the oreo experience

Back to the Basics

 

It's TOE's paper anniversary! Share a square with us.

It’s almost been a year since The Oreo Experience went live. And anniversaries are perfect times to quietly wonder why you got where you are in the first place. With TOE’s paper anniversary on the horizon, I can’t help but smile when I think just how far we’ve come through self-loathing. 

Click here to take a trip down repressed memory lane and consider just how much you can love hating yourself. 

Not sure you’ve got the guts to hate your guts? Chin up, little soldiers, I bet you do! It’s not just people of color who can hate the skin they’re in. I bet if you try hard enough, you can come up with all kinds of things to try and hide. If not, try these tips. I’ll keep the kleenex and the number to my therapist handy.

1. Look in the Mirror. Forget the schmaltz on How to Look Good Naked. We have a standard in this day and age and chances are, you’re falling short. I know I am. I would instantly be relegated to quirky best friend in a movie about my own life. Freckles, water retention, teeth too white, outie, size 4.?  The mass media would crap on your reflection, why not join them?

2. Hijack your friends’ email. You know how you mention your pals’ peccadillos behind their backs? Well, the good news is, they do, too! Scan a few of their emails. Whether it’s the debby downerism, the constant cheerfulness or the fact that you don’t like your foods to touch, you’ll soon know which habit they crucify you for so that you can start driving in the nails, as well!

3. Swing from your family tree. You don’t even have to go as far as reunion to see what freaky fish are swimming in your gene pool. Just grab a couple of photos and read the body language. Dollars to donuts, you’ll be able to tell in under a minute what your mom really thinks of your stepdad’s fashion choices or if there’s not a little House of Yes action between those two cousins. Give the fam a phone call and listen to them bitch about each other and you’ll get a good idea what you inherited that’s worthy of hate.

4. Watch television. When all else fails and you’re still feeling pretty good about who you are, turn on the TV. Chances are, unless you’re Gerard Butler, your demographic is represented pretty badly. Watch a few eps to see what people in power really think of you and you’ll be on the self-bashing bandwagon in no time.

I bet if he tried hard enough, he'd be one of us, too!

Compton Cookout – Classic!

When I saw this facebook invitation to a “Compton Cookout” hosted by frat brothers in San Diego, I was upset and heartbroken.

“February marks a very important month in American society. No, I’m not referring to Valentines day or Presidents day. I’m talking about Black History month. As a time to celebrate and in hopes of showing respect, the Regents community cordially invites you to its very first Compton Cookout.

For guys: I expect all males to be rockin Jersey’s, stuntin’ up in ya White T (XXXL smallest size acceptable), anything FUBU, Ecko, Rockawear, High / Low top Jordans or Dunks, Chains, Jorts, stunner shades, 59 50 hats, Tats, etc.

For girls: For those of you who are unfamiliar with ghetto chicks – Ghetto chicks usually have gold teeth, start fights and drama, and wear cheap clothes – they consider Baby Phat to be high class and expensive couture. They also have short, nappy hair, and usually wear cheap weave, usually in bad colors, such as purple or bright red. They look and act similar to Shenaynay, and speak very loudly, while rolling their neck, and waving their finger in your face. Ghetto chicks have a very limited vocabulary, and attempt to make up for it, by forming new words, such as “constipulated,” or simply cursing persistently, or using other types of vulgarities, and making noises, such as “hmmg!,” or smacking their lips, and making other angry noises, grunts, and faces. The objective is for all you lovely ladies to look, act, and essentially take on these “respectable” qualities throughout the day.

Several of the regents condos will be teaming up to house this monstrosity, so travel house to house and experience the various elements of life in the ghetto.

We will be serving 40’s, Kegs of Natty, dat Purple Drank – which consists of sugar, water, and the color purple , chicken, coolade, and of course Watermelon. So come one and come all, make ya self before we break ya self, keep strapped, get yo shine on, and join us for a day party to be remembered – or not.”

Why wasn’t I on the invite list??

Sure, it’s dicey for Oreos to spend time with other people of color, but spending time with people pretending to be of color is just as important as making sure you’ve staked out your place at the regatta. Because here, we are reminded of just how unpleasant we would be if we were RBP.

Thanks, brothers, for the reminder. See you at next year’s Pimps and Hos ball, the Gangta Grill and the Cotton Bowl.

A Smudge, er Smidge, of Absolution

 

Hope you got your fill of vices on Fat Tuesday, because it's time to give up just a little more

 

Happy Ash Wednesday!

If in your Oreodom, you have chosen a faith, it should have been one that smacks of Europe and has a nice Scandinavian Christ on the wall to show you what perfection looks like. 

I myself am a practicing Anglican and use Ash Wednesday as a chance to further the Oreo cause.

During Lent, most people give up a typical vice like soda, smoking or sex. But choose your Lenten sacrifice just right and it can help offset the fact that your ashes blend in unfortunately with your skintone.

If you’re worried that your Lenten season won’t be one befitting an Oreo, use one of these phrases when asked about it and you’ll be on the right path.

  • “I’m giving up my season tickets to the Ahmanson and donating them to a non-profit. I mean, I love my Forever Plaid, but Lord knows I’ve seen it enough times.”
  • “Giving up meat doesn’t bother me so much. I went vegan after that summer at the ashram.”
  • “Chapel was lovely, but it was nothing like when I got to do a Rite I service during my cathedral tour in Germany.”
  • “I kind of like fasting, it reminds me of The Road to Wellville”
  • “I swear I’ll make it these 40 days without my Vicar of Dibley! It’ll be rough, but chin up, stiff upper lip, I’ll muddle through.”

Don’t think of the season as a time to go without, but as a time that clears up some headspace for enjoying the reward later. Besides, think how great those plush theater seats will feel and how refreshing Dawn French will be after a moon and a half without.

Bonus Oreo points if you get the good vicar to do your ashes for you!

Oreo Survival Guide – Cardio Funk

Sometimes, well meaning friends not of color will invite you to certain events where your Oreodom will be tested by surprise. These events will seem like harmless outings where friends can bond. But be careful. Becoming too comfortable with a friend can cause you to slip and ruin years of effort.

To help you through these moments, The Oreo Experience is happy to present  a survival guide for one of the most nefarious of these group gatherings: The hip hop cardio funk workout class.

Purporting to be a fun way to shed calories and inches, these classes are like land mines for an Oreo. It’s true, many of us have an innate sense of rhythm that we must suppress lest we look like an RBP. From the moment you step into one of these classes, all eyes will be on you as the assumption will be that you can pop, lock and/or ghetto bounce better than the fairer faced exercisers.

While that may or may not be true, follow these steps to make it known who you are with all haste.

  • 1. Stumble across the threshold. Committing a literal faux pas as you make your entrance will tacitly clue the ladies in the class in to a potential lack of hand-eye coordination and fast twitch muscle fibres that are perhaps mis-firing. Don’t rely on just this. They may write it off as a simple, and unlikely to be repeated misstep.
  • 2. Ask the teacher for her credentials; mention yours. Anyone can complete the training that Bally’s offers its employees, but how unethnic will you sound when you talk about the years you spent at the American Ballet Theater. NOTE: When the follow up question about Alvin Ailey comes from certain cultured work-outers, feign ignorance and say that 
  • 3. Chalk up any (accidental) expertise to hula training. It goes without saying that you must make yourself out to be the worst dancer in the class. When teacher says left, go right. When teacher says to give her levels, ask if she’s hanging a painting. When she asks for a body roll, suggest a California roll instead. But in the event, that any natural ability does leak out, you must have an alibi at the ready. Hula works well because it implies a well-to-do type of trip. And while native peoples invented the hula, they aren’t often associated with the brown natives of other nations. So shimmy away!
  • 4. Cheer properly. These kinds of classes often encourage participation by group shouts and whoops. While your teacher and classmates might let fly a “Wooo! You go girl!” or something like that, your exclamation must be different and distinctive. Instead of a “that’s it!” or “uh – HUH!” or “eOOOWWW!” Try a “Huzzah, mi’ladies!” to set your self apart.
  • 5. Invite the class to your traditional post work out dinner at Umami Burger. Nothing says “I’m not ethnic like eating at the kind of Asian-inspired place that non ethnics love.” There, you can dine on medium rare meat adorned with butter lettuce, Italian truffle cheese and almost ketchup while your new friends appreciate who you have worked so hard to be.

Just don’t let them catch you tapping your feet to the restaurant’s music. You’ve come so far, it’d be sad to see your efforts vanish by dessert.

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Image

Dear Diary,

The kind of invitation I’d been waiting for finally came. Embossed envelope withe the kind of wax seal I haven’t seen since my last Renaissance Festival. I was expecting to be asked to any number of red carpet events where I could rub sunburned elbows with the kind of people it does me good to be seen with.

Then I opened the envelope.

The NAACP Image Awards?? 

Such a tease you are, life, such a tease. 

They are honoring The Blind Side, though. So, maybe they’re more Oreo-tastic than I thought.

Vanity. Fair.

Whenever I get worried that there’s no need to keep up the Oreo fight, I find ways to get myself back on track. Like by looking at how one American institution looks at another American institution. In this case, it was the Vanity Fair “new Hollywood” issue. 

About the photo. Michael K at dlisted.com writes:

“Every year, Annie Leibovitz shoots Vanity Fair’s “New Hollywood” issue and this year’s cover makes a BYU class picture look like a Benetton ad.”

Ahh, and just when I thought that I should return my Jane Austen dress. Stretched credit limit be damned! I’m keeping it.

For more on why we love this look, read celebitchy’s rundown. Favorite Oreo excerpts from the analysis include:

“…Just glancing at the spread, I’m liking it. No one ghostly pale with ghoulish grey skin and vampire red lips (as they’ve been styled in past years). Everyone looks fresh and pretty.”

“…With her patrician looks and celebrated pedigree—she is the daughter of American operatic soprano Maria Ewing and legendary British theater director Sir Peter Hall”

“The Cupid’s-bow lips, the downy-soft cheeks, the button nose: 27-year-old Abbie Cornish has those Ivory-soap-girl features we’re so familiar with…”

Ahh, beauty standard. Where would we be without you keeping us in place.

Oreo Origins: The Oreo Experience’s First Black History Month, Part I

 

Thanks to http://www.betiku.com for making self repression so graphic-tastic

 

That special time of year has come. That time when the nation stands up and reminds us all why being an Oreo is so very important: Black History Month.

I remember my first Black History Month. It wasn’t until about fourth grade that this became a mainstay of my schooling. Prior to that year, I lived, relatively unscathed and actually considered that I might just be an RBP. 

But then, my classmates and my history books showed me how dreadful that was and I switched camps.

First, there was Vincent. 

I attended a magnet school that focused on academics. Each student in that school had to be tested into the program and was regularly tested throughout to make sure that they were in the right place.

I got into the program after skipping a grade and making a perfect score on the entrance exam. 

I arrived at my new campus, the only African American student in my grade. Out of about 120 kids, I was the only one of me. 

Golly did I feel special.

Until Vincent arrived. 

I spent two years in my coveted position. Doing fun, enriched things like designing robots, singing cowboy folks songs and joining the school choir where we sang Dixie as one of our showcase songs. 

I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old times there are not forgotten..
Look away, look away, look away
Dixieland
 

By fourth grade, I had developed a rather healthy crush on redheaded, freckled Spencer. He was my buddy and I was just mad about him. I spent the better part of fourth grade trying to win his affection and just when I thought I had him, one of my friends ran up to me on the blacktop at recess and said:

“OW! Do you like Vincent??”

Who?

“Vincent?? Do you like him? Are you going to go around with him?”

A group joined my friend and suddenly three or four friends were shouting with equal voracity that yes, I should indeed go around (our term for dating at the time) with Vincent.

I had no idea who Vincent was. The only boy I paid any attention to was Spencer. And I was hurt and surprised that they clearly had not noticed my very obvious attempts to curry his favor.

Then, I saw Vincent.

He was…of color. 

The only other one of me in my class and I finally understood.

Sure we were young, but they got to crush on whoever they wanted while relegating me to this new kid. I knew I had not made it clear who I was. Maybe it was that one Boys II Men tape I sometimes listened to.

The good news was that I could continue to crush unnoticed. And that I knew what I had to do…set myself apart from RBP so that I the right boys would be pushed upon me. Sure, I had simple goals at the time, but I was too young to need a job or investment plan. All I had was schoolyard crushes.

And hey, we are supposed to die a little bit for love, right?  

The end of the story is that Vincent and I never became friends, Spencer and I were close for a bit, then drifted apart. But one thing lasted: my commitment to the lifestyle and my triumphant march toward Oreodom.

Computers are Concerned

In this video, we see a computer freeze when faced with the face of an RBP. The webcam is supposed to follow the face of the user around. It does so when presented with an anglo visage, but not when presented with an ethnic one. This implies that the software wasn’t programmed to recognize non-standard faces or that the computer, having become self-aware, as such items are want to do, understood the danger inherent therein.

A follow up video, posted by theGrio.com showed an HP webcam experiment that did not produce potentially litigious results. Host Todd Johnson also read a quote from HP where the computer company explained that their cameras don’t work as well in areas with insufficient lighting.

So, the computers don’t recognize RBP in the dark…which is where you most certainly don’t want to run into one. Wishful bionic thinking. The machine is self aware.

Oreo on the Airwaves (or: This is Why You Keep Your Distance)

Many times, we have discussed why as an Oreo, it is important to keep a perimeter around yourself and between RBP. If you don’t do this, it’s only a matter of time before you discuss issues pertinent to race that make non colors feel uncomfortable and ruin years of hard-earned repression.

So I knew I was taking a chance when I accepted an interview offer from Gus T Renegade, the host of a decidedly un-Oreo podcast. 

But, I considered it community service and decided to take a chance and see if I couldn’t spread a little Oreo goodness to the masses.

Unlike my discussion of Longfellow held at the regatta, or the time I discussed the finer points of pointillism over tea at the Getty, the conversation with Mr. Renegade was heated and could definitely not be replayed at the club.

You can play it for yourself if you would like by going to this link and listening to or downloading the podcast.

To my non color friends (read: all my friends ), a sincere apology for having uncomfy phrases like “white supremacy” and “racism” repeated over and over. You know that I would never say such words unless absolutely necessary.

But don’t worry, after the broadcast, I cleansed my palate by watching some Bertol Brecht. Nothing like a little German modernism and Strum und Drang to get the gears going right again.

(And seriously, if you’re in Los Angeles, or are going to be soon, check out The Sacred Fools Theater’s production of Baal. Stunning) 

Congrats Obama! Matthews forgot you were black.

…we should all be so lucky!

While speaking about President Obama’s State of the Union Address, pundit Chris Matthews said that he forgot Obama was black because there was no “ethnicity” or “tribalism” in his speech.

It is a slippery slope from admitting to being of color to clicking like a Zimbabwean tribesman, which is why The Oreo Experience suggests removing all vestiges of ethnicity from speech. 

Because Obama was so eloquent, Matthews was able to only dedicate half of this 2 and some odd-minute soundbite to the way the President sounded (and not what he actually said) instead of having to spend the entire 180 seconds trying to read through awkward slang. 

Thank you, Mr. Obama. Though you are not truly an Oreo, you are certainly an inspiration. 

And Mr. Matthews, if I leave you a voicemail, will you pay me the same compliment? I could talk about politics, or the delightful peach tartin I just put in the oven. 

And