Brooklyn DEI Editor Examines her Native Hawaiian Roots in Local, a Coming-of-Age Memoir

Jessica Machado talks growing up multiracial in Hawai‘i, losing her mother, and finding home in her ancestral homelands decades after moving away.

I first met Jessica Machado in hula Zoom classes at Hula Halau ‘Ohana Holo’oko’a. It was early 2022 and Jessica had a lot going on. She was in the late stages of finishing her first book, Local, a coming-of-age memoir published earlier this year. And she was transitioning into her current position — DEI editor at NBCU Academy’s Equity Lab.

Jessica held prior editorial roles at Vox, The Daily Dot, and Rolling Stone. She’s had bylines in the Washington Post, Elle, Vice, BuzzFeed, and more. Jessica earned bachelor’s degrees in sociology and journalism from University of Hawai‘i and a master’s in creative nonfiction writing from Portland State University.

Born and raised in Hawai‘i, Jessica’s the child of a “local” father with indigenous ancestry and a “haole” white mother from Louisiana. Though her parents’ different backgrounds were obvious, they were never really discussed when she was growing up. 

Being told one thing and seeing another is a relatable coming-of-age experience, especially pre-internet. For Jessica, this divergence was vast growing up in 1980s Hawai‘i, where a paradisiacal, multicultural, happy-ending narrative touted by the tourism industry pasted over much of her ancestors’ culture, history, and experiences. Jessica grew up feeling lonely and disconnected, later rebelling against her mother’s traditional version of womanhood and Hawai‘i’s “no make waves” motto.

Local is a book about processing a complicated mother-daughter relationship, while also finding lost ancestral roots. As a reader, it’s a perfect mix of both relatable and unique cultural experiences. And there’s the fun-to-read stuff too, like what it was like to be young and single in the aughts while working as a journalist in LA.

Jessica currently lives in Brooklyn with her husband and son. I recently zoomed with Jessica to talk about her book: why she felt lonely growing up in Hawai‘i, how she’s processing the loss of her parents, and what her native Hawaiian heritage means to her now.

So you grew up as a “local” girl in Hawai'i, but you describe yourself as feeling like an outsider. As an adult, you’ve lived in LA, Portland, and now in Brooklyn. Do you still feel like an outsider?

You know, in some cases, I do. But nowadays it’s more in a professional, imposter syndrome kind of way. Otherwise, I don't really feel like an outsider in New York. And I don't necessarily feel like an outsider in Hawai‘i anymore, except sometimes I feel like I've been away too long. But overall, I've always felt like being an outsider is just the kind of person I am.

Do you think that outsider perspective helps you as a journalist?

Totally. What brought me to journalism was my curiosity and my skepticism. As a kid growing up in Hawai‘i, I was very much like, I don't know if this is so perfect. Everybody talked about it being a melting pot, like it was some post-racial example for the rest of the country. I understood what was meant by that, but I didn't think it was absolutely true.

I was always interested in issues of identity and social justice, so I knew I wanted to write about them. As I moved up in my career and I became an identities editor at The Daily Dot and Vox, I could tell you all about gentrification in Detroit or other systemic problems, but I hadn't done the work to understand my own culture and background. 

While at Vox, I was asked what brought me to this work in “identities.” It became obvious to me that I never clearly identified myself. I was white presenting, but I didn’t feel just white. And I also wondered if I was Hawaiian enough. That’s when I decided to do the work to own that I'm both mixed and Native Hawaiian — and that included better understanding my Hawaiian culture and history. 

Was this also around the time you became a parent? Do you think that made you think more about your own culture and identity?

Yeah, it's interesting. I'm a Hawaiian, who grew up in Hawai‘i’. I took it for granted, I couldn’t wait to leave. Now I have a kid who’s Hawaiian, and he loves it there. He doesn't understand why we don't live there. 

As a parent, I feel like it’s my duty and honor — or kuleana — to make sure my son understands his Hawaiian roots and Hawaiian history. So when we go to the beach, we talk about the land and water and honu (Hawaiian green sea turtles). I incorporate Hawaiian stories to help teach him history. But we live in Brooklyn, so he’s very culturally aware of other things too.

For more, follow Jessica on Twitter and order her book here.

You started writing your memoir when you were in grad school and then came back to it a decade later. What brought you back to wanting to tell your story and how’d you manage to find the time to finish it while working full-time, and caring for a young child? 

Thanks for recognizing that it was hard. I started writing my memoir in grad school shortly after my mother died, so the focus was my relationship with her. Putting it away for a decade made me realize it was really a book about loneliness that extended beyond our relationship — it was also due to disconnection from my culture. 

I got my book deal in May 2020. It was exciting news, but at a terrible time. I wondered, when the hell am I supposed to write this thing? I was working at Vox in breaking news, working 60-hour weeks. We were trying to cover the pandemic from five different angles; there was an election going on; George Floyd happened; and then Judge Ginsberg died on a Friday. And my kid was homeschooling on Zoom. But he was four, so that meant he was on Zoom for like five minutes. 

I somehow did it, carving out time on weekends. But what sort of saved me was near the end of my deadline, I had two weeks away from work in Hawai‘i. I couldn't imagine writing this book without physically spending time there.

You dedicated your book to your “o’hana and the little pockets of mana wahine that have kept me supported, heard, and safe.” Can you explain what mana wahine is and why you chose to include it in your book dedication?

I heard “mana wahine” talked about in passing when I was growing up, but I only started thinking about it more recently. Mana is power and wahine is women in Hawaiian. But it’s not the feminist Western type version of women's power. Mana wahine means women are stronger when they're together, supporting each other. 

Growing up, I wanted support from my mom, but she could only give me what she had to give. So I had other women for support too. My stepmom was a part of that, and my girlfriends from high school are still my good friends today. When I go home, we laugh and have the best time even though it's 20-something years later. So yeah, there's so much power to that. Mana wahine makes you feel less alone.

From your experiences growing up multi-racial to your work now as an identities editor, can you describe why it’s so important to address differences in identity — including past histories — directly and openly?

Not to stereotype an entire generation, but my parents were both boomers and they weren’t big into talking about stuff in the past. My dad wasn’t against talking about things openly, but he just wasn't around. My mom grew up as a Southern belle. She put up the screen and acted like everything's fine. 

More generally, systemic problems infiltrate generations. It’s important to understand who your ancestors are and what they've been through. These histories are part of you. They’re in your bones.

You describe your childhood as spending a lot of time alone. About your family you wrote, “Instead of feeling one with the land, we often felt like islands unto ourselves.” What helps you feel the most connected with other people now?

This is gonna sound so basic, but literally being face to face and talking to them. My love language is quality time. So I need to get out of my house, and I think that stems from my childhood, when home was where I retreated and went into myself. 

Over Memorial Day weekend, we went camping with my husband's cousin and their kids, and we went on a hike, and I was just like, man, it's been too long. We just sat outside and talked story for two days straight.

I didn’t wanna be like my mom, so I rebelled. But in trying to be so much not like her, I was really just taking the wrong lesson — I was trying to be different in surface ways. Now I’ve become very upfront about being vulnerable and talking about things that people might find shameful. I'm very open. 

I don’t want to give too much about your book away, but your mom’s story shows how devastating shame culture has been to women. Did you feel like you carried some of the shame too? And how did it impact your relationship with her?

My mom always looked good and acted like everything was fine. She was charming and lovely and truly the nicest person in the whole wide world. But there was sadness underneath the perfectionism. You could see there was more and that something wasn’t right. I wished she shared that with me. 

I grew up with that same sort of perfectionism. Even now, I care about how I present. I make my bed every morning. You come into my apartment, it looks tidied. It makes me feel good to have my shit together and for everyone to think that I do. I also didn’t feel like I couldn’t share things with my mom. I didn't want to disappoint her. I didn't want her to think I wasn't perfect like her.

As teenagers, there’s this weird dichotomy. I didn’t wanna be like my mom, so I rebelled. I went to punk shows and left Hawai‘i’ for LA. But in trying to be so much not like her, I was really just taking the wrong lesson — I was trying to be different in surface ways. Now I’ve become very upfront about being vulnerable and talking about things that people might find shameful. I'm very open. 

With the loss of your dad being so much more recent, was it a lot harder to write about him in the book? Or maybe easier because you could remember more things?

My dad is interesting. We had a clearer relationship. Some of that came from my mother dying. He (and my stepmom) was all I had, so I didn't take him for granted. So in some ways, he was a very easy character for me to write. In other ways, I adored him and I needed him. Only after he died could I take off the rose-tinted glasses, but they're probably still on to some extent.

I loved reading about your relationship with your stepmom, Shellee, and how you’re still close today. What I love about the relationship is it shows how we can’t rely on one person to meet every need. Your mom needed her students; you needed your stepmom. And it didn’t mean you didn’t love each other any less. Do you agree with this, especially now that you’re a parent?

Yeah, I agree. Years ago, a therapist told me that no one is going to be able to give you 100% of everything you need. Find out what percentage you can deal with in a relationship. I felt like this was a very logistical and practical way of thinking. The guy I was in a relationship then only gave me like 65%, and that wasn’t enough. But I realized, if I could get 80 or 90%, then I would be okay with that.

And now with my husband and kid, it’s super important for them not to be my everything. It's too much for anyone to take on. And it's kind of boring too. You need community, you need to understand people’s boundaries and what they can give, including your own. 

Your description of watching glam-metal MTV videos as a girl was so relatable. I was lonely, bored, and wanted attention too and seeking the male gaze seemed like one way to get it. At 45, how do you feel about your body starting to change? And where do you want your sense of influence to come from as you age?

What I find really interesting is how younger generations don't actually seem to give a shit as much about their appearance. It's so amazing. They don't need to wear makeup. They don't need to give two shits about their hair. Many don’t want to. I'm generalizing. But in a strange way, it's nice to look at the youth, see the culture shifting, and be influenced by them.  

But, I’ll admit, I'm still so vain. Like, I bought this thing called NuFace, which essentially electrocutes my face and pulls it up. As a feminist and as a woman who wants to be anti to any sort of beauty norms, I hate that I don't want to look old. But I also need to recognize who I am. I'm probably always gonna be a bit vain and it doesn't do me any good to feel bad over that.

I lost my dad 15 years ago and a brother last year. Sometimes, it makes me feel really motivated to not waste any time, but sometimes I feel more anxious about all the things that could go wrong with my body. Having lost both parents, are you somewhere on that spectrum? 

When I was younger I felt invincible. Whatever problems my parents had, I didn’t think that I was gonna get them. But that’s changing now as I age. 

My dad had Alzheimer's, and he died at 71. And my grandma and uncle on his side had Alzheimer's too; I have the gene for it too. Then on my mom's side, they all die really young with cancer or autoimmune diseases.

I am thinking more about how I care for my body. I’m trying to pay more attention to it. I feel like one of the greatest lessons from my mother's death was learning that I needed to get out of my head and be more in touch with my body, including my feelings — and I definitely needed to be more in the moment with the world around me.

I just read your beautifully written Today article “Seeing my Mother’s Face in the Mirror.” I loved it because it shows how by learning to have self-compassion for our moms, it’s easier to give it to ourselves. After telling your mom’s story in your book, has it changed how you feel about yourself?

I think it's made me have a different compassion for my mom. And I see how, as a mom, I do a lot of the same things as her. I cook half-ass meals like my mother. I watch  television to check out like my mother. I like to laugh and have a good time like her. I may pay attention to my kid a little bit more, but I also like my alone time like her.

It's also made me realize that we just do the best that we can to survive and get by. Part of me feels badly about dissecting our relationship so much and having it out there. A reason for telling my story was so other people didn’t feel so alone, because I knew my feelings and relationship with her would be relatable. Now that the book is done, though, part of me wants to protect her and let her rest.

I sometimes think parents are supposed to disappoint kids, and kids are supposed to disappoint parents. It makes it easier to eventually separate from each other. After spending so much time exploring your relationships with your parents in this book — and now that you’re a parent too — what are your thoughts on this?

Oh, I totally agree. Everyone's absolutely gonna drop the ball, right? I just feel like there's no way as parents, or as kids, you're gonna live up to anybody's expectations, always following their rules and guidance. So I guess we're supposed to hurt each other in small doses. Because you're right, it’s how we separate.

When I go back to Hawai‘i now, as soon as I step off the plane, the air feels like a warm hug and I notice every little detail —  Hawai‘i’s beauty is everywhere. When it’s time to go back to New York, it’s really hard to leave. There are moments where I cry. And it's okay that I cry and grieve.

Can you describe aloha ʻāina? Has it changed what your sense of “home” is?

Aloha ʻāina means love of the land. Many people think aloha means hello and goodbye — and it’s used in that way a lot. But aloha means love. And in Hawaiian culture, the land is our whole existence. We would be nothing without the land. The land gave birth to us and the volcanoes and ocean formed the land. The land deserves the highest respect. It’s a key to life.

I didn’t fully understand aloha ʻāina growing up. I was too busy in my own head or thought I was too cool. But when I go back to Hawai‘i now, as soon as I step off the plane, the air feels like a warm hug and I notice every little detail —  Hawai‘i’s beauty is everywhere. Walking down the sidewalk in Honolulu, weeds pop up in the middle of a sidewalk crack, and they’re beautiful. The land cannot help itself; it's too rich. When it’s time to go back to New York, it’s really hard to leave. There are moments where I cry. And it's okay that I cry and grieve.

I want to end on something fun. What’s something new in your life you’re really excited about?

The most basic thing I can say is summer. I’m very excited for this weekend. I'm going to the Rockaways and I’ll be at the beach again, hanging out with friends IRL. To be clear, I’m also still a person who loves to watch trashy things. So the thing that gave me joy last weekend was that I binged an entire season of The Ultimatum: Queer Love. If you like trashy reality shows, this one is so good.

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For more, follow Jessica on Twitter and order her book here.

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