Too Persian

I’ll let you in on a little secret: In an Orwellian twist on an immigrant community, all Persians are equal, but some Persians are more Persian than others.

In America, we callously refer to these fellow Persians as “F.O.B.,” or “Fresh Off the Boat.” It doesn’t matter if they’ve been in the United States three or 30 years; there’s something about their demeanor, hobbies and values that sets them apart from other, more “Americanized” Persians.

Maybe they’re young, but they prefer to play cards at the park when they should be sitting on a couch, downloading new apps. They cringe at the thought of sushi and ask whether their date would be interested in going to a Persian restaurant instead. And they’re too modest to make out in a car parked outside their parents’ home. They’re small fish in a huge American pond, and they want to ensure they’re not swallowed by any overly-assimilated sharks.

And then there’s their accent. It gives them away faster than anything else.

I’ve been guilty of using this pejorative label (“F.O.B.”), but I should have known better. For decades after I came to America, I was called an “F.O.B.” by Persians who had been here longer. As if their ghormeh sabzi had sat in the pot on the stove longer than mine and they were “fully cooked” in this country.

I still hear the term “F.O.B.” from friends attempting to describe the personality of an eligible man or woman.

“Do you know anyone for my brother?” a friend will ask. “He’s a really good guy, but he’s just a little F.O.B.” They use the word less as a description and more as a warning.

Maybe this kind of stigmatization happens in other cultures, too. There must be some Israelis in the valley who are called “too Israeli” or Armenians in Glendale who are “too Armenian.” One thing’s for sure: these generalizations all point to not being Americanized enough, as if being completely assimilated is a guarantee that someone will be happier, more refined or make a lovely spouse.

Something happened to Persians after we arrived in the West en masse after the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran: In a desperate attempt to assimilate as fast as possible, we hid our accents, changed our names and swapped “One Thousand and One Nights” for “50 Shades of Grey.”

The only problem was that some (though not all) of us abandoned the best of our culture, including its literature, classical music and humanistic values, in exchange for fabulous pool parties, idle chatter about anything (and everyone) and Saturday brunches at trendy cafes.

What does it mean to be “too Persian,” anyway? It’s an insult that’s hurled frequently and irresponsibly.

It’s an insult that’s hurled frequently and irresponsibly.

To really understand it, we have to look back in time. In the 1980s, Persians in the United States were in unknown territory. Finding a good, “more Persian” partner to marry was comforting and safe. It was also a generational insurance policy against the corruptive erosion of America on one’s soul (and body). No Persian wanted to marry someone who was too Americanized because such a person was a dangerously liberal, unpredictable wild card.

But in the 1990s, fewer Persian Jews were coming from Iran. At that time, our community still treated those who had newly-arrived in the United States as precious gold, especially the young women, who were deemed family-oriented virgins who never bothered to ask what kind of car a man drove in Los Angeles. She should just be happy that she’s not in Iran anymore, we all thought, so she better not set her bar for dating too high.

Two decades ago, my mother would tell a single man at the market, “I have a good girl for you. She just came from Tehran!” The man’s eyes would light up like coals beneath a hookah. He knew he would be getting family, fidelity, sexual inexperience (considered a good thing back then) and, above all, someone who would treat him like a hero, rather than a financial failure in a Subaru.

Twenty years later, many young Persian Jews in America shiver at the thought of dating someone “too Persian,” fearing a person who just doesn’t “get them” and who would blow apart every effort they and their family have made to be more Americanized.

There’s something to be said for this. No one wants to marry someone who is culturally worlds apart from them. Ironically, just because two Persians marry doesn’t mean they share the same culture, especially if only one of them was born and raised in the United States.

But I won’t paint those who are “too Persian” with angelic brushstrokes. Yes, they’re generally more family-oriented and perhaps even kinder and more gentle because they’ve only known the collective culture of Iran (as opposed to America’s eat-or-be-eaten individualistic jungle). Living with them is not for everyone. That said, their struggle to find their place in the constantly-changing world of friendship and dating in this country breaks my heart.

Before the pandemic, I would see newly-arrived French Jews in Los Angeles almost every week. I never heard anyone call them “too French.” That’s probably because they came from one liberal democracy to another. Their views on everything from sex to success might be the same as many Americans.

But if you’re coming from a country like Iran to America, it’s a whole different story. As one young man who arrived from Iran six years ago recently told me, “I don’t understand why Persian girls in America waste their lives posting half-naked selfies on Instagram.” If you give him the benefit of the doubt that he’s not a misogynist, there’s a certain wisdom in his observation. In our social media-governed world, young women dofeel the pressure to pose like models just to even fall under a man’s radar. Still, setting up this man with one of my Americanized Persian girlfriends is a recipe for disaster.

There are many single men and women in this city. Some are in their late thirties while others are in their early fifties. They’re often described as being “too Persian.” They may not be able to commiserate over the latest episode of “The Bachelor,” but they can recite ancient Persian poets like Rumi and Hafez with an ease that conveys an educated, curious mind. They can’t relate to most things that excite Los Angeles Persian Jews, which renders them among the last breed of a species that was ubiquitous 30 years ago, but is now quickly becoming extinct in this city.

Once the pandemic subsides and President Biden’s reverse of the Trump administration’s “Muslim ban” takes effect, more single Persians will come to the United States. If you think they’ll want to be set up with people who, like them, are really Persian and more down to earth, think again. This is no longer the 1980s or 1990s. Most of those young people step off the plane already holding a list of unrealistic demands for dating and marriage.

It’s a Catch-22 for those who’ve been in America a while but still are “too Persian.” Cursed with emitting too much of their own inescapable cultural values, they can either be single in the United States or go back to Iran, where they would be prized bachelors and bachelorettes (the number of young, eligible Jews in Iran has completely dwindled). They would almost be guaranteed to marry quickly. They’d have acceptance, cultural mastery, and a family of their own.

There’s only one problem: They’d be back in Iran.

To those touting the “too Persian” ideology, just remember that at the end of the day, personality trumps everything, including culture. Ultimately, it’s your humanity that counts. And if you have a bad personality, you can bet that that will translate in any language and across every continent — “too Persian” or not.

Tabby Refael (on Twitter @RefaelTabby) is a Los Angeles based writer, speaker and activist.