I was suspected of being a potential bank robber the other day.
I was in the bank waiting on a very long line when the bank manager walked up to me and said:
Would you please take off your sunglasses and your hood?
I was wearing sunglasses and a hood because it was
a. sunny
b. cold
although I also like to wear sunglasses in the rain. And snow.
This is what I looked like:

I was not excited to do so but I complied with his request, perplexed, until he said:
There have been a lot of bank robberies. Nearby.
And I felt a welling up inside me, of pain as my weak eyes blinked in the fluorescent light, and of outrage on account of the assault on my Cultural Privilege, one of the most glaring features of which is the presumption of innocence. Because I am a white, middle class, heterosexual female with acceptable gender expression.
A typically passive feminine power, this power of presumed innocence, perhaps, but powerful nonetheless. I have long been fascinated by the power of helplessness, the power that panicky, unreasonable or psychotic people have over everyone around them. I believe a lot of the cultural power invested in femininity is the same: the power of being unpowerful, of being the last suspect. I have gotten away with a lot because of this sex-class-and-race-based privilege. And I kind of enjoy being reminded that that’s what I’m enjoying- Cultural Privilege, not just the fruits of my sparkling, warm personality, when people are nice or make allowances for me for no reason.
So I very quickly got over my (unexpressed) outrage; after all, the man was just doing his job. Although baseball caps seem to be the disguise of choice for the modern-day bank robber.
But what about getaway cars? I am not a bank robber, and I don’t ever intend to become one, but if I ever have to have a getaway car, I hope it looks like this:
