A glimpse inside being in the alt scene as a woman of colour

By Magdalene Sin

“..But if you had to choose, would you say you’re more white or black?” *ugh* here we go again. This is just one of the many questions I’ve had thrown at me regularly but something I had to come to terms with being a mixed race woman, even more so being in the alt scene.

I knew from a pretty young age that growing up with a black dad and a white mum wasn’t always going to be easy. Throughout childhood it was made apparent that everyone had to fit somewhere, whether you were popular or not, everyone had something to identify with, that however did not come naturally to me. Being raised in a mixed-race family, we had two cultures that had amalgamated and for a while it wasn’t an issue. It wasn’t until I reached my teens I discovered that not identifying with one culture forced a spotlight on me which didn’t go unnoticed.

I was about 14 when I ventured out (dreadfully so) with fashion and dabbled in emo culture. I had it all, Linkin Park fingerless gloves, studded Korn belt, a crude teal Iron Fist hoodie, eyeliner winged so sharp it could cut glass, finished with the iconic long fringe that covered half my spotted teen face. Oh yes, I yearned to be different but what can I say, people didn’t quite see the vision yet.

Not only did I stand out with what I was wearing, but the clothes never seemed to hang off me quite as well as the white emos. I knew I had a bigger bottom, skinny jeans did not cater to curvy bodies, t shirts were taut around the bosom, at times like this I longed for a straighter figure, I felt my black qualities stood out the most in these times, almost making it seem this wasn’t meant for someone like me.

As soon as I embraced alternative fashion, the word “bounty” began to follow me around, casually tossed into conversations as though it were harmless. People listened closely to the way I spoke, scrutinising every word and questioning why I sounded “posh”. “Why do you speak like that, though?” was a question I heard so often that it soon felt less like curiosity and more like an interrogation.

“You’re a fucking bounty.” In that moment, I felt exposed.

For those unfamiliar with the term, bounty is a derogatory label used to describe a black or brown person who is perceived as “acting white”. At the time, I laughed it off and wore the label almost proudly because I refused to give it power over me but the truth is that it chipped away at my sense of self. Made me question who I was and where I belonged. Maybe they were right and it was all an act, maybe I belonged nowhere at all. I was too white for black culture and too black for white culture.

Fast forward to my early 20s, a bit more adjusted to living life as a woman of colour. Pole dancing became my new obsession, I was surrounded by strong women where sexuality was celebrated, there were no rules on how you should dress, people moved freely to the music, and being different was not only accepted but welcomed. I finally felt at home.

It was during this period that I felt confident enough to explore body modifications, something I had been curious about since my teens. Back then, my interest was quickly dismissed, in my family it was considered “demonic” and among friends and partners, simply strange, yet the fascination never left me. Body suspension had been a lifelong dream of mine and I finally had the opportunity to make it happen. This is a practice where you’re suspended in the air using metal hooks pierced into your skin. I remember the feeling before sharing the photos on Instagram, bracing myself for the reactions and worrying they would only reinforce the familiar belief that I didn’t quite belong. Instead I was met with love and comments that felt more inquisitive than criticising. I guess I had finally met my people, unfortunately I can’t say this for everyone.

A couple years ago, a mixed race singer faced backlash for a “demonic” performance after performing a live body suspension on stage, the sheer amount of comments condemning him was staggering, labelling it satanic and calling it the devil’s work. The phrase “pale skin activities” stood out to me and made me chuckle to myself, why does everything we do have to be classed as white or black? Can’t brown people just exist without having to prove ourselves, or have the fear of losing friends and followers. Since when do we owe anyone an explanation for the interests we have and why does it even matter? It’s disappointing to see that, even today, people continue to hold onto the idea that our interests, identities, and behaviour should be determined by the colour of our skin rather than who we are as individuals.

The past three years have been interesting, to say the least. I finally got my tongue split, another lifelong dream ticked off the list. Naturally, it attracted a few negative comments, but it ended up coming in surprisingly handy when I started performing in fetish clubs and cabarets. As a performer, there have been moments when I’ve questioned whether I was overlooked because I didn’t “play into” people’s expectations of what someone my colour should be, or because I was simply too brown in spaces that were overwhelmingly white. At the time, it got to me. I wondered whether I needed to change myself to fit in.

But honestly? Fuck it. If a space only values a narrow idea of who belongs there, it’s probably not a community I want to be part of anyway. Life is far too short and shitty to spend it squeezing yourself into categories or labels that other people have created. I’d rather just be me.

Magdalene Sin is a pole performer and regular on the London scene, you can find at https://www.instagram.com/the_art_of_magdalene_sin/