I have often thought about what is it that defines your personality, what makes you, you? What is it about your character that puts you in a little box? Where along the way do you become Mr Fussy or Little Miss Trouble as defined in the wonderful (if not very PC these days), Roger Hargreaves books? When does the helpless new-born babe in arms, adored by all around, get labelled as a troublemaker, a chatterbox or defined as being rude, clever, quiet or clumsy?
As a kid I LOVED the Mr Men books. The short punchy stories and the fabulous yet simple illustrations appealed to all. We all could identify with the Mr Mean who lived in your road who refused to give your ball back; a Mr Nosey who would stand twitching behind half closed curtains checking on his neighbours or a Little Miss Bossy who would basically dominate your game of hopscotch and then storm off like Little Miss Spoilt-Brat if she didn’t win.
We had the positive adjectives - Mr Strong, a square jawed hero who ate eggs and lifted a whole barn full of water to put out a fire. Mr Happy who spent his life cheering people up, and Little Miss Fun who, well basically was fun. Then we had the strange Mr Tickle who was actually a bit odd if you think about it – his endless arms reaching up and into windows; Mr Uppity who was the worst snob in the world and Mr Lazy who lived in Lazy Town and did eff-all. And not forgetting the very un PC clan - Mr Skinny, Mr Small, Little Miss Greedy and Little Miss Scatterbrain.
All of them were defined by a label.
Somewhere between babyhood and childhood, you are given a label by someone. The midwife may call your baby clingy, or your toddler picky. Teachers may comment that your child is shy – needs to speak up a bit; or is too chatty. Children are quickly labelled as troublemakers or bullish – negative labels stick like mud and hard to shake off and often there is a self-fulfilling prophecy at work here and those kids with a troublemaker as an older sibling are often tarnished with the same brush – automatically blamed for something they haven’t done – always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It can also work with some of the more ‘positive’ labels – a kid who is labelled as clever from the get-go has a reputation to live up to – aware of failure and under pressure to keep up high academic standards. Labels can follow them up through school and into their adulthood and often be detrimental to them.
Without realising it, we are all guilty of the sub-conscious label we may give someone. The instant you meet someone your brain goes into a check mode. Straight away we are aware of their gender, race, age. We judge without even being aware of it - what they are wearing, the way they speak, their background. I had a mini-mid-life crisis when I was 40 and decided to have my hair dreadlocked – I was very proud of my flamboyant arty hair-style – they were very glamorous dreadlocks - I wore beads and jewels in them and wore it piled high. I had it like that for about 18 months, then got fed-up of all of the unfavourable attention I was getting. It was very telling - I was amazed how often I was negatively judged. I was the same person – wore the same style of clothes and jewellery as I do now, but I definitely encountered different attitudes. People who did not know me jumped to their own conclusions. I travel (pre-Covid19!) for work and also had parents who, at that time, lived in California, so I visited the USA a lot. But I can honestly say I was singled out more times by airport security in those 18 months, stopped near enough every trip to have my bag checked, questioned about the purpose of my trip and on one occasion searched for drugs; than in all the years I travelled before and after. Coincidence? Or was it that I was wearing a stereotypical label that shouted to the uninformed that I was a hippy, a dosser, a dope smoker and was worth a punt?
Why do we form such instant conclusions about someone? Is it some primeval instinct that kept us safe? Made sure we stayed with the right crowd, formed relationships with similar people, formed societies which were bound with a common ethos? Whatever it is, the opinions formed in the split-second meeting of someone will be set in stone and very hard to budge. Just think of how the world of celebrity works. We don’t know these people, but a whiff of a scandal, or a biased story written by a disgruntled journalist can have members of the public forming very vile views about people they don’t know and will never meet. Look at how the brain works when you are introduced to someone you have been pre-warned about… the one-who-is-a-bit-two-faced; the one-who-likes-a-drink; the one-who-gossips; the one-who-has-had-an-affair. The judge in you forms its own story, you may not mean to, but assumptions are made, the bias is established, prejudice installed.
Mental-Health is one label that our society still needs to accept without preconceptions. There is still a huge stigma attached to this. I thought long and hard about telling people that I have suffered / do suffer from anxiety. I did not want to be known as the one-who-has-anxiety, but it has been interesting the reactions that I get. Many just didn’t realise – as I didn’t look or act like the average Little Miss Worry; others felt sorry that I had suffered; but more interestingly, many have felt an affiliation with what anxiety is. But having the label tied around my neck – has it helped or hindered me? How many of us would put our hand up and allow ourselves to be labelled in similar ways? Little Miss Depression? Mrs Bulimia? Mr OCD? Miss Borderline Personality Disorder? Mr Bipolar?
Acceptance is key in this field, and the only way we can accept is to try, as hard as we can, to be as open minded as we possibly can. Putting a label on someone’s race, gender, sexuality, religion or health problem just reinforces stereotypes and keeps the wheels of prejudicial hate turning. Imagine if we had a world without labels, where people were given benefit of the doubt, where people could prove who they were and flourish by action, rather than be stifled by repute.
I read somewhere that the only label we should have, is our own name. I like that. No judgement. No preconceived ideas. Just a name. Simple.
Unless of course you are the god-of-purple, the late, great, Prince who didn’t even want to use his own name, forever simply known as:
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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