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Sunday Supplement
Oct. 23rd, 2007 11:00 pmHow odd. I woke on Sunday morning to find that my subconscious had been hard at work on various subjects of interest to me and had written them up as a feature article:
Ma Vie En Noir
Linton Smith seems like a normal young man. He watches football, drinks beer, and is interested in cars. But Linton has a secret. Ever since he was four years old he has longed to be black.
“I can’t remember not feeling this way. I always loved reggae, hip-hop, jerk sauce. I always played with black kids more.”
Linton, born twenty-three years ago as Craig Smith, had a conventional upbringing in suburban Reading. But all was not what it seemed.
“I was about five when my mother came into my room and found me wearing Tan Shoe Polish. She was more shocked than angry, I think. We never spoke about it again, but I knew from that day that being black was not okay. Not for me.”
But the dream of being black – the feeling that he should have been born black – only grew. “It’s like I was born into the wrong race, innit?” Craig started listening to rap music and adopting the mannerisms and language of the black man he so desperately wanted to be. “Eminem was a great role model,” he recalls. “But not many of us have the courage to come out that way.”
The phenomenon of transracialism is more widespread than is commonly realised. It has been estimated that as many as one in two young white Britons have experimented with transracial clothes, speech and body language, imitating the look and sound of black people. But living like a black man was not enough for Craig. He felt had to take the extra step and become black. He adopted the name Linton, and started to use artificial tanning products. The effect was far from convincing. “The first time I went out en noir I felt people were just staring at me. I remember one woman asked if I’d been somewhere hot for my holidays. That was so hurtful.”
Desperate to pass as a black man, Linton sought a more radical solution.
“A whole-body tattoo is an expensive, painful, lengthy and irreversible process,” explains a local practitioner. “It takes commitment. I admire Linton’s bravery.”
Linton is still undergoing the treatment. At present he is black only above the waist and below the neck. “I love my new arms and torso,” he says, rolling back his sleeve proudly. “But every time I get in the shower I try not to look down – in case I glimpse my honky legs.”
Next month Linton will make the long journey to Glasgow to have reconstructive work done on his nose and lips. If all goes well, in a year’s time he should be virtually indistinguishable from a genetic black man.
“Surgery can only take you so far,” he admits realistically. “I know there are some things I’ll never be able to do. Obviously I’ll never be any good at basketball. But I’ll have come as close as I possibly can to the way I know I was meant to be.”
Ma Vie En Noir
Linton Smith seems like a normal young man. He watches football, drinks beer, and is interested in cars. But Linton has a secret. Ever since he was four years old he has longed to be black.
“I can’t remember not feeling this way. I always loved reggae, hip-hop, jerk sauce. I always played with black kids more.”
Linton, born twenty-three years ago as Craig Smith, had a conventional upbringing in suburban Reading. But all was not what it seemed.
“I was about five when my mother came into my room and found me wearing Tan Shoe Polish. She was more shocked than angry, I think. We never spoke about it again, but I knew from that day that being black was not okay. Not for me.”
But the dream of being black – the feeling that he should have been born black – only grew. “It’s like I was born into the wrong race, innit?” Craig started listening to rap music and adopting the mannerisms and language of the black man he so desperately wanted to be. “Eminem was a great role model,” he recalls. “But not many of us have the courage to come out that way.”
The phenomenon of transracialism is more widespread than is commonly realised. It has been estimated that as many as one in two young white Britons have experimented with transracial clothes, speech and body language, imitating the look and sound of black people. But living like a black man was not enough for Craig. He felt had to take the extra step and become black. He adopted the name Linton, and started to use artificial tanning products. The effect was far from convincing. “The first time I went out en noir I felt people were just staring at me. I remember one woman asked if I’d been somewhere hot for my holidays. That was so hurtful.”
Desperate to pass as a black man, Linton sought a more radical solution.
“A whole-body tattoo is an expensive, painful, lengthy and irreversible process,” explains a local practitioner. “It takes commitment. I admire Linton’s bravery.”
Linton is still undergoing the treatment. At present he is black only above the waist and below the neck. “I love my new arms and torso,” he says, rolling back his sleeve proudly. “But every time I get in the shower I try not to look down – in case I glimpse my honky legs.”
Next month Linton will make the long journey to Glasgow to have reconstructive work done on his nose and lips. If all goes well, in a year’s time he should be virtually indistinguishable from a genetic black man.
“Surgery can only take you so far,” he admits realistically. “I know there are some things I’ll never be able to do. Obviously I’ll never be any good at basketball. But I’ll have come as close as I possibly can to the way I know I was meant to be.”