A Black Feminism | Womanism Blog

Monthly Archives: November 2011

 

Image from News Real Blog

Somehow, of course, a conversation on a Black blog I visited once in a post about Black women in general and their beauty turned into a conversation about Black women’s body and what types the male commenters like the best, which is totally sexist. The conversation I joined in on was about Black women’s body types and why we allow men’s bigoted preferences to divide us as Black women/women of color and cause us to tear each other down. It was basically a conversation about, skinny/thin, average, curvy, thick, and fat women’s bodies. There were men participating in the conversation, most of them saying stupid, racist, and sexist things against the women of their own race, such as “a black woman should be light and breezy” (some bloke claiming to be Black from the UK). One commenter, Jasmine, self-identified as thin, female, and Black.

Jasmine made a comment to a male commenter saying, ‘Oh so because you’re fat, and like fat women, you put down thin women like me.’

I had to stop the train on that one because it was not okay for her to make bigoted comments in order to defend her thin privilege and insecurity. To boot, he hadn’t said anything to warrant such a remark.

All during the conversation, Jasmine kept suggesting and prodding and trying to get me to admit that I was a lesbian suffering from a bad case of “bitter big girl” syndrome, as if this would discredit anything I had to say to other Black women about how we oppress each other. Seeing that I was calling her out, Jasmine insisted that a heterosexual Black woman doesn’t care what another Black woman thinks about her, because her endgame is to get a Black man.

So, in essence her comment was this: A Black woman must be a lesbian to care about what other Black women say about her because a heterosexual Black woman is only concerned about what a man thinks of her.

It’s a very similar comment to The reason that a woman gets dressed in the morning is for a man.

If the only reason you get dressed to look nice in the morning is for a man to look at you, you’ve got bigger issues to worry about and you need some alone time rethink your priorities, Ms. Queenly says. If you’re a man who believes this is true, then get over yourself, the world does not revolve around you.

Jasmine went on to say that men may have flings with thick/fat/bigger women but at the end of day they want a thin woman. Jasmine obviously thought there was nothing wrong with validating her own thin privilege while simultaneously putting down “bigger” women as sex objects that Black men only use.

Obviously, Jasmine’s psychology studies validates her right to be a bigot—NOT.

1) First if all, I don’t care how many hours you spend at the gym or what kind of diet you’re on, no privilege is earned, not even the privileges associated with thinness.

2) My sexual orientation shouldn’t have even come into the conversation as an issue no matter how I identify.

3) What I do have a problem with is thin women who act out their bigotry, insecurity/jealousy, and hatred on others.

4) Women NEED to call out other women and everybody else who choose to liberate some folks while holding everybody else down.

This is how we have been kept divided for centuries by white supremacy in America—“light-skinned” from the “dark-skinned”, fat from thin, fine hair from course hair, female from male, poor from wealthy, young from old, the house slave from the field slave. As Black women, and our Black male allies too, we need to stop holding each other’s head under the water so a few of us as individuals can stay afloat for a few seconds longer. Because, in the end, we’re all going to drown if we don’t support each other and see the beauty and inherent worth in one another.

what’s real,

Ms. Queenly


I’m not going to make arguments or suggestions about self-esteem or loving one’s self to attain the love of others because those lectures are even sometimes used to justify fatphobic hatred or excuse their perpetrators.

Because I have been taught to hate myself and agonize over my weight,

to accept the hatred and mocking of others,

do whatever it takes to change my weight to whatever level of thinness is the standard or is acceptable,

because I dislike and fight against how I’m treated because of my weight and the ways that others show their animosity and mocking at “fat girls”, it somehow justifies the hatred and bigotry of others. That is, I have to work on my self-esteem and confidence issues, I need to change, not the people who hate “fatties”. Sounds like scapegoating to me, a version of blaming the victim.

It’s not about them being bigots in a society that entrenches itself in fantasies of thinness, I must have self-esteem and confidence issues, I must be the problem.

Even well-intentioned folks make this mistake, giving girls who have been bullied because of their size this kind of advice and lectures. The message they are sending them, or at least the message that I got was this: You’re the problem. It’s not them, it’s you. If you become more confident and learn to love yourself, what they say and do doesn’t matter.

I understand that believing bullies, victimizers, and bigots is part of the issue. However, how can you ever learn to stand up for yourself and others, how do you see the good qualities in yourself and the beauty that is you if all the people around you ever do is show you what they hate, look down on, and mock about you? How can you learn to believe in your humanity when everybody around you is treating you like you’re less than human and inconceivably unattractive? Or my fav, “She’s smart and cute but…” It’s not impossible to find things to love about yourself but if you’re living that way with few outlets and no support, it’s a longer and maybe more difficult process.

I’m old enough and wise enough now to fight back against the hatred I have been taught for myself and to break habits of anxiety over my weight and race. It’s a painful yet progressing movement inside of myself. But being fat, Black, queer, female, working class/poor, Black feminist and womanist is not all candy-coated raindrops and Skittles and such.

The reason I feel that fatphobia falls under the category of one of those “last overt forms of discrimination” is not only because of how other people react to women (and men) who are fat but because I myself sometimes have trouble standing up to glorified images and a culture of thinness that perpetuate and insulate fatphobia. I mean, if no one wants me, no one wants me. If they ridicule me, they ridicule me. If I don’t like it, just lose weight.

I think stuff like this on the days when I’m feeling slow and downtrodden and the scary truth is I don’t believe it and I don’t think it’s right.

evermore,

Ms. Queenly


On the train. On the bus. Walking on the street. Sitting in classrooms and cafeterias. In gym class. Buying anything that covers me. Squeezing down crowded hallways and other folks public arenas—

I still flinch and stiffen at the sound of laughter.

It’s not about me yet I wonder if the laughs are at me and resist turning to see whose mouths that sound is coming out of and hold my chin up imperiously.

Are they looking at me?

That’s paranoid. Don’t be ridiculous. Every stranger who’s ever lol’ed in your presence can’t be laughing at you and most likely haven’t even looked at or noticed you.

But still my mind races and heart aches with anxiety, remembering all the times, every day, for a decade or so when that laughter was for me. With pointed fingers, prods, and pokes, pushing and grabbing, and filled with “that big/fat girl”. Caricatures of stretch-marked breasts and elephantine women passed my way while the sound of laughter filled my ears. The word “fat” dug into me with it’s laughing friends named unpretty, ugly, unworthy, undesirable, stupid, unappealing, and heavy-handed. Those mouths bought that laughter at the expense of my dignity. My pride. My trust in other people. My ability to see my body and the humanity of myself.

It’s not like I didn’t try. I tried to make myself look as small as possible. I tried to make sure I wasn’t spilling over into the seat beside me. I tried to wear clothes that flattered and showed them I was a girl—but not much of that comes in my size or can be bought with the money I have, takes too many yards of fabric I suppose.

I glossed my lips and agonized over my hair. I tried to sit as still as possible to not to draw attention to myself. I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to be appealing. I wanted to be desirable. I wanted to be seen as worthy.  I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to be light and carefree.

So whenever I hear the sound of laughter, on the bus. On the train. Walking on the street. Sitting in classrooms and cafeterias. Squeezing down hallways and other folks in public arenas—

I flinch and tighten up and keep telling myself it wasn’t my fault. But even so, sometimes, the old pain still hurts.


In her article ‘Normal’ Woman’s Body Published in Glamour…And People Like It!, Gwen Sharp writes,

I’m all for giving women a more diverse range of role models and images of female beauty, and if J. Lo and Beyoncé provided that for Miller, great. But I have to admit that sometimes I get sick of hearing those women held up as examples of alternative beauty standards because they’re “curvy” (see our post on Beyoncé on the cover of Vogue‘s shape issue). In that context, “curvy” seems to mean having an hourglass shape with large breasts (Scarlett Johansson is also often described as curvy). But both J. Lo and Beyoncé are very thin overall, and are completely toned and muscular. So I think we have to be careful about thinking that the presence of a few women like that on magazine covers or in movies greatly changes the beauty standards that media outlets generally hold up for women (and men) to aspire to.

I think Gwen Sharp was being polite though I 100% agree with her. Personally, I don’t sometimes get sick of seeing these images held up as plus-size, I get sick of it all the time. I can’t even look at Beyoncé anymore, no matter how gorgeous I think she is. I much prefer Substantia Jones’ photo collection at Adipositivity to those images, which I recently discovered after getting over my fear of searching the net because I’m afraid of what I’ll find (or won’t find)—that’s pushing the envelope to me, so to speak.

What if I have a shape like a banana slug or a caterpillar? An amoeba?

Though I am trying to be humorous, I’m not saying this to evoke laughter or make light of the subject. But some serious thoughts came up for me after I saw the photos at Sociological Images.

I’m going to put myself out there: I do not have a stereotypically feminine shape cut from the mode. Breasts, curves, hips, thighs, “reasonable arms”, and shapely calves and all. I don’t think anybody would ever mistake me for a man or say that I am gender ambiguous, but I don’t have curvy figure like the women in the Glamour pictures either, who I think, not surprisingly enough, are absolutely beautiful but what I think of as “plus-size”. I’ve always said this particularly about Beyoncé (though it is not my intention to erase the struggles of other women who aren’t the norm in the entertainment and fashion industry). That’s probably what has caused me to think I’m weird for so long: I don’t have the hallmarks of the typically feminine and appealing working for me, if what is presented in those photos is what the standard is. If I was fat with a curvy figure like these ladies, it’d be a different story.

I struggle with using labels and terms like “overweight” and “obese” and have only recently, though I have glimpsed in my medical file since I was a child. I have conquered some of my issues with the word “fat” and how it is used. At the same time, I am acutely aware of the ways in which many people perceive rolls and bulges, roundedness and cellulite, skin and curves that aren’t smooth and flawless.

Sometimes I get into this headspace where I feel or think that I should lose weight not because I am or am not healthy (If I could afford to really go to the doctor right now, I’d know what somebody’s “professional” opinion is), but because it is a part of the very repressive history and continuing reality that I have with my mother. It also stems from a history of being opposite from my fraternal twin’s body type and enduring her silence and miseducation on weight, including her own, and fatness.

Then again sometimes I revel in my body and being my size. I fly in the face of everybody, whether they know it not is irrelevant, who has ever ignored me or put me down because of my weight or who might be tempted to. In these moments where I revel, I truly feel whole in my sexuality and identity. In those moments, I view myself as a sexual being worthy of the love, care, and passion of another. That sexuality is a part of my wholeness.

At its core, how is “You’re pretty for a fat girl/big girl/bigger female” any different from comments like “You’re pretty for a dark girl/Black girl/black-skinned girl/negro/dark-skinned girl”? As a Black, queen-sized-queen, there is no difference to me, only two ways of someone saying fat people are usually ugly and so are Black people, so I’m some kind of exception—or not. Skin color can be lightened with makeup or creams and other forms of bleaching. Weight can be exercised away and the body can be altered with surgery. But discriminating against somebody because of their race is increasingly becoming frowned upon and is actually illegal, discriminating against a person’s body is not viewed or treated in the same way. People just keep coming up with new loopholes that this discrimination isn’t happening in given situations.

I’m building up my ability to manifest those moments. I’m mounting up to an understanding that whether anyone else ever sees me the way I do in those moments is irrelevant to the fact that I need to continue to see myself that way. At the same time, every other moment seems to be rather neutral or filled with that knowledge of how the mainstream and most people, even of my own race contrary to popular belief, view fat.

really,

Ms. Queenly


My sister watched the movie online today and felt the need to come tell me about certain scenes, despite the fact that she knows how I feel about the movie, the author, and the book, and what I know from reading about its presentations of racism and Black women. I immediately felt myself getting angry, as I knew I would. So, sensing this, my sister left the room and went to finish watching the movie alone.

Instead of actually having a conversation about the book, I ended up addressing the behaviors of the two commenters and their personal attacks when they decided to stop by and repeat racist (the white commenter) or hostile, passive aggressive patterns of commenting (the Black commenter) on my blog as they have in other places with me or in my presence in online discussions.

I officially gave myself permission to boycott this mess on principle, but all joking aside—

Why should we continue to have racist literature and film created at the hands of white folks shoved down our throats or proffered as legitimate because of their attempt at writing on the subject matter? We’re not taking it lying down, some of us, but why should accept their racist portrayals of us when we know ourselves better and can express ourselves and our experiences just fine? Read my more nuanced prospective and criticism here.

Reading critical commentary, reviews, and impressions from other Black women saying NO to this movie and NO to this book added to my sense of vindication. I agree that you can’t completely judge a book or movie without seeing/reading it for yourself. But Black women and other Black people should be able to and have to choose what to give their time to and what they’re just going to say a plain NO to. The Help is something that I plainly feel the need to just say NO to, both the book and the movie. I have said NO and I will continue to say NO for a long time.

There were suggestions that I waste my money on it, take the time to get it from the library, and watch the bootleg if I didn’t want to pay for it. What I think Tosh Fomby and Beverly Diehl were missing was the most important part of my brief commentary on The Help: I am choosing NOT give the book or the movie my time or my limited resources aside from stating why I’ve taken this stance. It’s that simple.

I’m very resistant when I come up against “the read it/see it anyway” argument.

Call it intuition. Call it believing what I’ve heard about it. Call it knowing a disaster when I see it and read about it. Whatever. Contrary to sensationalistic hype and praise surrounding the film and book, I don’t feel like I’m missing anything that I haven’t seen before in a dozen racist movies a dozen times over again before.

Judging by my reaction to a two-minute conversation about the film launched on me suddenly in my home, I know I’m still not ready to engage the film or the book nor do I have any desire to do so. And I mean that.

for real,

Ms. Queenly


These days, I’m too wrapped up in how Black R&B, pop, and rap artists and their lyrics help perpetuate harmful dynamics between Black women and men to listen to listen to the lyrics anymore because I’m afraid of how much I might not like the messages I’m hearing. However, I was reflecting with positive reminisces on two decent songs in particular: “Give Me You” performed by Mary J. Blige and “Cupid” performed by 112. The message between the two songs together is this: True love doesn’t lie and when two people bring all of themselves to a relationship with the intention of expressing care and love to build a relationship, it’s a beautiful and fruitful thing, so to speak.

I don’t like using phrases like “true love”, but I have my ideas and understandings of what love is to me and what it looks like. Now I confess that I’ve only seen and experienced snatches of what I think [romantic] love looks like, between Black women and men, or otherwise. But then again I have the standard and expectation of excellence. Here’s some of what I’ve observed and taken in from the best relationships:

  1. There are ways to express love that are not physical or material—let that marinate and decide what it means to you.
  2. Ask for trust, give trust, and earn trust: The song “Cupid” asks a woman to trust the man she is in a relationship with. In asking for it, a man must be committed to earning it and having his words and actions match his desire to dispel distrust. The same goes for women towards men. Building relationships that are worth it to the both of you, relationships that are fulfilling, takes an offering and acknowledgement of trust. (But if someone’s got you jumping through hoops like at the circus, then you have to start asking, What’s the real issue here, if it isn’t you.)
  3. In life, we’re going to hurt each other—but we should try not to: Don’t be reckless or thoughtless in your actions and words towards your partner, if you really care for that person. This is general advice for any relationship. If you’ve been hurt or had your trust abused in the past, it’s important to acknowledge that and not feel bad for wanting it to be acknowledged. If you’re both trying to build and love in this new relationship, at the same time, there should be no reason to take it out on the other person.
  4. We have to love each other, not just in the romantic way, but in general: Specifically, in a great relationship for Black folks, it is essential in this society to have love and care for our bodies and our skin, history, and culture. This is not only for the sake of our private and individual identities but for fostering relationships and for the sake of our political (and/or public) identities. Quick Anecdote. The first man to ever tell me he thinks I’m beautiful—weight, political views, everything— and insist on this is a white man from Finland and he is has been my friend and stuck by me for a while. *looks under the rocks for the Black men* Black folks have to see each other as beautiful, see each other as deserving of love, see each other as desirable. If you’re constantly looking at your partner and going, for example, “I wish her booty was bigger like a Latina” or “He too dark-skinned”, then there’s a problem. Let’s recall the lyrics of India Arie’s “Brown Skin”.
  5. Say you’re going to be there and be really be there—spiritually, mentally, emotionally, physically, and (wait for it) politically: Back your actions with words from your heart and your words with meaningful action.
  6. Do say what’s in your heart and in your mind: Some relationships fail because we’re not saying what we really feel and think. We go through the motions of being in a relationship. If you’re not in a relationship with someone who can really appreciate, listen, hear, and respect your thoughts and feelings, then let’s just say it’s time to reflect on your relationship with that person. Being honest and open is the only way to build lasting relationships or even ascertain who you want to be with. Do give yourself to the relationship.
  7. Love is 24/7—there are no off days because it’s not really a job.

Take note of the generalizing language, if you find it offensive (the use of “us” and “we”). I know that annoys some people but given the topic, I went on ahead with that though I don’t usually do so.

lovely,

Ms. Queenly



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