Society's continued assault on black women

Maybe it's an assault on women in general.

But I'm focusing on me.

A black woman. A black woman who definitely has to put on some armor before facing whatever it is that the world has in store for me on a given day.

And is tired of it. And frightened by what it's doing to our younger girls.

The granddaughter of a family friend came to visit last weekend. Her grandmother wanted to introduce her to my world and show the benefits of not giving into what seems to be expected of our young black girls: sexual promiscuity, low self esteem, being unhealthy, not being smart, not being successful, not being whatever it is that she wants to be.

I was, of course, flattered, nervous, and intimidated by her visit. I've heard good reports from her mother and grandmother about some positive changes. YAY! But I have to say I learned so much from her too. Mostly that I'm SO glad I went to high school 7-10 years ago. The things she was telling me - the peer pressure around sex and dating and academic success (or lack there of) saddened me. I'm terrified that there's a whole generation of black girls growing up who think that the entirety of their value lies between their legs and that being smart and confident is unnecessary. There's also a generation of black boys who think that their value lies in acquiring notches on their bed post and who have been told that they don't need to respect women. She has more "Ay, Shawty" stories than I do and she's 10 years younger than I. On one hand, I'm sure she'll be street wise enough to ignore guys she doesn't meet indoors, but what type of world is it where you have to be wary of everyone who approaches you. And the kicker. The piece de resistance is that she has classmates who made a "hit it before summer" list. Yes...a list of the girls they wanted to do before summer. And they're FRESHMEN. In HIGH SCHOOL.



Maybe (just maybe) I grew up in a box. Actually, not only was I a virign when I got to college, but I'd also never been kissed. Yeah, ok, maybe part of that was because no one was paying me any attention, but it was also SO far from my mind. I was so focused on getting the heck out of Indiana and succeeding, that I wasn't thinking about boys and sex, I knew that that would get in the way of my actual goals. So the idea that 9th graders are that scheming and deliberate about something that is so "outside their maturity level"[1] frightens me.

And it makes me wonder why. So I asked her. I had always been a defender of "the media" and of multinational corporations. No more. Apparently that is a driving force. Apparently all of the hyper-sexualized images that are bombarding our kids are seeping in. I know...wonder of all wonders, right? But really. She says it does.

Whoa.

Nevertheless - that was all backstory for the rant of the day. I'm checking my favorite blogs, and I see this:

Yes. It's my favorite celebrity, Beyoncé, showing off the great photoshop job that L'Oreal did. L'Oreal swears that's her real skin tone. Sure. I've never liked Beyonce for a NUMBER of reasons - mostly because I'm thoroughly convinced that she's cheap and talentless. But in all fairness, if she was white I'd have no problem with it (see example 1: Jessica Simpson or 2: Britney Spears). They're good at what they're good at but they're not exactly beacons of anything great. But this is taking it a little far. Really? Do you really have to take a light-skinned black girl and make her lighter? On top of the blond? Really? REALLY? But apparently she's just been lightening a little bit on her own.

This is only weeks after Young Berg's Brown Bottom-gate issues. If you didn't hear about it, consider yourself lucky. But basically one of the latest mediocre rappers said that he doesnt like dark skinned girls (brown bottoms) and likes to issue a swimming pool test (aka likes girls with "wash n wear" hair - meaning no naps). And this bozo is still getting air time and probably still getting laid by some poor little girl with light skin but no self respect.

And where does it stop? At what point do we say, enough is enough? At what point does it stop being cool to simultaneously erode the sexuality of black women by rarely showing us as standards of beauty while placing all emphasis on not our beauty, but our supposed sexual prowess? It makes me dizzy. What kind of women are these girls going to grow up to be? Not the kind of women I want to be sharing the workforce (or the world) with.

So this is war. I'm investigating lyrics and taking all rumors of mysogyny as fact. I never used L'Oreal (or any of it's syster brands, including Lancome) and I'm not going to start now. I'm not listening to the music, watching the movies, or buying the products anymore. Let's just call it a new wave of black feminism that demands that society, "the media", multinational corporations and EVERY ONE ELSE, stop using our music, our faces, our men, and each other to tear us down.

So who's with me?

I am my hair….or Why my afro is an act of courage

Not quite a year ago I got a weave. It seemed like an okay idea at the time, I was trying to grow my hair out and was bored with braids. I have to admit, I loved it. It was fun. I got looks. No dates, but lots of “Hey, Shawty-s” – which is what every woman wants, right?.
Well, my hair grew. And in March, my stylist said it was getting too long to reasonably keep putting it in a weave. So a few weeks ago, I took it out. That night, I let her blow it dry and flat iron/press it. I’ve flat ironed it twice since and have not enjoyed the hassle of dealing with it, plus I’ve fried a corner of it and my curls are doing something funky – probably cause I had the heat too high.

So now, I’m rocking the afro and its variants.

I like it. It looks like me. It’s work to get the curls right and bright and glossy and defined, but it looks good on me – I think at least. And when my outfit is right, I think it looks very chic…like how I think that a black Michael Kors or J Crew model should look – classic, but with a funky twist. And the little girls at church like it – and I think that if a 5 or 10 year old likes it, that’s saying something, because they’re so much more honest than the rest of us.

But I’ve had at least 5 grown ups ask me: what are you doing with your hair now? My answer is: wear my hair. To which they reply: “Oh.” Because not straightening or texturizing or braiding or weaving my hair is such a crazy idea, right? Heaven forbid I just wear my hair.

Which is why my afro is an act of courage. Yeah, I’ll probably straighten it on first and second and third dates and for interviews or any other high-importance event because people do not seem to be with it as far afros. But the rest of the time, I’m being brave enough to wear my hair. Plus – it’s just hair. Hell-O…I’ve been bald before and would shave it again in a heart beat. My new job is with an organization whose mission is to inspire girls to be strong, smart, and bold, and staff is expected to model that mindset everyday at the office. In a little way, I hope that my afro encourages the girls that are around the office to be healthy with all decisions – including hair care and wearing the hair they’re given.

My afro is an act of loving myself and finding the courage to be happy with my beauty. And I’m trying – every day – to be more like my hair.

Touchy Subject?

I have a hard time talking to my (mostly white) friends about race issues. Sometimes I initiate the conversation, sometimes it just ends up there, sometimes they start it, but it always frustrates me.

I think it's because I already have a conflicted view of my own racial identity. Don't get me wrong. I'm black. I close enough to some relatives who "passed" to maybe play the "I've got some Indian in me" game. But I'm black. However, I grew up in a very white world. My mother was raised to not speak in vernacular - so I was, too. My diction combined with my tendencies towards classic/staid clothes and academic pursuits often end with me being asked "Do you think you're white?" Moving away from Indiana and growing up a little have allowed me to become more comfortable with who I am...but just barely.

So, talking about race issues becomes complicated for me because I feel a) that I have to speak for the whole of black America and black womanhood and b) that I don't have the right to say anything - because I'm not "black" enough. I realize that a) is impossible. Not to mention the fact that I'm sure my friends don't expect me to be their official black spokesperson. I also realize that b) isn't too realistic either - and that as a black woman, I have every right to share my experiences.

My inner conflict then blossoms into frustration because I want to call them on their views that I often feel are dismissive, naive, and simplistic. Too many discussions feel like my views - because they're predicated on race - are incorrect. Or that my friends don't really believe that it's that challenging. Or that they really think that if we close our eyes, hold hands and sing kumbiyah, we'll wipe it all away. I don't know how to explain this frustration. Or how the reality of my personal confusion makes dealing with being black and woman in America so
difficult.

Right now - I don't feel like saying anything further. It's so exhausting. Plus it makes me sad cause I'd really just like some black woman friends who I can discuss this with. So dealing with this - and my general issues just brings to front the pain of black women never liking me. I know at this point it's just self fulfilling prophecy because I avoid interactions with black women so that I don't have to endure the pain of yet more rejection.