Tag: blackwoman

The Dangers of High School Sweethearts

July 3rd, 2022

The dream of being high school or college sweethearts is common among young relationships. From many of our childhood movies and shows, these scenes are displayed as the ultimate goal within young adults. In such conversations, however, I feel like the danger of such devotion to romantic relationships and partners at a young age is not talked about.

As young adults, we are finding out how to navigate the world and grow into better versions of ourselves. When a priority and dependence is placed on a partner, it can distract from prioritizing yourself. When you are committed to a relationship without knowing your full worth, it can make you put up with a lot of unhealthy situations that you shouldn’t. Of course, the inability to set boundaries or get involved in unhealthy relationships is not to be fully blamed on you knowing your self-worth (at a young age or ever). But as we acknowledge that our frontal cortex (the decision making part of our brain) is not fully developed until the age of 25, age is emphasized as an important factor in committed relationships. Your very ability to make healthy and mature decisions is compromised.

Given this fact, a lot of people will settle in pursuit of seeking young love instead of healthy relationships. Perhaps because you had been together for a long time, there might be a pressure to remain with that partner. Even when you acknowledge that something is not right within the relationship, you may stick around to “change” that person. This ride or die mentality is extremely harmful, and often unproductive, especially for a young teen who barely knows themselves. And just in the same way you haven’t fully developed and found yourself, chances are neither has your “dream” partner. Though they will change, it would not be healthy for them to do so to your confined desires. Just as you do, your partner needs space to grow as well.

Often when devoting to young romantic relationships, some young adults forget the importance of space apart. It is crucial to establish other relationships too- bonding with family or hanging out with friends. Space apart will allow you to develop your own sense of self not tied to your relationship with a single person. It will allow a sense of independence that is sometimes necessary to speak up for yourself and create boundaries. Being around different people will also allow you to have fresh perspectives on your relationship. Your teenage years are all about making memories, so why not make them with as many loved ones as possible.

And when you take time, taking time by yourself is just as important as being with someone else. Learning your love language and being able to love yourself is necessary. Self-love should be a priority at this time in our lives, as we are growing up. Doing things that make you happy and fulfilled will give you the perfect comparison for when you are not. This will allow you to set boundaries and walk away from things that don’t feel good.

While I think committed relationships are fun and work for a lot of people, I also think being open minded is important. There really is no rush to find your forever spouse now. Being a tennager/young adult provides you with the perfect time to experiment. It gives you a chance to get to know a lot of people, figure out your boundaries. This journey gives you a perfect opportunity to learn more about yourself too. Throughout these experiments, it gives you the space to become yourself, in a healthy manner that might be compromised in the pursuit of seeking a highschool sweetheart.

While there have been many successful highschool and/or college sweethearts, that really doesn’t have to be a goal. It is just as beautiful a journey to experiment and allow yourself the freedom to do you. Perhaps, if they were the one after all, there would be a reunion.

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Featured Art: @artbyprincella on Instagram
A Call Home: “Black Girl, Call Home”

November 26th, 2021

Jasmine Mans’s poetry book Black Girl, Call Home was published this past March. The poetry collection explores concepts of femininity, sexuality, race, police and gun violence, religion, and much more, through powerful storytelling and imagery.

Jasmin Mans is a Black and lesbian poet native to Newark, New Jersey. She recalls many of her childhood memories that informed her view of the world and of love. Yet, the book takes the reader/listener on a journey of unlearning many of what seemed like “facts” that hindered her from being her true self.

The first 3 poems of Mans’s book are dedicated to hair; the taunting of her natural hair, the desire and beauty sought when her hair grows and she “won’t be bald-headed anymore,” the experience of the kitchen being repurposed as a salon. From the very start of the book, Mans’s starts with a scene too familiar to a Black daughter. The inability for many Black girls to find beauty in their natural hair stems from childhood insecurity, generational insecurities even, with racist roots. Mans starts this dialogue by describing the pain of becoming “beautiful,” when her hair would be done for school the night before. Recently on Twitter, a user replied to a tweet on “hair depression for Black women” by sharing about a “crying fit” they had in middle school when they couldn’t get their hair done early enough and had to go to school with their hair out without knowing how to style it (@butt_um_liam). Mans touched on this sharing experience, that in many ways is almost traumatic. And just as the conversation of natural hair starts the book, it also starts with the very first ideas of beauty for many Black women.

Mans goes on to explore Black motherhood through religion, meals and growing ideas of femininity and sexuality. Mans introduces stories of Sunday cleaning and Easter dinners. She speaks of how meals were a display of affection, but how resourceful her mother was. Nothing went to waste. She spoke of the first periods, where mothers urged their daughters to hide the blood and pain. She spoke on the curiosity of not knowing her mother outside the context of motherhood, wondering who she was as a girl. She unearths arguments where she called her mother “a bitch,” explaining that even in the moments she didn’t act like she had a mother- she always would. In the poem “Blame,” Mans’ describes her mother’s broken heart through the actions of her father- the things he could and couldn’t control. She speaks of Black mothers and women who cling on to men who disrespect them- like Kanye, because they recognize they make men like him.

Mans’s exploration of Black motherhood seamlessly transitioned to the first conversations of sexuality. She describes that her mother had prepared her to be a man’s wife. In the poem, “Momma Said D*ke at the Kitchen Table,” Mans describes the scene of coming out to her mother and being greeted with “Oh, so you a d*ke now?” She explains a resentment that her mother displayed, yet quickly recognized the fear laced behind it. She says, “I don’t want another reason to be scared for you. Momma said, so you gonna be a d*ke now, as she meant to say ‘I’m scared for you.’” The multiple identities that Black queer women have makes it hard for them to fully move safely in this world. Mans’s reflects on this “additional” unsafety her sexuality exposes her to, and new fear her mother has. She also explores the questioning of very personal and intimate details ever since she came out as lesbain, all the questions on gender roles within a lesbian relationship.

Many of the poems are on love and heartbreak. Mans talks about her relationships with women, falling in love with stories and bodies. She speaks about falling in love with silent parts of someone else’s body, the intimacy in falling in love. She speaks of laughter, being held close and fantasizing a love forever with a woman- a love that can survive. She recognized parts of her relationships that were compromised due to “religious beliefs.” Yet, Mans speaks of praying to god about her girlfriends, about making it to heaven before to avoid heartbreak. She writes of having to lie to maintain a relationship. And conflicts about people not being comfortable able to recognize the validity of their relationship. There were lost lovers, those that are too far gone to ever rekindle.

In the poem “Nerf Guns: Christmas 2019, Tulsa,” Mans spoke on gun violence. She reflected on how at 28 she played with her first Nerf gun, along with her nieces and nephews. This was banned in her home growing up, because the play was a little too close to reality. In a later poem, she describes a familiar memorial scene of teddy bears tied on fences and the nostalgia of missing family when young boys die. These stories humanize lives lost too early, the universal memorial that shouldn’t be so familiar. She speaks of the fear of having a Black son, being “caught in your skin.” She talks about the discomfort from the fear of knowing that the skin and body of Black sons could be the reason for losing one you love. There seems to be time on the existence of Black boys’ lives.

Throughout the poem, Mans sought to tell untold stories of unseen girls. She speaks of the killings of transgender women that are ignored, and then such ignorance that ignorant people try to justify through religion. She told stories of girls who were raped, the examination rooms, the fight for one’s body, the girls who were violated. She spoke of knowing stories of those you don’t personally know- that shared experience. Manns writes of victim blaming, and the dangers of it. She spoke the names of girls who went missing, a long list. She uncovered the history of exploited bodies for “medical purposes,” Black bodies stolen from their owners, and the story of bodies that were permitted to be toyed with.

Morgan Jerkins writes in a review, “This book is a haven for all the Black daughters out there, hoping to make sense of the power and powerlessness in their bodies, the connection to others’ bodies, and the moments of everyday life that comprise so much of our identities.” Jasmine Mans writes of a world so familiar to many Black girls. She tailored a book that retold life stories beyond her own. It made me feel seen, I heard stories and thoughts I didn’t think existed outside my life. If you need a new book to read, this is the one.

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Featured art from Refinery.29.com
The Colonisation of Black Beauty

October 9th, 2021

Society has a love-hate relationship with Black beauty, our features are ridiculed and heavily disrespected, but they are loved and alluring on other races; just as long as that race is not ours. Since birth, we are told that our noses, our lips, our melanated skin and our hair texture is less than and that we should aspire to have straightened hair, snatched and sleek noses and swirls of indigo in our eyes. Society is yet to reach a point where our beauty is wholly recognised and respected.

Colonialism brought upon and introduced the idea of a social hierarchy, and whiteness soon became an ideal at large. Western beauty standards were now the pinnacle point of beauty, it is at this point where beauty was in the hands of the coloniser. The ideology of whiteness being right is a construct just like race. It was made to assert control, dominance, and power over colonial subjects. Therefore, as a society, we need to think in terms of seeing ourselves in a way that does not take away our humanity, because that is what imperialism and colonialism did. And just because colonialism is in the past, does not mean its legacy — that is ingrained in our minds — ceases to exist.

We have been trained to believe that Western features are on top, and forced to believe they outshine non-white features. My flat buttoned nose, enlarged lips, sepia skin and jet black tresses are no match to current beauty standards according to society.

For many young Black girls, our hair is manipulated to conform to Western standards. We know the tickling feeling and pungent smell of hair relaxers. Our curls are slathered in chemicals that will help us fit into the narrowed hair standards. Straight hair should not be the apex of beauty, because quite frankly our minds have been tampered into believing that looser textures of hair are the epitome of beauty. Curls, coils and kinks are unique in their own way and should be valued as such.

There has definitely been a shift in how Black hair is viewed today. Nowadays we see that there is a culture that boasts and embraces the array of Black hair textures. That widely being in the community itself, which is progressive as it encourages our people to unlearn the construct of whiteness being what we should aspire to. However, as a society collectively we are yet to see that at the same level. In our society, Black hair is still only held to a higher regard than it was before if the texture is looser, has a bouncy curl and perfectly coils when in contact with water. The love towards Black hair is unconditional. This is because Black women with tighter curls are still not widely represented when it comes to the face of Black hair. This goes to show that there is everlasting contempt towards Type four hair for instance. Black hair is still colonised because the Black hair that is accepted has close proximity to Eurocentric hair standards.

Black lips. See, society loves the prospect and allure of our features; just as long as it is not on us. I grew up believing the notion that my lips were “too big”, “enlarged” and “too dark” so much so that I would purposefully smile in a way that didn’t show the true size of my lips; in pursuit of aspiring to have smaller lips that resembled my white counterparts.

Although, nowadays society finds fuller lips as appealing as soon as fuller lips became a trend on non-Black people. But, Black lips have always been here, but their beauty is masked by disdain, unfortunately.

Over the past few years, I have noticed that the features that black women have always had are being treated as a new aesthetic. When a celebrity adopts that facial feature. When I was younger, having bigger lips was unattractive and unsightly.

In 2015, I noticed a monumental shift in the way larger lips were viewed, when Kylie Jenner got and acknowledged that she had lip fillers. In the wake of Kylie’s surgeries, society revised its attitudes towards bigger lips. Getting lip fillers and injections became normalised, and for the first time accepted by society as a recent wave of beauty. It wasn’t until someone who was not black got their lips done cosmetically to appear fuller that white people praised it as if it was new. Meanwhile, Black women have had full lips all along. For many of us Black women, we have grown up hearing that our features are overly large and masculine. Now with the emergence of cosmetic alterations, they are suddenly seen as alluring.

Black lips should be embraced on Black women for starters, society cannot continue to take away from our beauty. Black lips are not a trend.

“Darkie”, “shadow”,“pitch-black night sky” are some names that have been thrown at us Black people because of the colour of our skin. In essence, what is wrong with the colour of our skin? Think about it, who has taught society to believe that having a darker skin tone makes you less competent, less worthy and less worthy? It is a manufactured ideology because the idea of “race” is a construct.

I love my sepia hue and I have learned to embrace it after liberating my mind of the damaging notion that I have to be “lighter” to love myself. Society is yet to do that for itself. Our minds have been trained to label and judge darker-skinned people as unworthy and judge them upon first look.

In order to decolonise Black beauty, we have to aim to remove the standards that have been perpetuated by white society since birth. To make that happen, we have to educate ourselves on the construct of race. By this, I mean that we have to educate ourselves on how standards are conditional and that there is no right way to look– and whiteness is not the best option. We need to see value, beauty and worthiness in the alluring abundance of other cultures, races and ethnicities. As a society, we must stop subconsciously preferring and treating whiteness with such glory.

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Art credits: Asia R, @rey.illustration on Instagram
It Hasn’t Been 101 Years

August 27th, 2021

In August 2021, the United States celebrated 101 years since the ratification of the 19th Amendment and how far American women had come since receiving voting rights. However, that centennial didn’t mark a century since every woman in America could vote, but every white woman. By 1920, women of every other ethnic groups, including indigenous, African-American, Asian-American, and Latina, weren’t privy to such a right. Despite the emphasis placed on the twentieth century suffrage movement and the path it supposedly paved for women’s rights, what exactly did feminism then, and in its all succeeding waves, mean for women of color?

First-wave feminism, from the late nineteenth century to early twentieth, was directly linked to the suffrage of white women. Though many attach all sorts of labels like able-bodied, cisgendered, and middle-to-upper class, it was only white women who benefitted from the 19th Amendment. Sacrificing the rights of their fellow women was a compromise with white male leaders that this group was willing to make, considering that their gender was the one factor hindering them from total privilege. The famous Seneca Falls Convention didn’t even have African-American women present, who were expected to “wait their turn”; this further strengthens how they were viewed as the other and that their needs were deemed as entirely separate from that of white women’s. When it came time for protest, they made the active choice of relying on Cherokee, Haudenosaunee, and Chinese-American women, who they regarded as “less threatening” than the Black women they were sidelining.

However, once the right to vote was received, there was radio silence on the issues concerning women of color, including racism and voter suppression. The repeated usage of the phrase “women’s rights” must have confounded WOC, as they saw themselves belonging to the gender just as equally as their white contemporaries, but didn’t benefit from the strides supposedly made. Sojourner Truth questioned what gender and race meant to her in her famous “Ain’t I a Woman” speech when she addressed all the rights she never received as a black person, a woman, and a black woman. Truth points out that because of misogynoir, her blackness takes away from her womanhood. The activism of WOC was inherently intersectional; unlike white women, they had to defend all aspects of their identity at once because one aspect could further diminish another. While “women” received voting rights on paper, indigenous and Asian-American women weren’t even given citizenship and the same policies preventing Black men from voting now applied to Black and Latinx women. There was no choice in being either a race activist or a gender activist; first-wave feminism refused to take this into account.

From the 1960s-1980s, second-wave feminism was better able to include WOC. The agenda of middle-class white women had once again been at the forefront and their concerns with being allowed in the workplace and abortion rights didn’t always coincide with the concerns of WOC, who were always required to play subservient roles and were trying to prevent forced sterilizations. These differences in interests stemmed from historical differences in power; white women had the ability to demand entrance into the workforce when service hadn’t been made their entire identity as it had for WOC.

Minority women accepted that they would have to branch off on their own, which led to the founding of the Chicana movement and the National Black Feminist Organization. Both worked toward convincing WOC that they could benefit from feminism that hadn’t been portrayed in white mainstream media. To map out how their compounded oppression, WOC discussed not only how their race and gender affected their role in society, but also their sexualities, whether they’re able-bodied, their class, and their skin color. They were bolder in targeting intersectionality, which was coined by Black professor/critical race theorist Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw during this wave. From an engagement standpoint, WOC were broadening the accessibility of feminism and evolving the color of equality. Americans saw the fragmentation of this “monolith with a single unified agenda” that many had seen feminism as.

Third-wave feminism, from the ‘90s to the 2000s, saw women reclaiming femininity, which first and second-wavers had shied away from in order to be taken more seriously by male establishment. However, ferocity, being rebellious, and other stereotypically masculine behaviors were equally important during this time as a test of gender identity. Both these aspects of the third-wave were critical for WOC, who previously had their femininity stripped from them due to their race and were viewed in a more masculine light due to their service roles. They were finally accessing the femininity naturally associated with white women while also fleshing out a form of masculinity that was self-validating rather than societally enforced. The media was extremely important during this period as feminist accomplishments pertained to the social/the cultural rather than the political. This way, third-wave feminism was integrating intersectionality more directly into the movement by working slightly harder to include WOC, while still keeping them at arm’s length.

Though many believe them opposites, exclusionary feminism is inherently misogynistic. When fighting for equality without desiring it in a format that is accessible to all women, you are prejudiced against WOC in order to obtain what men have. It forces feminism to prioritize the power already held by men rather than the power that can be garnered by complete female unity. Feminism then becomes about acquiring privilege, not restructuring society to incorporate justice into its institutions.

As WOC pushed themselves closer to the forefront of each successive wave, less and less definitive legislation can be assigned to those eras. This introduces the assumption that as the undervalued made themselves known, there was suddenly less legislative fervor to rectify their issues. It reinforces that feminism is the empowerment of white women rather than all women. Though the landmarks they have made are highly commendable, achievements supposedly in the name of feminism shouldn’t be spread out for other ethnic groups as if they are meant to wait their turns. We shouldn’t have to wait until 2052, 2062, and 2065 to celebrate a century since Asian-American, indigenous, Black, and Latina women received voting rights. The goal of feminism must mean that when you utter the word “women”, you’re including all of them.

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Photo credits: Charlotte Mecklenburg Library, “Vote Baby Vote.” Courtesy of Gabriel Hackett, Getty Images.
What It Means to Navigate Two Different Worlds as a First-Gen American

August 10th, 2021

A people hold among them culture, tradition and a particular way of life. Different countries hold different national values. When your parents originated and discovered themselves in a world quite different from the one you are discovering yourself in, disagreements about how to navigate the world are bound to arise. I cannot retell a story about not fitting fully into two different worlds, because that is not my experience. I’d say I’ve had the privilege of knowing two countries so well I can call them both home. This knowledge allows me to criticize and accept parts of each I’ve experienced, and form my own unique cultural identity.

Within cultures themselves, different generations break and curate new traditions to change what was previously deemed unchangeable. My parents, and many of yours, have probably broken traditions and gained new aspects to their cultural identity that the previous generation didn’t have. In that sense, they understand the changes that come with time- although to a somewhat limited extent.

There is only so much influence the ideals, traditions, and way of life of parents will be received by their children. As people come to age, their thoughts are not restricted solely to what their parents teach; everywhere they exist and everyone they meet will influence who they are. Since the people and places you meet in a new country are not directly going to spread the same ideals you are taught at home, it poses a different standard for parenthood that immigrant parents are unfamiliar with.

Challenging and criticizing parts of my culture and its beliefs is sometimes taken as an attack on the character of its people, including my parents. And very well, your beliefs do reflect your character. But most times criticizing tradition takes into account the fact that our parents are members of a system that has long not been challenged. Their character, just like ours, is a product of their environment. I’ve come to understand that even if I disagree with some parts of their way of life, some ideals become too intertwined with our being to change. It can be frustrating to see them live out with beliefs that fundamentally contradict your understanding of the world. But disagreements on how to live your life forces one to see with more sympathy and understanding.

There is an embrace of sensuality and sexuality with my generation and in New York that isn’t quite the same in Mali. And while I was frustrated with that for some time, I’ve come to understand that I wasn’t looking at a full picture. As it turns out, femininity and sensuality are embraced in Mali. Within my parents’ generation, there was a spread of women’s empowerment that had never been seen before. Women were more expressive through their clothing choices. My parents broke traditions and created a new culture for their ideals to exist in, one that their parents didn’t quite understand or agree with. I’ve believed and accepted my generation’s notions of sex-positivity and sexuality in a way that is quite detached from the beliefs of previous generations, too. And that’s in some part because of the cultural difference we were exposed to, but also just as a nature of changing times before changing minds. Change happens within regions at different speeds.

Yet, when it comes to conversations about self-love, boundaries, and healthy relationships, it’s beyond frustrating to see the types of actions that are deemed acceptable within my culture. The mental abuse that is endured, especially by married women, is sometimes astounding. I think a lot of women aren’t given the chance to fully explore and love themselves despite being expected to pour all their energy into their husbands or children. Especially when it comes to societal pressures of marriage, there can be a huge stigma around divorce for older generations. A lot of women refuse to choose their peace for the sake of their children, or even because of fear of what others might say. As someone who is trying to love themselves and establish healthy relationships and boundaries, this is a frustrating reality to witness.

A criticism of my, or any, culture is not a rejection or diminishment of its value. It is simply a questioning of ideals, of why things are the way they are. I am especially hesitant about how I receive some parts of my culture given a Western educational background. I reflect on points that may stem from a type of superiority. But there are some fundamental aspects like homophobia or sexism prevalent in the functions of my culture society that I will never accept. I have set as my truth, and fundamental truth, that it is inhumane to treat anyone less than because of their sex or sexuality. These hateful beliefs are invasions that have settled some of the ways of my culture that I gladly choose to reject. And they make me grateful for being a part of another world that has challenged only looking at people for an aspect of their identity.

I’ve also come to better understand that beyond some trivial differences about how to navigate the world, the pressure of success as a first-generation child and student stems from the lack of opportunities my parents had. In many cases, it stems from a position of good intention, just faulty execution. Parents fail to fully understand their pressure added to the personal pressure on school and life. And even when they do attempt to understand it, their attempts sometimes aren’t enough.

A change in environment can sometimes completely change someone’s cultural identity as a young child, though it is less likely to occur in adulthood. So for kids who move from one country to settle in a new one, they will adopt and be influenced by the culture to a greater degree than their parents.

That’s not to say that parents aren’t also influenced by new environments. As previously acknowledged, a lot of immigrant parents do have to bend the traditional roles of parenthood. My parents are keener on apologizing and listening. They are more open to honest conversation and to being vulnerable. They are open to learn and change and become better parents.

Yet, it is to say that I look at the world through a different lens than anyone, but also a significantly different one to my parents. And that doesn’t make one of us right, or better navigators of the world. Rather, we are just navigating two different worlds differently. My exposure to more ideals and standards is because of my exposure to a new world. As I am finding myself, I take the agency to question. I must question before I fully embrace.

For me, being a first-generation child has not been about shame or disappointment in some ways my parents or other family members have chosen to live their life. It’s just allowed me to to explore and challenge what’s always been in front of me. Being introduced to a new culture on top of my own has given me a chance to pick and choose what I hold as my truths.

I sincerely believe that you criticize places and people you love the most. You learn from them. Just as my parents aren’t identical reflections of their parents, I won’t be identical reflections of them. And that’s a truth I’m no longer guilty feeling.

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Featured artwork: Reyna Noriega (@reynanoriega_ on Instagram)
The Effects of Racial Burnout As a Black Woman

July 12th, 2021

Growing up I’ve always been highly aware of my race. The culmination of racism, colourism and texturism made me aware that I was Black from a young age. Due to racism, I was constantly fed the idea that Blackness was undesirable, unworthy and unwanted by those around me. By age five I already started being told that I needed to have thick skin and to be strong simply because I exist as a Black person.

Countless experiences with racism in predominantly white spaces and glaring stares in public places were the main reminders of my Blackness growing up and even up until now. As a Black woman, I can say that these racist encounters occur almost every day, not a day passes without the reminder of my melanated skin.

Imagine this, being reminded of your race so frequently, in a demeaning and dehumanising way, it eventually gets tiring. It is incredibly exhausting, to say the least. In one of my classes where I was the only Black person, I felt like my body was in constant flight or fight mode as I braced myself for the racist comments I knew I would walk into and have to endure.

This is known as Racial Battle Fatigue, which is described as the cumulative result of a natural race-related stress response to distressing mental and emotional conditions. These conditions emerged from constantly facing racially dismissive, demeaning, insensitive and/or hostile racial environments and individuals.

Microaggressions

Microaggressions are like mosquitos, they can pop up anywhere, at any given time; so much so that their pestering nature is exasperating. Some people get bitten by mosquitos more than others just because of their ethnicity, religion or gender. The mosquitos can strike in the workplace, at the grocery store and at school, at any given moment.

Given my experiences attending predominantly white schools, microaggressions have been a frequent form of racism for me. I’ve heard a fair share of racist and ignorant questions and statements countless times. Microaggressions may seem minor and minuscule on paper, but their effects are much larger.

Microaggressions are perceived as more subtle and implicit ways of expressing outright prejudice, colourism and discrimination. But their consistent and offensive nature shows how harmful they are to one’s mental wellbeing.

”Can I touch your hair?”

”You aren’t like other Black people.”

”You’re pretty for a Black girl.”

These statements build up, become heavy on the mind, and can lead an individual to feel tired to answer them because they’d have to explain their race and cultural identity over and over again. It’s not as simple as brushing them off as annoying remarks– it eventually becomes a burden to carry that you’re forced to encounter ever so frequently.

The debate over the existence of racism

Up until now people still debate over whether something is racist or not. They continue to question whether it was rooted in race and look for something else to blame the incident on. The issue with this is that it prevents us from sharing our experiences with racism and as a result silences our voices that are longing to be heard.

It’s draining to hear that people still don’t believe that hate crimes and denial of opportunities can be due to the colour of my skin. Because it stops us from recognising that racism is prevalent today, some people are still under the impression that racism was an issue of yesterday. For me as a Black woman, I do not feel that– I am black 24/7.

It takes a toll on me since it feels like we are going backwards. It feels like people who aren’t BIPOC think I am being ”too sensitive” or that I am ”overreacting” when they are only able to say this because they are white. It’s disheartening to hear these defensive rebuttals as they truly emphasize some of the racial bubbles some of my white counterparts are living in.

In summary

Racial burnout is real and having to recount trauma’s and sitting down having to explain that something was racist is painful and mentally draining for the ones who actually experience the racism.

As a Black woman, racism is everywhere for me no matter where I am, that’s how deeply rooted it is. As a result, having to encounter it and learning how to deal with it from a young age has taken a toll on my mind, in the way I present myself and navigate life as a person with melanated skin.

We deserve to rest and peace, and white supremacy is stopping us from getting to that. We deserve to be heard, seen and amplified.

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Photo by ArtByPrincella on Instagram
What is Featurism?

May 4th, 2020

Many black girls have personally heard the classic backhanded compliment- “You’re pretty for a black girl, are you mixed?” Though often heard from people outside of the black community, it’s increasingly heard just as often within it.

Right off the bat, that initial statement is racist because it essentially suggests that all other black women are unattractive and that you are pretty despite your blackness. That’s a post for another time. But, the second statement is questionable as well, a statement that I used to interpret as basic colorism, but I’ve now started to understand how colorism can be combined with something else, referred to as featurism.

Featurism was a word I learned from what is now my essential opinions and news source- Black Twitter. It’s not as commonly spoken about as colorism, and finding an exact definition was harder.

I’ve chosen to define it here as “a prejudice towards individuals with certain features and a preference towards those with features that correlate with a set beauty standard.”

There is a variance in what features are praised in different places around the world. One thing that came to my mind was the double-eyelid surgery that is popular in East Asia, which is done to transform monolids and make eyes appear larger to adhere to beauty standards. Though there are many examples across ethnic groups, I’m going to focus more on featurism among Black people, the experience I can talk the most about.

Colorism and featurism are closely interlinked, but there distinctions between the two. When you look at the faces of prominent black celebrities, what features of theirs are the ones traditionally praised? Yes, it might be their light skin, but is it also their small nose, or their colored eyes?

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Beyoncé (@beyonce) on Jan 25, 2020 at 6:54pm PST

Facial features, so often an indicator of ethnicity alongside skin color, can affirm or deviate from a set standard of beauty.

In many places around the world, America included, this beauty standard is set to a European ideal. Black women who have aspects of European features can be praised, but even in the movement towards greater diversity, women with traditional African features can feel left behind.

Now, back to that initial question- “are you mixed?”

This question is particularly problematic because of the assumption that beauty and blackness can only coexist when black features or traits are combined with typical European features or the other features of other ethnic groups.

Yes, colorism is a part of it, but it also says something about the features that people within the black community value. Similar to the way people say you can have “good hair,” meaning that you have loose curls, I’ve also heard people talk about having a “good nose” meaning thinner and smaller.

There’s another side to it as well. How does it make sense that big lips were deemed unattractive on black women for a long time, but now we have women like the Kardashians paying to get the lips many black women were born with? This is where featurism intertwines so closely with colorism. The Afro-centric features criticized when on black women are praised when on white women.

I feel fortunate to live in an era where more models and celebrities with Afro-centric features are given a platform, such as model Adut Akech Bior pictured below, but a lot of the time it feels like this praise is represented online but not in real life.

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So here’s a series of different hairstyles and haircuts I’ve had which is your fav?

A post shared by Adut Akech Bior (@adutakech) on Mar 31, 2020 at 3:32pm PDT

Sometimes even, it feels like there is only one type of darker-skinned woman that is uplifted: the one with a thin nose, straight hair, or other Euro-centric features.

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𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘢🦠 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 & 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘭 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 🥴 – Meanwhile… I’ve enjoyed myself at the @physiciansformula soirée, celebrating Rosé All Day x @exteriorglam collection 💕 – Dress: @quizclothing ✨

A post shared by Aïssata Diallo (@aissatatdiallo) on Mar 11, 2020 at 11:13am PDT

In the black community, I believe that we need to address the prejudice against traditionally African features in the same way that we still need to address colorism. How will young girls ever grow up knowing they are beautiful if the features that they have are never portrayed as so?

When people picture what a “beautiful black woman” is, they should know to also include the black women without loose curls, light skin, or small noses. In changing the narrative around what features society decides is attractive, we allow more room for women from any ethnic group to feel represented, appreciated, and beautiful.

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credits/about the choice of image: One of my favorite singers, Ari Lennox, was the subject of online harassment when her black features were compared by a twitter user to that of a “rottweiler.” Photo from thenewparish.com.
My Experience with Colorism and Why I Started This Blog

March 19th, 2020

As a child in my small town, it was very rare for me to see others that looked like myself. Outside of my Saturday mornings spent in African dance classes, the only other young black girl I had to look up to within my community was my older sister. Despite this lack of representation within my life, I do not remember being particularly self-concious of my dark complexion. My parents and grandparents alike had always stressed the beauty of dark skin, building my self-confidence up from the start and encouraging me to appreciate my heritage. They bought my sister and me black dolls, read us books about black children, and told us to embrace the shade our skin took in the summer.

When I transitioned to a predominantly black middle school, I began to feel self-conscious about my skin tone for the first time. Other black people seemed more preoccupied with skin tone than my white peers had been, a fact that shocked me. We were all black, but suddenly there were “light-skins” and “dark-skins,” and everyone knew that one was perceived better than the other. I have a distinct memory of my best friend, another dark skinned girl, saying that she wanted to marry someone white or with light skin because she did not want her children to be dark like her. To me, my best friend was extremely beautiful, and her not being able to think of herself as so only made me feel more insecure.

For the first time, I believed I had a reason to not love my skin. As my insecurities grew, I became obsessed with my complexion. I searched online for “brightening” creams, convincing myself that I would be a thousand times prettier if my tone was not so dark. I remember covertly trying to see whether my hands were lighter than those of my other black friends, feeling relieved when they were and upset when they were not. The most dangerous thought that began to appear in my head was“At least I’m lighter than her.” At this point, I had fallen right into the trap that American society had set for me so many years before. As a girl who had been raised to value the dark skin that ran in my family, I now hated how I looked because of abstract standards of beauty determined long before I was born. I was pressured to yearn towards standards of beauty I could never realistically reach. Constantly comparing myself to my close white friends, with their pin-straight hair and button noses, only made my insecurities worse. I had always faced racism, but this felt somehow more insidious. It grew over time, snowballing into a constant thought in my head.

Colorism seems to be a well known piece of the black experience, but it still remains a relatively unaddressed topic. It is obvious in the celebrities we praise: Beyonce, Rihanna, Nicki Minaj, and countless more. Rap culture encourages the praise of “foreign” girls, which in some ways is a problem in itself. While there is the amazing Lupita Nyong’o to represent dark-skinned women, we must ask ourselves why there are not more women of Lupita’s skin tone who are widely considered beautiful. Dark-skinned women being thought of as beautiful should not be rare, it should be normalized. The images we see in the media only further these established depictions of beauty. When I began to look back at some of my favorite movies and TV shows, I was surprised at how many of them included instances of a darker-skinned woman being shown as unintelligent, controlling, and eternally angry. These stereotypes of dark-skinned women come with damaging real life consequences- the constant fear of being labeled “The Angry Black Woman.” I have felt this stereotype many times, whether it’s being afraid to be upset about topics in a classroom full of my white peers, or hesitating to speak up when I know I should be defending another person.

I recognize how lucky I have been with my struggle with my skin tone, because a supportive circle of family and friends to tell me I was beautiful when I did not feel so is a luxury thousands of people do not have when facing these same insecurities. Over time, I have come to love my skin tone. It came after a lot of time and periods of self-reflection, but I have finally gotten there.

Through this blog, I hope to create content that inspires dark-skinned women of color to feel empowered, regardless of what the world throws at them. Representation of all forms matters. I recommend watching the TedX talk “Confessions of a D Girl: Colorism and Global Standards of Beauty” by Chika Okoro, as it is what set me on my journey of learning what colorism is and addressing it. Keep reading to hear more about my path to self love and acceptance!

Tag: blackwoman

Microaggressions

The debate over the existence of racism

In summary