Naturally Tan Page 17

  At the end of a long day, I’ll walk into a hotel room and, no matter how lovely it is, none of it really matters because I feel lonely. I’ll brush my teeth, looking into the mirror and thinking about how much I wish I were at home with my husband in the other room. Then I’ll climb into bed and think how much I want to be going to bed with him instead of alone, once again. And I’ll wake up a thousand times in the middle of the night thinking I just want to feel the comfort of my partner next to me. I’m so grateful to get to go to so many incredible places, but I wish I could do it with him. I’m also the kind of person who gets homesick very quickly. Even when I’m traveling with Rob, after a few days, I want to be at home, in my own bathrobe, getting ready to go to sleep in my own bed.

  Now that I’ve sufficiently whined, let me assure you, there are definitely points of a press tour that are amazing. Our trip to Australia is one example. We were there for four days—we landed at night, and first thing the following morning, at 7:00 a.m., we had to be up for a junket interview, which is where you sit in a room for eight or ten hours while journalists rotate in.

  When you go on a press trip, you know your schedule for the entire four days, and there is no time to explore. You can explore from the car on your way to an appointment, but otherwise you won’t be able to see anything.

  Yet we had flown for twenty hours, across the world.

  So that first morning, Jonathan and I woke up at 5:00 a.m. We watched the sunrise and took an hour to explore. One of the most magical moments of my life happened there in Sydney, where Jonathan and I walked down from our hotel to the harbor, and we danced and watched the sunrise.

  We were so excited to be in Australia. My god, it was exhausting, but I was so grateful for that trip. And I’m just as grateful for every trip I go on. Yes, no one wants to sit in a press junket for ten hours. But those moments remind me how amazing life has become.

  We do all we can to find those magical moments to remind us of how special it is that we even get to go on a press tour. There are so many shows where no one gets a press tour. It’s amazing to have that opportunity and that I even get to be in a foreign land with the people I love.

  So definitely don’t pity me. I think I’ve sufficiently tried to make you feel bad for me, to make myself feel more grounded, but don’t fall for that shit. Other than the press stuff, it is pretty glam. Waaaaah.

  9/11

  I’d like to discuss September 11. I know this is a really awkward subject for many people, but I feel like it’s high time some of us started to talk about it. For many years, I’ve hidden behind the American perspective, and now I’d like to give the brown perspective. Audience, please bear with me.

  On September 11, 2001, I was working at the call center (where I met Dave) and I remember exactly when it happened. It was 4:00 P.M. there, and I’d just arrived at work for the evening. When I walked into my little area of the call center, everyone was acting weird. Our office had this massive screen that played the news, and when I looked up and saw what had happened, my reaction was, of course, “That’s terrible.”

  And then, things started to change.

  Over the course of the next few days, everything started to feel a little strange. For the first time in a long time—since I was a young boy—I noticed that people seemed to look at me differently. In the coming weeks, there was a shift. I heard people saying things about me. As a kid, I’d grown used to people calling me a Paki, but now, for the first time ever, I was being called a raghead or a terrorist.

  A terrorist? I had never even considered the idea that someone might see me that way. It felt worse than anything I’d been called before, because not only were they saying, “We hate you because of your skin colour,” they were also saying, “You’re a threat.” How could it be that even though I had been raised in the UK and was just as British as anyone else, I was now seen as a threat? It was a weird adjustment.

  No matter how I tried, I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t make sense of my own feelings around it. It made me feel obviously “less than.” I felt more alone and more “different” in the eyes of the white community than I ever had before.

  It also really pissed me off. After all, my community was just as angry and just as worried and just as scared as everyone else. Yet because we were brown, people expected we should feel fine because it wasn’t “us” they were coming for. For anyone who might think this, that’s not how it works. Terrorists do not discriminate. If the US or the UK got attacked, we would all be targeted.

  Over the years, I have also experienced white people waiting for an apology. When encountering South Asians, Middle Eastern people, and Muslims, white people have said, “There are terrorists out there causing real damage. Why don’t you apologize for that?” Why would I apologize for people I’ve never met? If a white guy down the street blows something up, I don’t see all white people apologizing for him.

  When I was a teenager, I visited New York for the first time, which was also the first time I traveled without my family. I was pulled out of the security line at the airport and taken in for additional screening. Meanwhile, my friends walked right through the security line, but had to wait for me while I got the special treatment. This is a trend that has continued over the years.

  When you pull up to the United States customs desk, they have a way of making you feel like garbage before you’ve even said a word. If you’re me, they tell you that you’ll have to go to another room for additional screening, and it’s all very confusing. The holding room is full of brown people—from all different backgrounds, but all of them brown. It is so glaringly obvious that one time, a blond girl walked into the room and said, “Oh my gosh, I must be in the wrong room.” We all laughed, and she turned around and walked out.

  To date, being held in the special room has happened to me at least twenty-four times.

  I know it sounds like I’m playing the race card, but sometimes the race card needs to be played. When you’ve spent most of your life being repeatedly sent to a room that is entirely full of people of colour, you cannot ignore it.

  When I first started regularly traveling to the US, people would say to me, “Why do you keep going there? It’s clear they don’t want you. They keep putting you in a detention center.” This was a fair point.

  After you’ve spent time in the holding room, you are called up for questioning. “When was the last time you traveled to Pakistan?” the officer will ask. I can’t imagine the last time a girl from the Valley was asked that question. I’ve only been there a couple times in my life. So I say, “When I was nine.” Then they’ll ask, “When was the last time you operated heavy machinery?” It’s absurd.

  The first time this happened I was really offended. I tried to be polite and agreeable, in order to make it out of the room as quickly as possible. But after a few times, I felt comfortable being sassy. Now I’ll say, “I already know what you’re going to ask. I came from the UK. I haven’t been to Pakistan since I was a child. What’s in my suitcase? Gay magazines. How many gay terrorists do you know? I haven’t operated heavy machinery lately. In fact, I never use heavy machinery, but I can operate a sewing machine. I can make you a very nice dress if you like.”

  One time, on a trip to the US to visit Rob, I was coming through the Chicago customs desk with a visa waiver that said I had up to ninety days to stay in the United States. But the customs officer arbitrarily decided he didn’t like me, and he said, “You only have seven days.” I don’t know who gives them this power, but it’s a lot of power to give someone.

  I replied, “I have three months.”

  Then he looked me in the eye and very clearly said to me, “You are not welcome in this country.”

  He also slowed down his speech as though I couldn’t understand English.

  I said, “First off, you do not need to slow your language down for me. I speak English very well. Second, I am a model citizen, and there is no need for this.”

  Thankfully, I could p
etition his decision and was granted an extra few weeks with Rob. But it’s alarming that I’ve needed to deal with this as many times as I have.

  This treatment continues until this very day. I was stupid enough to believe that the job I have now might put me in a position where someone might say, “He’s not a terrorist. He’s Tan.” But no. There is no club you can be part of where you will be exempt from this.

  To be clear, I don’t expect to receive special treatment. I am happy to go through the same process as everyone else. But to be pulled out of line at the airport, and to be seen as a threat—I wasn’t expecting that. It’s mortifying. The entire line of people behind you is being held up, all the while thinking, “What has this brown guy done? Why are all these TSA agents gathering around him and searching him?”

  Now the experience is magnified by the number of people who recognize me. I’ll be getting interrogated, and all these people are taking photos like, “Oh! Look! Tan France is being searched again!”

  When I travel, I usually wear a cap to disguise myself. But when you’re being searched, you don’t get to wear a cap. So while this is going on, people are getting all these pictures of me with my hair not done, which might be the worst part of all! While TSA officers are searching me, people stop to say hi and ask to take photos, and I have to be like, “I’m being treated like a terrorist right now, can you give me five minutes?” It’s incredibly stressful.

  Because I think this is something people should be aware of, I posted about it on my social media and the press picked it up. At first I thought, “Good. More people need to hear about this. We have every right to say we’re being profiled.” But my worry is that if we speak out, the profiling and interrogation might become even worse.

  Every year, on the anniversary of 9/11, and in various places around the United States, I see the words Never Forget. I understand that sentiment. I completely agree with honoring those who lost their lives. We must never forget them, and we must always be vigilant. But there is another side to this, too. It means we never forget to see my people as a potential threat. We haven’t stopped racially profiling. We haven’t realized that when it comes to the events of 9/11, and any other potential threats to our countries, these feelings of loss and fear and anger and tragedy affect all of us, regardless of the colour of our skin.

  WALLET

  I want to talk about what it’s like to go from being a regular person with a regular income … to becoming wealthy. Yes, I’d like to go there. I know it’s an awkward thing to discuss, as finances aren’t usually up for discussion, but let’s do this. This isn’t necessarily about becoming “Tan France from Netflix’s Queer Eye,” as these are rules I followed before then. But they continue into my life today.

  Having access to large amounts of money, when you once had little, can be a shock to the system. I think it’s important to take a beat before deciding how you want to spend it.

  When I started to earn more money, I didn’t make a lot of major changes in my life. In fact, for the first few months, I didn’t make any changes at all. I didn’t buy a house. I didn’t choose the most expensive car I could find. Because I know that even when anyone is lucky enough to have a burst of success, in any industry, it could fizzle out. Life may seem amazing sometimes, and you may feel like you’re invincible. But whenever I have one of those feelings, I try to breathe for a minute. Don’t move to another country or even another city. When it comes to major purchases, they’ll still be available in a year or two.

  Another thing I learned is to keep my mouth shut. Being met with success doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to be opinionated about things you’re not overly informed on, or to have thoughts about what other people are doing, especially publicly. No matter your position, I’ve learned that giving your unsolicited opinion is a way to hurt people. I’ve definitely made that mistake, and I will never forget it.

  Once, during an interview, I was being pushed to give my opinion on many celebrity outfits. I’d avoided saying anything negative for almost all of them, but the interviewer was becoming frustrated that I was being too nice about these obviously crazy looks, so when we reached the final example—a look with super short shorts—I said I loved it but that it was way too bold a look for me to pull off. I actually meant it. I thought it was great—for him. It wasn’t a look I could rock, as it wasn’t my usual style. But the person found out and reposted the quote on his Instagram and seemed a little hurt by it. Thankfully, I sent him a DM to apologize, and that cleared it all up. Still, it taught me to never do it again. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of someone’s mean comments, so I don’t want to make those comments. (And no, I won’t tell you who the person was.)

  Do I have opinions on everyone’s outfit? Of course I do! That’s my job. But they don’t need to hear that. No good can come of that. I now try to think of how I would feel if someone commented negatively on something I was doing or wearing, and that’s enough to make me shut my damn mouth.

  I’ve learned that when you get a lot of money, it doesn’t mean to go ham. Yes, it might be nice to upgrade a bit, but don’t go batshit crazy. I’ve kept my lifestyle relatively similar and try to save more money. Making more money means your taxes will be higher. Be responsible, and resist the temptation to spend like a crazy person. Because otherwise, if the deals dry up, you’ll have nothing to show for it except for your misguided impulse buys.

  When you haven’t had a lot of money for much of your life, and then suddenly you get a lot of money, it’s easy to think, I deserve this! and to spend it. Yes, you may be great and talented and all those things, but I always remind myself that nobody deserves this. Nobody. I am blessed. I can’t take it for granted.

  One rule I learned early on is that spending can get out of control quickly and can put you in a financial bind. That extra $100,000 you didn’t have before? Spend maybe 20 percent of it. The rest, keep on hold.

  It’s kind of the same with people who are newly famous, where their fame spirals out of control very quickly. You never know how long things are going to last. Sometimes, a person is seemingly everywhere, but then you don’t see them again after five years. Where do they go? Who knows. But wherever they are, they’ll need cash. Slow your roll, because I’m sure you won’t want to go back to your regular nine-to-five job you had before all of this happened. (Remember, I love an “I told you so.”)

  Even though my life has changed so drastically, I actually haven’t changed my lifestyle very much. I still spend relatively conservatively. The designer clothes you see on my body on red carpets are borrowed. When you see celebrities on the red carpet, or when you see us at a party or a runway show, those clothes that we’re wearing—those things that might be $10,000 or $20,000 or that jewellery that costs a fortune—we don’t usually own that. We also don’t get to keep that. We send most of it back to the company. Occasionally, at a photo shoot or a fashion show, the designer will let you keep a piece, but that is the exception. On the whole, you give it back.

  If you want to live like a celebrity, please know that even celebrities don’t live like celebrities … if they’re smart.

  The nice thing about life now is that I’m in a position where I don’t have to worry very much about financial things anymore. It’s a luxury I am truly grateful for, and it makes me count my blessings every day. When I was younger, I was told money doesn’t make you happy, but let me tell you, I think it’s only disgustingly rich people, the kind who have been rich since childhood, who think that money doesn’t make things easier. Don’t get me wrong—you can still have real problems, but it’s nice to not worry about your rent and bills. It really is. And before all this, my stresses were way more daunting when my bills were also a concern.

  It’s also nice to be able to take care of your friends. I enjoy knowing it’s not an issue to pick up the bill or to send them whatever I want to congratulate them when they get a new job or have a new baby. One of my favourite things to do right now is to
spoil people I love with things I know they wouldn’t do for themselves. I would never have arranged a spa treatment or a massage or sent myself a massive birthday cake, but I like to be able to do it for my friends.

  It’s lovely to be able to spoil my husband. It’s lovely to not have to even give it a second thought if I want to fly him somewhere. Now that I live away and travel a lot, I want him with me. The network or press doesn’t fly him wherever I am, but it’s nice to be in a position where I can say, “You can cut back at work and be able to spend time with me.” My husband doesn’t need me to provide for him and would never expect me to. I love that he wants to work. I find ambition and a good work ethic very, very sexy. But it’s nice to be in a position where if he didn’t want to work, he wouldn’t have to. We’re incredibly lucky.

  I’ve also learned to be careful of new friends. I know this is just common sense, but I’ve become more guarded since the show came out. I love meeting people, but I don’t let people into my life too much, unless they have the same sort of nondisclosure requirements that I do. It’s a self-preservation thing that one simply has to adopt to protect oneself when you enter the public eye.

  The one real negative about having more money or relative fame is that other people feel entitled to some of it. Suddenly, you have people coming out of the woodwork telling you, “I’m working on a project and struggling to drum up funding,” or “I’m having a hard time paying off this thing.” I find people sharing these everyday things, which they definitely wouldn’t have told me two years or even six months ago. Or they’ll feel entitled for you to post their project on your social media for no real reason.

  If I authentically love the thing that you’re doing, I will post about it. If a friend or a family member needs help, they’ll have it. But when someone is trying to take advantage of a situation, it feels uncomfortable. You start to see that person differently, which is a shame.