I don't want to be a Karen. But as a brown woman, is there something to be learned from her?

This is a First Person column by Zahra Khozema, a Pakistani Canadian journalist who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

I'm infamous for accepting bad coffee, skipping refunds and backing down, even when I know I'm right. 

My therapist says it's rooted in how I was raised. In many South Asian homes like mine, girls are taught to obey, not push back. I saw this with my mom, who once saved for a year to buy a second-hand Pontiac, only to discover that it had major engine issues a few days later. The seller denied it and she just let it go. As newcomers to Canada, causing a fuss would only bring unwanted attention to the community, she said.

Enter Karen. 

A Karen has become the poster child for entitlement — a walking meme of a typically white woman who demands refunds, argues with managers and insists on getting her way, and carries out racist microaggressions. But as an anxious brown woman who's spent a lifetime dodging confrontation, Karen represents to me a deep aspiration: the confidence to ask for what I deserve. 

I get it — wanting to be a Karen is a loaded concept. At its extreme (Karen Level 10), it's a white woman calling the cops on a Black man for existing. A mid-range Karen (Level 5) throws a dramatic tantrum at McDonald's because the fries aren't hot enough. But I'm not aiming for either of those. My goal? Cozying into a sweet spot between Levels 2 and 3, where I can stand up for myself without becoming a meme or a menace.

My hesitation to speak up in customer service situations isn't just paranoia. It's backed by evidence.

A 2022 Harvard Business School study found that a customer's skin colour can significantly influence the quality of service they receive. By analyzing interactions between hotel concierges and customers, researchers found that staff consistently provided better service to white patrons than to Black or Asian ones.

This type of racial profiling also happens in Canada: The country's consumer watchdogs say Indigenous and visible minority customers are treated unequally at banks and that shoppers have been targetted because of their race.

Knowing this, even something as small as asking a barista to fix my order feels like an uphill battle.

The only reason I've been able to navigate life's bungled food deliveries and fraudulent credit card charges is because I've had help from the wisest Karen I know: my white-passing husband. 

His ability to confidently call managers, escalate situations and threaten poor Google reviews could very well be skills endorsed on his LinkedIn profile.

Watching him cash in on his rightful refunds made me realize I had to drop the submissive persona and stigmas and learn to channel a metaphorical blond bob, capris khakis and sky-high audacity when standing up for myself. 

So, last spring, I enrolled in Karen Academy, with my husband as the head instructor. 

His first lesson was: "Stay calm and don't cry." 

Naturally, I tuned out immediately — how dare he suggest the only two things one instinctively doesn't do when faced with injustices? 

He followed up with tips about documenting everything — receipts, emails, employee names, blah blah blah. I think he wrapped up with: "Be clear in your demand," but by then, I was already daydreaming about being a vigilante for lukewarm lattes. If nothing works, he said, use the last resort: threaten to leave a bad review.

After almost a year of practising his teachings, I got through the occasional victorious returns of bad coffee. Each time, I felt like I was microdosing on a power trip. 

Ultimately, though, I've realized that assertiveness hits differently when you're a woman of colour. Where a white woman's complaints might be labelled bold or empowered, mine often land between uncivilized and aggressive.

An incident at a spa while visiting Tanzania in September solidified this for me. After a botched facial left my skin burned, both the spa and the hotel it was attached to refused to take any responsibility. Only when I broke rule No. 1 — don't cry — did they reluctantly call a doctor. 

But that wasn't enough. They'd burned my face. At the very least they could offer me a discount on my stay. I asked myself, "What would a white woman do?" 

My husband's voice chimed in my head: "Tell them you're going to leave a bad review."

It backfired spectacularly. The hotel management didn't seem to care and shooed me out of their lobby, accusing me of overreacting and yelling, even though I was simply trying to speak over the construction noise a few metres away. 

"Congrats, you're officially the angry brown woman," I thought. 

As I iced my face on my way out, a white lady behind me was being offered a seat and water as she aired her grievances in French. I can't presume to know why the staff treated her differently, but the irony that she was white and I'm not was not lost on me.

My face was badly burned and the sun and heat peeking in through the window were making it worse. I was terrified the burn would leave a permanent scar.

When I called my husband, he advised me to take photos and consider getting a lawyer, but I felt so drained and defeated that I couldn't handle dragging it out.

A pharmacist friend advised me to stay out of the sun and keep my skin moisturized. I focused on healing because everything else felt out of my control. Eventually, I left them a bad review to which they never responded.

Other times I did manage to fight back with some help. 

After being laid off this year, my severance package was significantly short of what had been agreed upon. I spent eight hours emailing the human resources department with screenshots of previous paystubs and emails so they could correct their mistakes. Nothing seemed to get through.

Frustrated, I told my husband I no longer wanted the money; it wasn't worth the stress. That's when he stepped in. He drafted and sent the final email of the day and cc'ed my union rep — a white woman. Maybe it was his no-nonsense "direct man" approach or the power of my white guardian angel or something changed from management's perspective, but a few responses later, we reached a fairer resolution. I like to think I loosened the lid, though. 

As for me, I've officially retired from the role, aside of course from the occasional coffee fiascos that need rectifying.

In 2025, I'll happily delegate all Karen-mode duties to my husband — it's a system that usually works. I'd rather focus on my physical and mental well-being. After all, money comes and goes.

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