“I want out of labels. I don’t want my whole life crammed into a single word.” Chuck Palahniuk’s words relay an accepted aspect of daily life, stigmas. These marks, forced upon the individual, signify their worth to an outsider. One memory always floating in the back of my mind, suctioning onto my memories like a leech, is the hulking stigma stuck on me for the sport I played: basketball. Labels such as the one I encountered are detrimental to society, as they limit social interaction and destroy self-esteem.

It may not be universal knowledge – it certainly was not to me – that girls’ basketball is a sport predominantly known for players who are gay. When I started participating in second grade, I did not care what could be misconstrued about my sexuality in the future if I competed then. For me, I had finally unearthed a game that lit a fire within. I had previously been racing after dragonflies instead of the ball on the soccer field, but when the rubbery texture of the burnt orange ball slapped into my hand, I was enamored. The clamor of the crowd disappeared at each game, and the spectators became background noise to the sound of the ball dribbling against the polished court. After each game, I grabbed a snack in its shiny packaging, dripping with salty sweat, harboring a feeling of fullness.

In high school, I decided to continue with my favorite sport and try out for the basketball team. After a week of grueling try-outs, I became a member, advancing to Junior Varsity in my sophomore year. These prized accomplishments soon became an invitation for various boys in my math class to pull me aside after I entered each day, their mouths seething with word venom.

“Lesbian, what time is your game today?”
“Do you only play that game so you can look at girls?”
“I bet you’ll have a great time in the locker room today!”

This verbal assault transpired like clockwork. Each expedition to math was a practice in bracing myself for the words to come. All participants believed this abuse was a hilarious, original joke. Unfortunately, their egos only grew in magnitude when another member of the team introduced the class to her girlfriend.

This stigma I had been granted from my affinity for sports was like an injury that constrained me for the whole season. An injury makes it increasingly difficult to play; you give up points, let by shots. Your feet are latched to the ground, and the fog polluting your brain makes it impossible to persevere. Some injuries keep you benched, those are the ones that aid in recovery. The period in which you can sit back and take time for your body to mend allows a rest which leaves you fully energized, after your bruises and bones finally heal, to take the floor when the opening buzzer sounds. However, this is not the type of injury that I am describing. I am outlining a slight injury. This injury is gnawing and painful, but not enough to pull you out of games; it is one where the player has to ignore the agony and hold their own. Their game always weakens.

This stigma edged in the back of my mind, causing me to question my motives for the sport. I did not know if I should play intensely at a game, because the comments that would be made the next day in class could become daggers. Would each move I made be documented and analyzed later so my sexuality could be clearly pointed out to everyone in the most incorrect and embarrassing way possible?

My game suffered. These tiny comments worked their way into my mind like worms and housed themselves there during practices and games. I tried to overcome it each time, but whenever I would play well, my joy would diminish in class the next day. Playing to my full potential was no longer followed by a fullness, but instead an insidious foretelling of what the next day would bring.

My self-esteem suffered. I could not understand why I was being singled out for what my favorite hobbies were. I did not feel as though I could relay the genuine person I was, since I would inevitably be judged for it. If something as simple as the sport I had been playing for over a decade was an invitation for those around me to tease me, there were other parts of my life which were vulnerable as well.

The effects of the label plastered on me by my peers were detrimental to my personage. For more reasons than one, the fire that had once been passionately lit for my sport went out. After that year, my feet never grazed the court again. I suspended the announcement of basketball as a part of me, since there was no way to know how others would react. I was no longer comfortable in my skin; anything about me could be pointed out as wrong.
Today, there is a considerable emphasis placed upon labels. Movies about high school students focus around cliques, specific sections of stores are tagged for particular people, and ways to express yourself by clothing, piercings, or tattoos have transformed into a way of labeling. These stigmas are placed on an individual, most often, before we even come into contact with them. As soon as someone is labeled, it is decided whether they are a friend or a victim, without the least bit of knowledge about the person.

These tags are destroying social interaction. Humans refuse to acknowledge opposing views, or have a discussion with someone unlike them, because it is exceedingly simple to write people off by appearance. Human beings are unaware of what it is to observe differing views or have a variety of experiences with a mixture of cultures, since an individual’s presence, their hobbies, or their interests make it remarkably effortless to avoid those they assume they will not agree with. Not only is this detrimental for those unable to experience an assortment of backgrounds, but also for those written off. Their appearance may push away social interaction, leaving them empty and alone without an idea why.

Additionally, labels increase separation between individuals. This apparent unlikeness is what leads to inequality, and bullying in children. The separation by not understanding what one stereotype means, ushers to a teasing, whether intentional or not, which is detrimental. This individual is left to question why they attained such a tag and what it asserts about them. Most of the time, this procures a hatred of themselves and a resentment toward others. It does not allow an openness and expression, out of a fear they will be judged and stuck with more damaging marks.

It is understandable to assert that labels quicken the process of discovery. It can be claimed that marking someone allows those around them to not waste their time with idle discussion, if they knew they would not mesh with the individual in the first place. In such a fast paced culture, time is of the essence, and any sparing of such is desired. Although this assertion can be pointed out, the amount of time saved is not comparable to the loss of self-esteem procured by such stigmas. The harmful, venomous statements have no significant worth. 

Individuals tend to need every aspect of a project, idea, or person explained to them in advance, so they can hastily pass judgement on it. Although many members of society believe labels aid us, I believe labels should be eliminated, and social interactions should be encouraged. Individuals should be pushed to learn more about differing cultures and views before judging what they deem appropriate and inappropriate. Differences should not be pointed out and shunned, but rather cherished for the diversity it adds to our community.