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For Christopher Rivas, a Dominican and Colombian actor from Queens, the process of “making it” in Hollywood has often felt like a calculated exercise in erasure. From being told to “calm” his natural curls to receiving a director’s instruction to avoid using “ethnic hands” on camera, Rivas has experienced firsthand the systemic pressure to assimilate into a narrow, white-centric aesthetic to remain employable.
This phenomenon, often described as navigating white Hollywood and the pressure to code-switch, extends beyond mere acting choices. It is a physical and psychological negotiation where actors of color must decide which parts of their identity to preserve and which to prune in order to satisfy the “gaze” of the industry’s primary decision-makers. For Rivas, this included a nose job recommended by his first manager—a move that he notes resulted in more work, highlighting the grim transaction between authenticity and professional survival.
The tension is not merely anecdotal. Even as the industry has leaned heavily into diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) rhetoric since the 2020 global protests following the death of George Floyd, the structural power dynamics remain largely unchanged. The paradox remains: to succeed, performers of color are often encouraged to stand out as “diverse” while simultaneously assimilating to a standard of whiteness that makes them palatable to the executives signing the checks.
The Gap Between Representation and Reality
The demand for authentic representation is backed by significant demographic shifts. According to a 2020 Pew Research report, Latines accounted for half of the U.S. Population growth between 2010 and 2019, comprising roughly 18 percent of the population. Despite this growth, the reflection of this diversity on screen has been modest, often relegated to stereotypes or “token” roles.
Rivas points to the persistence of the “criminal” or “drug dealer” archetypes that continue to dominate roles for Latine and Black actors. This automation of storytelling—relying on clichés to produce content quickly—denies people of color depth and nuance. When the industry prioritizes a “model” of desirability defined by whiteness, those who do not fit that mold are often viewed as worthless or a risk to the production’s commercial viability.
The psychological toll of this environment is a form of internalized self-hate. Rivas cites the existence of products like “NoseSecret,” a device marketed as a non-surgical way to narrow the nose, as a symptom of a culture that tells people of color their natural features are insufficient. “Who is there to protect us from all the pretending we do for someone else’s gaze?” Rivas asks, framing this not as a personal struggle, but as a systemic failure.
The Illusion of the ‘Diversity Check’
For many in the industry, the current approach to diversity is seen as a “box-checking” exercise rather than a structural overhaul. Hiring DEI professionals and increasing the number of minority faces in the cast does not necessarily shift the power of the purse. Rivas argues that true change only occurs when people of color are the ones signing the checks, not just receiving them.
This distinction is critical because the creative direction of a project is dictated by those in power. When the decision-makers are predominantly white, the stories told often treat people of color as devices for “small-minded white stories” rather than as the protagonists of their own complex narratives. Rivas envisions a Hollywood where “Brown” leads exist in ordinary, commonplace settings—romcoms, sci-fi, or buddy comedies—where their race is a fact of their existence but not the sole plot point of the movie.
The Stagnation of Character Growth
Beyond casting, the very mechanics of scriptwriting can reinforce oppressive cycles. Rivas notes that in many network shows, lead characters are designed to remain self-sabotaging and static to ensure the display’s longevity. This lack of growth mirrors the societal traps placed upon marginalized communities, suggesting that they are meant to remain stuck in cycles of delusion or oppression for the sake of entertainment.
Redefining the Narrative Path
In recent years, Rivas has moved toward a more unapologetic embrace of his identity, including a decision to rock his natural curls. This shift is part of a broader movement among actors of color to set boundaries and demand authenticity. Rivas, who appeared as a series regular on the Fox sitcom Call Me Kat, views his presence on screen as a step forward, yet he remains cautious about whether such roles represent genuine equality or temporary guest status.
The path forward, according to Rivas, requires a fundamental reimagining of the script session. He suggests that every project should be interrogated by asking if the story marginalizes a community, if the lead necessarily has to be white, and if the narrative represents race and class honestly.
For those currently navigating the industry, Rivas advocates for the creation of independent art. He emphasizes that until marginalized voices are the ones writing the stories, the narrative will continue to glorify the “hunter” rather than the “lion.” This involves not only vocal advocacy but financial commitment to anti-racist work within the industry’s power structures.
As the industry continues to grapple with its image and its impact, the focus is shifting toward a more fluid and expansive definition of identity. The goal is a future where the “book of who we are” is no longer a fixed text written by a few, but a collaborative effort that reflects the actual diversity of the global population.
The next critical checkpoint for industry representation will be the release of upcoming diversity reports and the ongoing negotiations of guild contracts, which may further address equitable casting and production standards. We invite you to share your thoughts on the state of representation in Hollywood in the comments below.
