Rhiannon Giddens Quotes

When you look at me, you can't really tell what I am, but I'm black, white, Native, Spanish, and a little bit of Filipino.

My family is part Creole, and we're Indian, and we're also very, very black. My father was so black, he was blue.

My theory is because I'm Asian and white I sort of look like the future. I'm the melting pot.

When I was finishing 'Now You See Me 2,' I remember thinking about exploring the Asian-American identity side of my brain.

I grew up on the coast of England in the '70s. My dad is white from Cornwall, and my mom is black from Zimbabwe. Even the idea of us as a family was challenging to most people.

I feel like we have so much to add to this book called the American Dream, and I want to add our chapter to it. I want to talk about what it means to be brown American and this concept of what I feel is the New Brown America.

There are several different traits that make up a person's identity. For me, being Vietnamese American is the entirety of who I am.

Puerto Ricans are many colors - we are Spanish, we're French, we're Thai, Indian, we're almost black, some of us.

I think of myself as being Jewish and Irish, despite the fact that I'm English.

I'm tri-racial: African-American, Native American and Euro - that's the Scotch-Irish part.

I am half Puerto Rican, a quarter German and a quarter black. That was always a big issue for me - being mixed race - because casting directors tended to be very like, 'OK, are you Hispanic for this role?' 'Or is she going to be African American?'

Speaking as a mixed-race woman, there aren't many historical stories about people like me.

I'm a suspicious mulatto, which means I'm too black to be white and too white to be doing it right.

Mostly I'm proud to be an African-American woman, but I'm glad I have a universal look as well.

Growing up, I thought I was white. It didn't occur to me I was Asian-American until I was studying abroad in Denmark and there was a little bit of prejudice.

I find myself frequently introducing myself to someone, saying that, you know, I've grown up black and biracial in the United States.

We come from a very mixed family. We're a bunch of different races, my family. So it's very normal for us. I don't know why we're accepted. Are all of us accepted or just me?

I'm black and Cuban, Australian and Irish, and like most people in America, I'm someone whose roots come from somewhere else. I'm a mixed race, first-generation American.

I am the daughter of a Chicana and anglo. I think most days I am an embarrassment to both groups. I sometimes hate the white in me so viciously that I long to forget the commitment my skin has imposed upon my life.

There are some Chicanos who don't want to be Chicanos - they want to be Mexican-American, Hispanic, or even Spanish.

Sometimes I have a very fleeting emotional dance with a fleeting phrase, like 'half-Mexican.'

There's a big difference between race and culture. Because racially, I'm an Indian man. Culturally, not at all.

Oh, I love labels, as long as they are numerous. I'm an American writer. I'm a Nigerian writer. I'm a Nigerian American writer. I'm an African writer. I'm a Yoruba writer. I'm an African American writer.

It is impossible to say with any certainty to which human race we belong. We all differ visibly in the color of our skin.

When you're biracial, you can feel like you're fully neither, not fully both. But I won't strip away my heritage for anyone's comfort.