About Design: What Norms and Stereotypes Taught Me
Yes, everything is by design.
But, who designs norms and stereotypes?
Aged 14, I read a copy of Awake!, a publication by the Jehovah’s Witness religious organization. That edition chronicled the history and significance of the Fibonacci sequence, detailing examples in nature and ongoing research applications in science. As an adolescent, I valued Awake! because each edition had a highlighted article of scientific importance. That was super cool, to me.
When I began the Think Senpai Design Talents Fellowship, one of the first things I learned on the first day was the Golden Ratio, and I saw it in architecture, art, and modern day design. It struck me as one of those things people acknowledge subconsciously, and take for granted until they have it pointed out to them.
It is weighty only to those for whom its purpose is clear. Norms are weighty, subconscious things as well. They seemingly happen, but not exactly. They are designed.
Earlier this week I was seated in a Danfo, a popular method of public transportation in Lagos. The buses are typically 16 seaters, Volkswagen range, poorly maintained, and universally identifiable by the brazen yellow coloration with black stripe labeling.
They are about as comfortable as a digital rectal exam for a person who has never had one before.
I was seated in the passenger’s seat, level up with the driver, and separated by a single passenger. The bus took minutes to fill up, and the driver made the rounds of the vehicle, taking off the signage indicating the route, and adjusting the rear view mirror on my side. Then, he tapped me and gestured, saying, “Seatbelt’, and walked away to his side of the vehicle.
I do not like to be tapped by anyone, much less a complete stranger of a different gender. I am a very expressive person, yet intensely aware of my personal space, and that of others. I politely point this out whenever people tap me to draw attention.
I was taken aback for several seconds. My neck retracted and my lips fell apart. I reached out and set the belt in place.
I must point out here, that the “norm” in these vehicles, is usually the driver, or conductor, calling out the seatbelt reminder shortly before or after the engines are started. There is usually no tapping involved. You are literally separated by the driver by one seat or none. Speaking distance.
As he started the engines, I said to him, in a level tone, “Driver, please, next time, you can just call my attention to it, you do not need to tap me. I don’t like to be tapped.”
It was his jaw-drop moment.
A full minute later, he said, “Next time, you can just enter another bus, you hear?” Then he switched to Yoruba, and said, “…doing as if there is shit on my hands. All these girls, as if we don’t know what they do with men outside…” He trailed off, mumbling beneath his breath.
I settled into my seat to do what I do on bus rides-listen to music and stare out the window.
Circling back to my point: why did he consider it appropriate to tap me to draw my attention? I ask this because if I were in any of these scenarios, he would never, ever have tapped me;
- Slightly older, perhaps middle aged,
- Pregnant,
- Carrying a child,
- Bearing a wedding band on my left hand,
- Wearing a religious head covering,
- Speaking to him jocularly or in Yoruba.
I know, because I have seen many of these scenarios play out over and over again.
The unspoken and proffered “respect of my person” is different, because I appear to be a different woman in the scale of norms.
I also know that if my response to him had come in Yoruba, or been tinged with humor, his retort would have been a sincere apology.
Who designs the norms that make this appropriate? Why would you react differently to me, simply because I am a different type of woman?
Who designs norms and stereotypes?
