Growing up in a Dallas suburb that’s one of the most diverse, fast-growing cities in Texas, there were times I was keenly aware of the fact that I was a minority. But these moments were few and far between. As I’ve come to USC and grown older, while there hasn’t been a significant uptick in these incidents, I’ve grown substantially more aware of them — including microaggressions I’d previously glazed over.  

One time in my hometown, it was a long-time friend’s refusal to see that a mutual’s racist comment was hurtful. Another time, it was during my brief stint as a cheerleader — when the whole squad claimed the only other Asian girl and I could have been twins. We were both flyers, looked nothing alike and were different ethnicities.

Coming to USC wasn’t really a demographic shock either. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I’m still, well, not white.

Up until recently, I was an ambassador for a beverage brand. As part of the job, I was flown out for a three-day training conference in Florida. Much to my surprise, of the nearly 300 ambassadors from North American colleges, I could count on one hand the number that were Asian and four hands — generous — how many were non-white.

I can only compare the feeling to a hand that had wound itself around my lungs. Suddenly, I was uncomfortably — if not painfully — aware of the fact that I was a minority.

Instead of fully enjoying the conference and learning how to best represent the brand, I found myself wondering about the position of the brand itself. Most, if not all, ambassadors checked the following criteria: young, attractive, outgoing, athletic, in a Greek life organization and …  white. They automatically grouped and socialized with each other, perfectly at ease, like a scene directly out of “Bama Rush.” Senior leadership of the brand similarly lacked diversity.

While I joked about this observation with two other Asian American ambassadors from UCLA and Cornell, my mind couldn’t free myself from it, even long after the conference. Why was there such a lack of diversity? Was I chosen for my application, or because of my race? I didn’t feel honored — in fact, I felt just the opposite. Was I hired to show that there was diversity, not to increase it?

I’ve griped in the past about the nuanced identification of Asian Americans as a “minority” in today’s society. Despite obviously being non-white and having a history of facing discrimination and racism, Asians are excluded in underrepresented-denoted scholarships, job opportunities, groupings and more. To me, this sends a clear message. “You’re struggling, but not enough — yeah, but you’re not that marginalized?”

I recently left the company for a wealth of reasons, but I can imagine some of the reactions and responses I might get to this article — since a majority of the ambassadors still follow me on Instagram.

“I don’t see a problem with it.” “It was so much fun! You should have talked more and been more outgoing, it was probably just you.” “It’s not their fault they hired the best.”

Ok, heard. But aside from arguments, what about the values these types of comments reveal? 

1. It’s ok to not understand, but to not empathize or try to understand is a totally different game. 
2. I should not have to change myself to actively fit in. As an introvert, I feel like I’m always overcompensating to be outgoing. Especially when I’m invited to a conference, why should I have to continually fight for a seat at the table?
3. If we’re following the best-of-the-best hiring theory, I get it. But if a brand is not conscious of diversity, equity and inclusion, think of the broader ramifications: It’s a slippery slope from non-cognizance to a “private club” culture. A more diverse set of ambassadors would give them access to a wider range of untapped markets and consumer base.

I’ll close with this: At the conference, I met and briefly befriended a girl who grew up in California and goes to school in the South. She was easy to talk to and, like me, seemed a bit put-off by the Greek culture of the conference. But the more I spoke with her, the more I didn’t know how to feel. Brashly, she made microaggressive comments, told me heavily stereotyped stories and described her Asian fetishes. When I tried to gently let her know how uncomfortable I felt, she vehemently swore she wasn’t doing anything wrong — and was simply telling it how it was.

I should not have to be writing about this but … here I am. Acknowledgment, understanding and empathy-led actions are all I’m asking for.

Let’s not make the present a positive feedback loop of the past. Do better. 

Victoria Lee is a sophomore writing about DEI, the AAPI experience and representation of underserved communities. Her column, “Your College Unnie,” runs every other Friday.