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