, employment-worthy, or symbolic of leadership.

I’m no stranger to comments that critique my ethnicity under the guise of Australian larrikin behaviour. (And anyone who knows me, knows I love a joke.) Greasy; swarthy; eagle nose; sand rat. Words I’ve heard from the very people I admire the most: leaders; colleagues; friends. My cultural background has been a topic of conversation in workplaces; a spectacle at parties. 

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Regrettably, I’ve often responded with silence (or even worse, a smile). Beyond correcting the description of my ethnicity from 'Arabic' to 'Persian' – I’ve been complicit.

Now, I am beginning to understand why. I am equally to blame. I never wanted the person making the comment to feel uncomfortable - despite its impact on me. Compromising my integrity for someone’s ease. Allowing assumptions to be made, just like what occurred during the retouching of my headshots.

Honestly, I’ve been scared, too. Scared by what could happen in modern Australia after witnessing the 2005 Cronulla racial riots. Watching that same divisiveness bleed into my high school playground at the time. Trauma that I have suppressed for far too long.

Perhaps, I’m not 'brown enough' to be standing up for my 'brownness'. Half of my family are olive-and-fair skinned Italians. My mixed-race ethnicity, while often romanticised by my Caucasian peers, has only furthered my internal confusion. Silencing my words; numbing my discomfort. 

Even so, this lived experience runs beyond fractional cultural-calculations – it is deeper than what the eyes see. My culture rushes through my blood, pumping through the very organs I’ve used to write this.

I’m not a member of the 'woke brigade' – everyone has the right to their opinion. But there’s a line. For most people that line is crossed when the behaviour is illegal. That is, it becomes discriminatory. The type of vitriol that says to someone; you’re not good enough, the way you live your life disgusts me or... I have a problem with the colour of your skin.

So where to from here? 

A whinge just serves the 'victim-narrative' of ethnic minorities in Australia. I don’t want that, nor should you. That discourse ignores the reality that we are active, successful, entrepreneurial hustlers that form an unshakeable part of this land, its economy and community.

Our home is one of the most diverse countries in the world. I want to see this continue to be celebrated; not edited or 'touched up'.

While this issue starts with the colour of my skin; it is anything but skin-deep.

Adam Abbasi-Sacca is a proud mixed-race Italian and Iranian Australian freelance writer. He has a background in policy and international relations. Contact on Instagram via @adamabbasi_ or Twitter @adamabbasisacca

Feature Image: Supplied.