Creamy Butter and Consolidated Identities

In Brazil, Tv ads for butter usually portray the morning routine of a "traditional" family. They are cisgender, straight, usually white, the man is sat at the top of the table while the woman gets breakfast ready and the kids (usually some sort of blond) have big smiles in their faces and they are all overwhelmed with the wholesome experience of having breakfast together and how creamy their butter remains throughout. This portrayal is only one of the possible families that could be around a table at breakfast, but it is also one that is meant to be aspirational and normative. I wanted to then imagine what it would be like to be in the shoes of those people deemed standard and what it would feel like to be unquestionably privileged without ever even realizing. To be those people, however, I would have to ignore all the things that they ignore, and I thought it was more interesting to state that. What would I have to ignore and overlook to be those people? 

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Imagine living in a world in which who you are is encouraged and the way you live is not only a possibility, but the most portrayed way of living in its humanity and complexity. Imagine being seen as a respectable person and walking into a store without even realizing that there is a security guard and they make no point of looking into your eyes ensuring you they see you. Imagine what plans and realizations the collectivity of people around you is working towards and you feel that your contribution is welcome and you are entitled to a share of its benefits. Imagine what stories of your life are connected to episodes that people find conceivable and reiterate the way you have relationships and are inevitably linked to what people have already witnessed in real life or in fiction and there is no fear for “the children”. Imagine walking about and not having to think about violence or if your colour, your voice, your clothes or the way you walk will be used to justify any sanctions that people might decide to impose on you. Imagine not having to think too much about how people categorise you since there is a very simple sign at the entrance of the toilet that proves that your  identity is so consolidated in culture and beyond questioning that it is an icon. Imagine that your joy and your libido are seen as a facet or a fragment of you and not your totality. Imagine saying you have a pet and evoking an idea of interest and care for other species, and not that of a consolation prize.  Imagine having your existence considered simply as a fact of life and not as a waste. Imagine a sticker that represents your household and that, however much it reveals your bad taste and normalizes your privilege, does not prompt anyone to tell you are going to burn in some conceptual metaphysical space. Imagine seeing your past as something private and intimate with positives and negatives, affective memories and different learning opportunities without it triggering laughter or making people think that it is only fair that strangers come to you and say you should repent. Imagine donating blood with someone you care about in mind and it not being thrown away. Imagine not having as condition for your wellbeing to establish some distance from some people from your family. Imagine not having to leave everything you conquered behind and having to start over again somewhere where you get no death threats. Imagine some creamy butter that even in the cold remains spreadable and the sun shines blessing your mediocrity and you don’t even have to acknowledge it.