welcome to our new social+ORDER at the cross+ROADS ...
places of hybrid identity + psychic limbo
common interest + experience defines us better than geography, nationality -- or even blood
*this is where we live* call it neo+CULTURE
What kind of global citizen are you?
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+CHALLENGE the whitewash with our hybrid ambassadors+
+SPARK with September's recent and enduring bias provocations+
+WITNESS 8,000 years of Istanbul history in our summer web carnival+
+ACT LOCAL with tips from expat+HAREM expeditions+
+INTEGRATE YOUR COMMENTS across the web we do it with Disqus+
By SEZIN KOEHLER
Border disputes never made sense to me. Living all over the world, first due to my mother’s job and then by choice as an adult, gave me a free floating perception of the world.
I’ve watched how arbitrary lines — drawn on maps by retreating colonial powers — lead to war, civil strife, and genocide. They’re theoretical yet defended violently. As a child I lived in India and Pakistan, both nations still fighting today over the ownership of Kashmir. The 32-year-old civil war in Sri Lanka for a separatist Tamil state came to a bloody end only last year.
 Zuzu Kahlo by S.Koehler
Perhaps a lack of physical boundaries contributes to porous personal boundaries.
I speak my mind without hesitation, fling myself into new friendships with the enthusiasm of a child. Openness has allowed me to connect deeply but I’ve also shed many a tear assuming the best when the person was far from it.
Now I’m confined by the borders of the Czech Republic, a place that doesn’t agree with me, and I have no option to move in the near future. Is it a coincidence I’m learning how to set personal boundaries? Not so quick with new friendships. Learning to wear a smile even if I don’t feel it. Saving my commentary for people I trust.
I’ve also begun adapting my natal chart readings to include Astrocartography, location-based astrology to understand how mapped spaces reflect the planets and their rotations. Meanwhile, Frida Kahlo and Lady Gaga inspire me to explore the various facets of my visual identity as I map my own physical borders through the hybrid/MONSTER sideshow.
How have physical borders, or the lack of them, shaped your personal ones?
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Sezin Koehler is a half-American half-Sri Lankan global nomad/horror novelist whose first novel, American Monsters, was released this year.
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By CATHERINE SALTER BAYAR
“I don’t care where the doll is made. I want a cheaper price,” the young American woman drawled.
She and her mother had spent half an hour agonizing over selecting pairs of Turkmen dolls we sell in our Sultanahmet shop. I explained these figures are locally handmade by the women of a family we partner with, not made in China.
 Family portrait by CSBayar
“I collect dolls and know what they’re worth,” she’d replied. “Why, I bought a large doll in Mexico last year for $100.”
I recognized that bit of twisted logic: the economies of all emerging countries (or anywhere outside the US or Europe) should be alike.
“Fine, try your luck at Wal-Mart,” I wanted to say, but sarcasm isn’t the best sales tactic.
“Mom, I’m sure Mehmet at the hotel will know where to take us for good dolls.”
He will. Vendors perpetually sell at cost or below to move their goods, a squeeze that eventually puts them out of business. I’d rather wait to sell mine to someone who cares about supporting the local makers.
Buy locally, think globally is a concept still tough to grasp. In my clothing industry career, I learned the true cost of sending jobs offshore so consumers could buy for rock-bottom prices. Decades later, Americans are realizing the backbone of the middle class — manufacturing — barely exists in their country.
How have your consumption habits changed, based on where you live — or the products you create?
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California native Catherine Salter Bayar creates knitwear, seeks textile treasure, and has left her house on Ayasuluk Hill for a room in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet. She writes about it all in her upcoming book, Weaving Our Way Home.
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Introducing our new interview series: we’ll be sharing talks we’ve had with localized foreigners, outsiders on the inside, hybrid characters of all kinds. Suggest a person for us to interview (or someone you want to grill)!
Today we’re chatting with James Chartrand, head of the web design and copywriting outfit Men With Pens. He’s a successful online entrepreneur from Québec, Canada — and he’s a woman.
In breaking the news last year James credited her professional gender shift three years ago to vastly improved freelance opportunities in the virtual marketplace.
e+H: James, when and why did you think donning a male-sounding pseudonym for your online ventures might give you better results?
Early on, I had wanted to expand from solo freelancing into a team agency that could handle volume. I wanted anonymity for the hiring, and I wanted to be treated as a client, not as a writer peer hiring others – I chose a male name for the experience.
The level of respect I received was astounding. I adopted the male name in my own quotes and proposals to clients. Suddenly people listened to ideas, when previously they discredited them. My quotes were rarely haggled over and accepted at face value. In fact, I raised my rates substantially.
It seemed like a total business win – so I just kept up with it!
e+H: How easy/difficult was it to play this role? What considerations did you count as pros, as cons?
I have no personal attachments to my work or business, and so could separate the two without difficulty. I work in an online-only environment, so I didn’t have to meet anyone face to face or take calls, which added an extra level of easy.
The pros? More money, more respect, more credibility and being taken seriously.
The cons came later on as I grew in popularity and fame. I couldn’t attend events or seminars as James and had to turn down a few opportunities that would have increased my success. When pushed for calls, I had to refuse – or go ahead with them, and risk that the person on the other end of the line might react badly. They never did, though, and always laughed.
e+H: What changes did you notice in how you viewed yourself?
I am myself, regardless of what label I use, so my personality and identity never changed. I behaved the same, I used the same language, I made the same moves and I pursued the same opportunities as I would have had I used my own name.
People seem to believe I adopted a new persona – I just adopted a new name, that’s all.
 Gender bending at hybrid/MONSTER: Mr. Zuzu by S.Koehler
e+H: Did being James spill over into your actual world life?
I’d say it was more the inverse – being myself spilled over into “the world of James”. Several people commented on how well I listened, how easy I was to talk to, how in touch with my feelings I seemed to be – all traits that are commonly associated with women. A few asked whether I was gay, which always made me laugh.
e+H: What male-only culture were you exposed to as James?
This is a really good question, and the first time I’ve been asked this – well done. ”Male-only” is extremely limited and very niche – it would mean I would have had to be invited to an “all boys” club, and I wasn’t.
Male dominated, though, is another story. I can say that the writing and freelancing industry is largely male dominated, with most big-name copywriters being men. Most A-list bloggers are male as well, as Technorati has reported for several years.
So I did find myself at a business level where there weren’t many women, yes. Managing it was simple – I have a good head for business, I knew what I wanted and I pursued the opportunities and chances that came along.
e+H: Did being James require you to act or think in any way differently?
I had to be careful about the pronouns I used…and what I shared of my private life or admitted in public. I’d tweet something that seemed perfectly fine to me (for example, that I knew how to knit!), and I’d get an email from a close friend who would say, “Your slip is showing…”
But again, each time, this only went to prove how much gender bias people have – many men know how to knit, for example, and do so very well. Why should they hide a particular talent from people in shame of being seen as “girlie”?
 James Chartrand
e+H: What parallels can you draw in the rest of your life?
John Smith is treated much differently than Indigo Rodriguez. A French nurse is treated differently than an English one. A gay man (or woman) is treated differently than a straight one. We’re even treated differently because of the clothes we wear, what our faces look like or which music we like to listen to.
Many like to deny it and say it doesn’t exist, but when you accept the possibility is there and start to watch for it, you’ll quickly realize that we all judge books by their covers, and that it’s hard to overcome that. My most open-minded of friends realized that they too have biases and assumptions – and some of them frankly irrational.
e+H: James, thanks for sharing your story with expat+HAREM. Now a question for our readers — do you judge people based on their name?
[This was sent to our newsletter subscribers in August 2010. If you'd like to receive our newsletters directly, sign up here]
Welcome to August’s “Supraculture” issue.
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EDITOR’S NOTE
So much fun this month name-calling and finding our true neighborhood in supraculture. Dropping hints for your soundtrack of placelessness. Announcing the emergence of a great new voice with whom we’re exploring the existential anxiety of being people like us.
Lots of things to do: besides sharing your thoughts on tipping points and tour groups, you’re invited to participate in a once-in-a-lifetime creative project on 11/11/11 with people from 196 countries, in 2,000 languages. It promises to be “the greatest story ever told.”
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YOUR THOUGHTS
Let us know what you’d ask the expat+HAREM community.
We asked for the names you give our global nichery — is it a subculture like nudists and skateboarders and Burning Man (which sound like the same thing, snarf!), or is this diverse life we lead a transcendent supraculture above and beyond it all?
Some replies (keep them coming): Homeless. Geoagnostic. Nomadology.
“Worldburgers is what I call people like us,” offers Judith van Praag, a Dutch writer/designer in Seattle and a Dialogue2010 cultural innovator.
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AT expat+HAREM
This month we discussed the tipping point of cultural assimilation and its confusions (can a soapy television show trigger a shift in your identity?). We also confided what the ancient history of a place has made us do (like fall down a Turkish mountain when the past won’t meet us in a more convenient spot, or innovate new business based on heritage techniques). Being contradictory types, we continue to debate whether our travel styles — ultraspecialized tour group, herdlike mass transport, or loner on a new landscape — reflect larger life choices or simply what it takes to get us somewhere else on the planet.
Our Facebook group wall is now a perfect place to highlight your latest identity adventure: friends and fans are invited to post your blog/site link, and tell us all what awesomeness you’ve been up to.
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AROUND THE WORLD & AROUND THE WEB
We’re not alone. In fact, here’s another vote for supraculture: we’re thrilled to witness a like-minded movement building online in the inaugural hybridology conference call by Amna Ahmad of The Pragmatic Hybrid. Addressing “the existential anxiety of our hybrid lives,” she says we’re looking for models of courage/integrity in smart/fascinating people “who do eleven things that don’t seem to have anything in common.” Sound familiar?
Good guide to creating an earthy soundscape: the world music reviews at Perceptive Travel, the online magazine by book authors on the move. Personally, they had us at “remixed desert blues” Tuareg-style, and “placeless internationalism”.
Among the luminaries we met at TEDGlobal last month: the founder of 11ElevenProject, a day-long time capsule which aims to be the biggest creative project in human history — bringing the world together through film, photography, art, sound and music — to celebrate our individuality, and honor our common humanity. Plan to participate.
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Supraculturalfragilisticly yours,
(try it, it’s fun!)

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MISS LAST MONTH?
Check out July’s “Cool”
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By CATHERINE YIĞIT
“Cast a cold Eye/On Life, on Death.”– William Butler Yeats
In over eight years living abroad I’ve lost two uncles, a grandmother and an aunt, in addition to many acquaintances. I didn’t make it home to any funeral.
For people like me there may be no choice but to heed that Dublin poet’s cold-eyed epitaph. At some point the long-term expat must face death. It could be an acquaintance, celebrity, or worst of all, friend or family member. Whatever the degree of closeness, we become aware that home has diminished; the web of friendship centered on the deceased has lost its node.
 Memorial by CYigit
I didn’t make it to the funerals but I attended anyway.
I followed the rites, watched the coffin close, followed the removal to the church, the funeral mass the following day and finally the burial. I shed tears with the family and dropped a rose onto the coffin six foot under. I witnessed the family reunions that any funeral becomes; sandwich in one hand, pint or cup of tea in the other.
The Turkish tradition of quick burial seems rushed, there’s barely time for the body to cool. Sensible in the hot climates where Islam was born, but to someone from a culture with a wake it leaves too little time to adjust, too little time to say goodbye.
And what about when the ritual isn’t followed? What then?
This death-at-a-distance wraps me in a cocoon.
I realize how selfish my sheltered grieving is. I am not there to help, to search, to listen, to share, to support. I am not there.
How do you cope with death-at-a-distance?
In loving memory of Brecan Mooney 1978-2009.
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Catherine Yiğit is a native of Dublin, Ireland and writes from Çanakkale, northwestern Turkey where she lives with her Turkish husband and two children.
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By CATHERINE SALTER BAYAR
Here’s my idea of travel torture: Sabotaging a holiday by overpaying someone to impose an itinerary on me.
Visiting 45 countries, I’ve never gone with a tour group, never sailed on a cruise ship. Perhaps I’m allergic to pack mentality because I was born in a tourist town, and have lived in places on touristy top-ten lists my whole life. I dislike being stuck in the company of people “from home” for the same reason I’m uncomfortable in the suburbs: the homogeneity stifles me.
Now on a warm Sunday afternoon, my neighborhood in Istanbul’s old peninsula offers two group extremes. In the convoluted lanes outside Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, I observe the crowds of local bargain-hunting families. The hawkers are expressive, the mood festive. It’s a day to relax, enjoy each other’s company, and eat a meal together away from home.
In nearby Sultanahmet the mood is frantic. Crowds of sight-seeing tourists are prodded along by their assertive guides. There’s much to see and so little time!
 Looming cruise ship by CSBayar
The point of travel is to encounter new cultures, see the world from a different perspective, feel the discomfort of being the only one like you around.
The sameness I avoid in travel also became tiresome when living outside my birth culture, in a small town with restrictive family ties.
Unlike those Grand Bazaar shoppers, my husband and I are black sheep. We prefer the anonymity that huge cities provide, the independence to stand out or blend in as we choose. We’re happiest in a crossroads of cultures, with the Babel of languages in our ears.
How does your travel philosophy reflect your other life choices?
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California native Catherine Salter Bayar creates knitwear, seeks textile treasure, and has left her house on Ayasuluk Hill for a room in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet. She writes about it all in her upcoming book, Weaving Our Way Home.
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By JOE CLARKE
Coming from the U.K. to live by the Mediterranean has been an escape to something new: the incredibly old.
My wife, an ancient languages scholar, can read Luwian, the tongue of an obscure civilisation that made its home here in Cilicia.
It’s different in London. History crowds you. It jostles your drinking arm and spills your pint. Celtic hordes shove you on Oxford Street, Norman policeman move you along and Saxon shop keepers ignore you. Shakespeare edits the local gazette, Dr Johnson corrects your language at school and Pepys sells you slightly charred parmesan cheese.
In Rough Cilicia, history waits for you to find it. It camps in the mountains, enjoying the view. It lies in the sea, letting the waves wash away the millennia. It sits by rivers and under cliffs and in the cool of caves. It watches you. It remembers Cleopatra’s beauty and Alexander’s ambition.
 Adam Kayalar by J.Clarke
The remote history of Anatolia has made me risk my neck to get to it.
Take Adam Kayalar. I drive up a small mountain road. Park in a clearing. Descend steps cut into a sheer rock face two thousand years ago and repaired only where crampons and ropes would be needed. Immaculate round holes are cut where more sensible people placed handrails. Fifteen minutes of falling down a mountain I come to a ledge, twenty foot wide.
Look up. Carved into the inaccessible rock face above me are Roman reliefs, celebrating the dead. Warriors, mothers, families, hunters, children.
This was the site of an ancient death cult. In the glorious sunlight, with a view of a valley cutting its way down to the sea, the location acknowledges death in the face of life and celebrates life in the face of death.
What has ancient history in a new place made you do?
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Joe Clarke figures his Irish roots and Turkish citizenship make him a London Irish Turk. The London native lives in Tasucu with his wife and daughter, teaches English at a local school and misses his eldest daughter still in England.
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