Always Proud But Sometimes Uncertain

Posted in Lifestyle, Opinion by

We love a vague headline.

While I pride myself in starting my posts with a snazzy and attention grabbing intro leading into the meat of the post, with today’s article, I wanted to take a more serious and sombre approach to the thoughts that I wanted to share with you all today.

A proud Māori, Samoan and Irish baddie.

In 2014, I wrote about the term “plastic fob” and how I do not appreciate or associate myself with the term. If you can’t be bothered clicking on this beautiful hyperlink, a ‘plastic fob’ is essentially a Polynesian who isn’t completely immersed in the culture because of their Western upbringing or other such factors. The term is used, whether consciously or subconsciously, to instill a hierarchy within the culture or ethnicity, as those who can’t speak the language and aren’t completely familiar with the culture are made to feel lesser than those who know it all.

As a very quick introduction – in case you haven’t read any of the other posts on Widow’s Lure where I talk about my ethnicity – I am Māori, Samoan and Irish. I was born and raised in Bathurst NSW before moving to Sydney, with a brief stint in Goulburn for two years in between. Because of my upbringing in Australia, I do not speak Te Reo, Samoan, or Gaeilge for that matter, however I was taught enough about my culture to have an elementary understanding of certain traditions and foods of both my Māori and Samoan sides. (Note: I was not raised within the Irish culture, but that’s a story for another time. I’ve learned more and more about it in my adulthood and absolutely love my Gaelic side! Rock the boat!)

Because of my basic understanding of my cultures, I have often felt an insecurity when surrounded by others who have better knowledge on the topics that I do. From attending family events where it’s spoken mostly in Samoan and I don’t understand a word of what is being said, to briefly forgetting the word for a Māori tattoo (tā moko, btw) and feeling ashamed for this little brain fart, it’s something that weighs on my mind unnecessarily, and at times that weight is heavier than it has any right to be.

And on the Irish side, there is that underlying insecurity when I share my ethnic background with others that I don’t look Irish or ‘white’ enough or that I’m an ethnic trying to cling to any sort of Caucasian blood I may have, as if the colour of my skin determines my Irishness. Because whenever I tell others of my ethnic background, nine times out of ten the response will be “Irish? That’s surprising.” Colonisation is real, guys. I can’t help it.

While I don’t believe I’ve ever had anyone use plastic fob against me as an insult, I have had friends and extended family call me a plastic fob as a playful jab or as banter in the past, and the impact of the term has always sat with me. Sometimes I do feel like I’m not Māori enough or Samoan enough, or I don’t look Irish enough, and that I am sitting in some biracial limbo in between all three ethnicities because I am not enough for any of them.

But like I said in 2014, and I am going to reiterate it in 2026, I am not a plastic fob… and I just hate the term in general and wish it would disappear. The belief that Māori or Samoan people need to act a certain way, have a certain type of temperament, or even have a particular occupation is detrimental to our people and sells us as a collective short, because we as Polynesian people are so beautiful in the way that we are all so different, but are all linked because we are proud of the islands that our ancestors came from. I love seeing Polynesians in jobs that western society does not expect us to be in. We are scientists. We are politicians. We are doctors. We are labour workers. We are caregivers. We are beautiful people.

I was recently speaking with a friend who is Māori by blood but also has some white in him, and because of that, he is very white presenting. He was saying that he sometimes feels insecure in his Māori-ness because of how white presenting he is, so I told him about this beautiful Māori proverb that I read once. I won’t butcher the beautiful words that were spoken in this proverb because my memory fails me, but paraphrased to the best of my knowledge, it essentially said “We don’t believe in saying ‘half Māori’ or ‘quarter Māori’. If you have Māori in your blood, then you are Māori.” And as much as my friend needed this reminder, I needed it as well.

The way I behave or act does not determine the legitimacy of my Māori-ness or my Samoan-ness, and my brown skin does not determine the legitimacy of my Irish-ness. I could be a firefighter, a stripper, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, or the Prime Minister of Australia, and none of that would change the indisputable fact that I am Māori; I am Samoan; and I am Irish, and I am damn proud of it.

Because as a fucking reminder…

I am Māori. I am Samoan. I am Irish. I’m a pro wrestler. I’m a compliance coordinator. I’m an author. I’m a blogger. I’m a Bravoholic. I’m an Aquarian. I have BPD and OCD.

And that’s fucking beautiful.

– by The Black Widow

Cultural Code Switching, Explained By a Minority

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A hard conversation? On Widow’s Lure? No way!

We all know that the only way to cure ignorance is education, and then it’s up to the person receiving it to decide whether they learn and grow from it, or choose to remain willfully ignorant.

However, I’ve always believed that the hardest conversations – the ones that make the air leave the room, and the ones that might make people even the slightest bit uncomfortable – are the conversations that really need to happen. Like, how would you understand why a certain word is considered a slur to a certain group of people if no one will plainly explain it to you?

For that reason alone, I don’t shy away from tough conversations. I may use humour to dilute the seriousness of these conversations from time to time, but if I can power through a hard conversation with the hopes that it helps or educates at least one person out there, then I feel like my job is done.

So with that long introduction out of the way, I wanted to touch on a fairly serious topic that some people might not even be aware of.

Code switching. Ever heard of the term?

At its core, code switching is when someone adjusts or changes the way they speak, act or behave depending on whom they’re around, the setting they’re in, and other external factors. In a very general and low-level sense, some examples of everyday code switching would be going from talking very casually to your friends (“Biiiiitch, guess who I walked past the other day?”) to then speaking more formally with zero profanity when in the office (“Can we set up a one-on-one to go over next week’s tasks?”) You might even behave or communicate differently depending on your friendship groups, like you might be a certain way around your friends from high school than you are around your friends from uni.

Those are very real and valid examples of code switching that everyone goes through in everyday life. But for many minorities, code switching is not just a social flexibility. It can be tied to safety, acceptance and a sense of belonging.

Enter: ethnic and racial code switching.

If you’re Polynesian, you’ll know what I’m talking about when I refer to the ‘Islander laugh’. And for those who haven’t been inducted into the Islander laugh, it’s a certain laugh that every Polynesian has where it’s loud, boisterous and has a supercharged energy or mana behind it. By all accounts, an Islander laugh is absolutely infectious and it’s when you know your Polynesian friend is comfortable around you.

I was talking to my dear friend and sister Eugenie (fellow Polynesian) about the Islander laugh, and I in all sincerity told her I didn’t think I had an Islander laugh, to which she replied that I absolutely do have one and she’s definitely heard it when it was just the two of us together. At first, I thought she was pulling my leg because I genuinely didn’t think I had it in me to produce an Islander laugh. (I was born and raised in country NSW predominantly around white Australians, then moved to Sydney where there was a Pacifika influence but I was still more around a western influence with friends of all cultures.) But as I stopped to think about it, a part of me realised that I did have an Islander laugh and maybe I had subconsciously only reserved it for other Polynesians because I code switched my laugh when around other ethnicities.

If that’s not a clear enough example of cultural code switching, let me quickly introduce you to the ‘pākehā voice’. For those playing at home, pākehā is the Māori word for a non-Māori and is more commonly used to describe white or predominantly white folks.

Now as a friendly reminder, I was born and raised in Australia and have never lived in Aotearoa or Samoa, or even Ireland for that matter. I proudly identify my nationality as Australian and I am very privileged to have grown up in a great country like Australia. So it should be fairly surprising to some that I even have a pākehā voice in general because theoretically that should be my default.

Pākehā voice is the voice and tone you reserve for when you need to communicate with people of other cultures (but mostly white folk) because you have an underlying or subconscious thought that they won’t take you seriously if you use your normal speaking voice. For example, when I am calling a business to make a first-touch enquiry or I’m calling to make an appointment at a clinic that I’ve never used before, my pākehā voice comes out to play because god forbid they take me seriously if I didn’t code switch my voice. When I take podcast interviews or other media talks for my wrestling career, my pākehā voice comes out, and I’ve even had my sister Toni tell me that she heard me using my pākehā voice outside my bedroom door and knew not to knock because the voice alone gave away that I was in an interview of some sort.

The idea that I have to adjust myself, even slightly, to accommodate people from other cultures is quietly laughable to me because I know that nothing about me needs to change and I know that I am very comfortable in who I am and I never shrink to fit in a room that doesn’t deserve me. But even with that knowledge, I still do it.

One thing that I’m big on is always pronouncing words like “Samoan” and “Māori” properly and not using the whitened pronunciations unless I absolutely have to because I don’t feel like I need to adjust my own culture to be more palatable or easier to understand to someone who might not be familiar with the natural pronunciation.

And if cultural and racial code switching wasn’t enough, welcome to queer or gender based code switching.

Some blatant examples of this include: keeping your partner’s gender purposely obscure because you’re unsure of the reaction you’ll receive when that information is divulged; deepening or heightening your voice to avoid possible discrimination; and toning down your wardrobe choices so not to offend others when it’s something you wouldn’t particularly want to wear.

While ethnic and racial code switching is more based in needing other people to understand and consume you, queer or gender based code switching is more based in protecting yourself and feeling safe in environments that you aren’t familiar with. And god forbid I have to go through both on a daily basis just to exist in Australian society.

I love that for the most part, Australia is generally safe for LGBTQIA+ folks and embraces multiculturalism that we are known for. But being a minority from both a racial and gender/sexual orientation standpoint, I find it interesting that my subconscious mind defaults to these kinds of redundant code switches even though I know I don’t need to. Especially as someone who does not shrink to fit into rooms and always embraces my truest self in social situations.

Perhaps underneath the boldness, the glamour and the confidence that I genuinely wield, is that little girl that needs to be understood and needs to feel safe, so these tiny code switches help to put her at ease. And if that’s what I need to do to nurture her, then so fucking be it.

And I’m not saying that in my pākehā voice.

– by The Black Widow

Six Facts About Pride Month

Posted in Lifestyle by

Wow, a listicle… and during Pride Month?!

(In fairness, I could be using that a lot more than I have been this June.)

Hello Widow’s Lureans! Wherever you are in the world, I hope you are all enjoying Pride Month, whether you are a part of the Alphabet Mafia, a proud ally, or just a quiet bystander.

It would be remiss of me not to touch on Pride Month as a proud B, Q and T of the LGBTQIA+. And instead of taking a fairly serious toned but still informative point of view like I did in 2024, I thought I’d take a more light-hearted but still checking your nonsense kind of tone in 2026.

So with that being said, here are six facts about Pride Month, compiled by yours truly.

1. Pride doesn’t exist to wipe out the cishets
This is the most tiring ‘argument’ I see whenever Pride Month rolls around. All of a sudden Larry the cishet white man – a subgenre of human that has been severely underrepresented in modern media, clearly – complains “What about Straight Pride? Where’s my Straight Pride parade? Should I be ashamed for being attracted to the opposite gender?” No you shouldn’t Larry. You should be ashamed for having a pea-sized brain, however. Pride exists because for decades, anyone outside of the cishet normality was shunned, crucified, persecuted and even jailed for simply existing as they are. The first brick was thrown at Stonewall because we were tired of living in the shadows and having to pretend to be someone we weren’t simply because of societal norms. Pride exists so that we can embrace who we are. Not everything revolves around you, Larry.

2. Men’s Mental Health Month can exist alongside Pride Month (shocker!)
Another tiring argument I see is “What about Men’s Mental Health Month?” Are you aware that two things can exist at the same time exclusive of each other? What a novel concept! If I can share the same birthday with my aunt, then Men’s Mental Health Month can share the same month as Pride Month. Although I think it’s super funny how these people harp on about men’s mental health yet when someone like Kane Evans shares his deeply moving and personal coming out story, all of a sudden their care for men’s mental health goes out the window and they start ridiculing him. Funny that.

3. Pride won’t turn your kids gay or trans
There goes a tale that should you look in the sun and see a rainbow, suddenly you will experience gender dysphoria and a sudden attraction to the same gender. Okay but seriously, if you believe in this and ‘the rainbow flag propaganda’, let me know what area you live in so I can point you towards the nearest library. Because that is NOT how LGBTQIA+ works. One phrase I see that I love, and bear with me while I paraphrase this, is “Pride doesn’t exist to turn your kids into gay kids. It exists so your kids don’t turn into dead kids.” LGBTQIA+ kids are four times more likely to attempt suicide than their cishet counterparts (source), which is a terrible fact. Pride exists so that these kids can love and embrace who they are so they can live longer and happier lives and not be forced into a closet or repression that could lead to them making some permanent choices. Again, not everything revolves around you, Larry.

4. Pride is for everyone*
This could be a potentially controversial opinion but I believe that pride and celebrating pride is for everyone – including the cishets. By that, I mean if Samantha the cishet ally wants to celebrate pride and embrace all of her LGBTQIA+ friends and family, then Pride is as much for Samantha as it is any member of the Rainbow Army. Don’t gatekeep pride for people who are genuine supporters of the community, especially at a time like this where our mere existence is being politically debated. So if you see Pride Month advertising and you as a cishet think “What can I do to celebrate Pride?” You can reach out to your queer friends and peers, check in on them, remind them that they are seen and loved and you have their backs. *Pride is not for the LGB without the T crowd. You shouldn’t be proud of who you are, because who you are is a horrible person who lacks critical thinking.

5. The B is still as valid as every other letter
If there’s one thing I hate nearly as much as I hate the “LGB without the T” crowd of half-wit morons, it’s those who try to shame or gatekeep Pride from bi, pan or queer folk in hetero presenting relationships. Delancey the bisexual woman married to her Golden Retriever husband deserves to be here as much as anyone else. The queerness in her doesn’t automatically disappear because she fell in love with and married someone of the opposite sex. Fuck outta here with your nonsense.

6. We just want to exist safely
If you think that Pride is just some leftist propaganda to turn everyone queer, then I’ll hold back my usual sassiness to hit you with this very important fact I touched on in number one – we just want to live our lives free of persecution, judgment or discrimination. That’s the main reason Pride exists. A same sex couple holding hands walking down the street is guaranteed to be met with a different and colder reception than a hetero couple; a trans woman simply existing in a dress is guaranteed to irk some small-minded folks; an ace-aro is guaranteed to heave a sigh as they have to explain to someone for the 1000th why they want to be alone. You don’t have to understand every letter and every aspect of LGBTQIA+, but what you can do is offer simple grace and compassion and realise that “Hey, I might not understand it all, but I acknowledge they’re human and they deserve the right to live the way they want”. That’s it.

I’m going to end this Pride themed piece with five very choice words that I want you to take away from this…

Fuck Riley Gaines, dumb bitch.

Happy Pride!

– by The Black Widow

Satisfashion: Y2K and the Visible G-String

Posted in Lifestyle, Satisfashion by

Making 2000’s Lita proud with this.

For reasons that should be fairly obvious, I didn’t get to live my lowrider visible G string phase back in the 2000’s, which is truly such a sad fact of life for me. And as quick as this provocative style came in, it went out of fashion just as quick and was replaced as the 2010’s ushered in the era of high-waisted skirts, jeans and shorts. During this era, it became taboo to wear anything low-rise and wearing such a risky garment would grant you looks of pure horror or disgust in the era of peplum tops and bandage dresses.

And then, in the early 2020’s after the world almost ctrl-alt-deleted itself, a resurgence of the Y2K style came in as Gen Z discovered something of the past while us millennials had the privilege of raiding our packed-up fashions from the garage and pulled out some vintage classics. This pivot in fashion and trends essentially released us all from the chokehold that high-waisted denim shorts had on us. Now you can go for a night out and see women in their high waisted skirts and pants standing next to a bunch of other women in low rise jorts and cargo pants, and both sets of women look absolutely fabulous.

Although for dolls like me who didn’t get to live this important era of girlhood, now’s our time to shine.

I feel like it’s very important to mention that I donned this look for a casual Saturday night Chinese dinner in Newtown with a girlfriend.

For this specific trend, I think the first thing I want to point out is if you’re going to wear a visible G-string, make sure it is visible for those on the moon. Don’t just have a little bit of it poking out, because to me that defeats the purpose of rocking the 2000’s Lita look. Be proud of your specific choice of underwear and own that piece of your sexuality. The height of mine might look ridiculous since it’s almost up to my chest, but that just makes it more impactful than if only a smidge of black was poking out.

I’ve been blessed/cursed with a long torso, so the impact of the midriff and visible G-string is greatly accentuated for me. But goes without saying, just as the above point reiterates, wear a midriff or crop top so that the visible G-string is indeed visible. There is literally no point of having your cheeky thong poke out if a loose fitting band tee is covering it. Like you might as well have worn your ugly underwear for the look because no one is going to bloody see them.

The choice of bottoms is also important to consider because you have to think about what would suit the look you’re trying to achieve. For the best and safest option, I would recommend a baggy trouser or jeans. Loose pants combined with a visible G-string and a midriff top is such a classic 90’s baddie look that you absolutely cannot go wrong with. I would say to steer away from low-rise mini skirts or hot pants because that would mean there’s a lot going on with your look, but also I support a woman’s right to choose whatever path she wants, so you do whatever you want sister.

To complete the look, consider your hair and footwear. I opted to go with the classic half-up half down pigtails – another classic 90’s serve – and some white sneakers, because we all know the most versatile thing in a woman’s wardrobe will be her white sneakers. I can also see something like loose curls and a pair of square heels working with your crop top, visible G-string and low rise pants to complete this absolutely iconic look.

Please don’t judge the image quality. I’ll do better next time, I promise.

As always, The Black Widow has you covered on all things fashion, style and trends. If you have any particular look that you want covered here on Widow’s Lure, please write to us and we’ll be happy to accommodate you and send you on your way in your own style journey.

– by The Black Widow