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I've never had a perm.
My mom always gave me braids.
Always washed and conditioned my hair and braided it.
I like running my hair through the shower.
I like being able to go outside when it's raining
and not have to fret,
because I know my hair is going to get messed up.
I just like frizz.
I like being Black.
Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair?
Who taught you to hate the colour of your skin
to such extent that you bleach to get like the white man?
Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose
and the shape of your lips?
Who taught you to hate yourself
from the top of your head to the soles of your feet?
I remember watching Sex and the City.
There was a scene where
Miranda got called out for having a fat butt,
and she was mortified, absolutely mortified.
She cried. She got on Weight Watchers.
And it's funny to me, now, because if you go on Instagram
and you go on the search page,
every single girl you see,
slim waist, big booty, fuller breasts with fuller lips.
Every single Instagram model, you see it.
You see the shifts
in North American beauty standards,
but on the backs of Black women.
The most disrespected person in America
is the Black woman.
The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman.
The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.
I think any woman's road is easier if she's beautiful.
Beauty is power.
The way I look is a benefit.
It helps me. It has helped me in my life.
It has helped me in my career,
and it will continue to benefit me.
But even my beauty doesn't change that I'm Black.
Black women, historically, have been denied the power of beauty.
Uh, and it's-- I think it was intentional.
So, it's ironic that today, the winners of the five most
prestigious beauty pageants in the world are Black women.
♪
Narrator: 2019 was a watershed moment,
as Black women across the globe took a pause,
acknowledging the unprecedented occurrence
when the winners of the Miss Universe, Miss World,
Miss USA, Miss Teen USA and Miss America pageants
were all Black women.
Why was this important?
Should beauty matter when 56% of all college graduates
in the US are women,
and the most educated group in America are Black women?
The Miss Black America beauty pageant argues that
it is still as relevant today
as it was when it was created in 1968.
Brittany Lewis: Well, good morning, everyone.
It is such a pleasure to stand before you.
We have some amazing contestants that are competing for
the title of Miss Black America
during this historic 50th anniversary.
In 2014, I did compete for the Miss America pageant.
And although I am grateful for the opportunities,
what I love about this pageant and why I returned home to
the Miss Black America pageant is because it creates a space
for us to continue to celebrate Black beauty, Black excellence
and the Black experience unapologetically.
Newscaster: Beauty is on parade
in Convention Hall, Atlantic City,
during the oldest contest of its kind
and the one with the most prestige,
the search for Miss America.
Historically, the Miss America pageant
adhered to Rule #7.
Established in the '30s,
the rule stated that in order to compete,
you had to be "in good health and of the white race."
And although the rule was repealed in the 1950s,
by 1968, there were still no women of colour
on the Miss America stage.
Black female beauty was deemed unworthy of celebration,
and three stereotypes had seeped into the dominant culture.
Borne out of slavery, the stereotypes typically
presented Black women
as Mammies, Jezebel, or the angry Black Sapphire.
It's in this environment that businessman
J. Morris Anderson, working with NAACP,
created the Miss Black America pageant
in 1968.
The event was set in Atlantic City,
across the street from and on the same night as
the 44th Miss America pageant,
and it was in part a protest against
the prevailing beauty norms.
But Miss America was experiencing
a crisis of its own.
400 predominantly white, middle-class women
descended on the pageant,
protesting its objectification of women
through beauty contests.
The irony is these two protest events
were wildly contradictory,
and placed Black and white women
on opposite sides of the beauty paradigm.
To understand why, we have to look to the past.
Some of the most disturbing things
in regards to the history of Black women
go back all the way to the 16th and 17th century,
when you're looking at journals
from British or European explorers
and their descriptions of when they encounter
Caribbean or African women, and they describe them as
monstrous bodies with, you know,
long breasts and big, um, bigger nipples.
And you know, again, to make it counter to
what they've seen from white women, right?
We're constantly being identified as "beast,"
and as less than and sub-human.
And we continue to see those images
just recast in different ways as the centuries move forward.
I like to start in the 19th century.
Yes, there was a lot of things before then, obviously.
But it's in the 19th century where you have this
real need, again, to preserve
the sanctity of white womanhood.
That's why I say the Victorian era--
We're talking about post-1850--
Suddenly, there's this idea of let's define what's pure.
Let's define purity. Let's also define domesticity.
So, white womanhood gets attached to the domestic realm.
That means real women are in the home.
Black women always worked in the fields.
So, right there, suddenly, we're not women,
because we've never been in the home.
So, the idea of womanhood
then gets extended into the 20th century.
Women stay home. Women get married.
They stay home, they have children,
but wait a second.
Black women never stay home.
Black women are having kids, sometimes with different people,
because us marrying was also
kind of a difficult thing during slavery.
So, we're already seen as immoral
and not upholding the sanctity of womanhood.
And then what happens is you get into the 1940s.
World War II was a moment all women went out to work.
Everyone working in the factory,
doing all the jobs you said you'd never do.
Then what happens? It's the 1950s.
"Oh, get back into the house." But what is the 1950s?
That's the heyday of domestic help.
So, where white women went back into the house,
Black women went into their house to serve them
and to clean up after them once again.
So, the history of Black womanhood and white womanhood,
it is so overlaid with labour
and these issues of purity and domesticity.
I definitely think that historically,
there's been a sort of binary that's been set up
when it comes to beauty.
This idea of beautiful and ugly. This idea of pure and dirty.
And because of racism,
a lot of times that binary also included
the binary of Black and white.
Um, and that led to Black women being on one end
and white women being on the other.
Ryann Richardson: My life in pageantry started
in the most nonsensical way possible.
No one would've ever expected it.
I was a jock. I played football and ran track.
And when I started competing in pageants,
I won a lot. I earned a lot of scholarship.
I paid for the majority of my undergraduate education.
I'm a product of
what Miss Black America inspired in 1968.
So, it's really interesting and really cool to think
50 years later, having gained
all that I've gained from pageantry
and from the culture that Miss Black America created,
I could be part of that Miss Black America legacy.
Woman: The two eight-count walk,
y'all going to switch, okay?
You have enough time to switch. You hear me?
And don't forget: in the beginning, smile.
This is the opening number.
And one. Do it again.
Just the walk...
Okay.
Five, six, seven. And one, two, three.
Do it again.
Okay. Turn.
Go back. Try it again. Just you two.
Oh, yeah. Show me. Show me the way.
Woman: Five, six, seven. And--
Hey, hey, hey. That last move should be like snatch.
Down. Y'all hear that pause.
Like, snatch...
Alex Germain: I could go on and on about
why I wanted to be a part of the Miss Black America pageant,
but to keep it short and sweet,
I needed something that represented me.
I needed to feel as though
I mattered and my voice mattered,
and I could be a reflection to other girls who-
I was once in their position, and I can say,
"I'm going to do that one day."
Growing up, there's no one who looked like me in my classes.
Not my teachers or the administration
or my best friends.
I remember vividly. I believe it was sixth grade.
I would walk into the playground after lunch,
and all the boys line up
and they start making monkey noises at me.
It affected me in ways that I didn't know
would carry on into my adulthood.
Hi, Mommy.
So, it wasn't until college,
where I had to let that go.
I had to be strong in myself
and let those voices go.
Even now that I'm 22 and I'm Miss Black New Mexico--
The first one, might I add--
There's times where it still gets to me.
You have to be your biggest motivator.
The eyelashes and lipstick, that doesn't mean anything.
I literally had to tell myself I was beautiful.
I had to tell myself every day
what I loved about myself. Every day.
What's this?
I think when you see a pretty girl,
you don't really think that they have issues,
but when you don't love yourself,
you don't love anything.
So, getting to the place where I could even compete
to be Miss Black New Mexico, and then winning,
it kind of feels like I can't stop now.
What else can I do? What else can I conquer?
I'm just laid back, chill,
wear some sweat pants and some sneakers.
I walk out the door, I still get cute.
But you know, chilling. I've always been chilling.
I was scared. I did not like the plane.
The plane is moving. It's shaking.
This is not what I signed up for.
Let's turn around. Let's go back.
I was expecting the girls to be really mean.
Like, I was, like, "Oh, my God."
Like, they're so serious. Like, oh, my gosh.
But then, when I walked in the hotel,
they embraced me with open arms.
They were, like, "Oh, my God, girl.
You in the pageant?"
It was so hard
to not be a tomboy, considering the fact
that I don't know how to walk in heels.
'Cause they said, "Oh, no.
You can't walk around like that."
Like, doo-doo-doo. No.
You need to walk around like you know what you're doing.
So, I practised and practised,
and apparently, they say I'm doing a good job.
Thank you.
Do you mind if I recite a poem?
I look at my eyes and I see beauty.
I have my mother's eyes, and they shimmer like jewellery.
I had to upchuck the critique
that I needed to better my physique.
And I learned to love myself, not in vain and in conceit.
My first song "Video",
that song taught me a lot about people.
Because literally,
the whole time I was writing it, I just thought,
this is how I want people to understand who I am.
And then it came out, and people were telling me
that that's how they felt, and I was, like,
"Oh. Oh, right."
We all feel insecure about something.
We all have, like, a part, a place inside of us
that we're insecure about something.
I don't have better words than that.
And we wonder if that makes us flawed,
and if that flaw makes us unworthy of being loved,
and if that unworthiness means that we'll never--
You know, like, there's a place that we--
It's like an unravelling that can happen
just from one little thing.
Just because we live in this world that tells us
somebody's perfect, but you're not.
Cheryl: Black has always been cool.
Beauty is different.
In the realm of beauty, Black is not cool.
In beauty culture, Black has to be minimized
as much as possible,
or exoticized in a certain way
where you really see the difference.
I always go back to Olympia's maid.
Well, they call it "Olympia,"
the Edouard Monet "Olympia."
Well, Olympia's maid is standing right behind her.
And for nearly over a century,
white art historians had talked about Monet's "Olympia,"
and they never mentioned the Black woman
standing behind her.
They just don't see us.
It took a Black woman in, like, 1992
to suddenly say, "What about Olympia's maid?
Have you noticed?"
And they were like, "Oh. We never noticed her."
How could you not notice her?
I don't think I ever made a decision
to study beauty. I gradually found myself doing it.
And I just followed the arguments.
So, I've worked on issues of reproductive rights,
of women's rights, of global justice.
And gradually, I began to see
that appearance and beauty was becoming more and more dominant
in young women's lives,
and that this was an issue of justice, too.
Beauty is becoming an ethical ideal.
And by this, I mean it's the value framework
that we build our lives around.
That we judge ourselves and others
on how much we conform to the ideal.
That the more we make the appearance grade,
the better we believe ourselves to be.
The less we make the appearance grade,
the more we fail.
♪
When I was younger, I think I had an idea
that there was only one type of beautiful.
Mm-hm.
And in terms of my, like, definition of beauty changing,
it's been trying to, like, teach myself
that there are so many different types of beautiful.
When I was younger, I used to think that, like,
the only way you could be pretty was if you were white
and if you had more straight hair,
and if you, like, only had a certain type of body.
And if you were anything different from that, then you--
Maybe you could be, like, pretty,
but you could never be, like, truly beautiful.
My whole life I've been, like, battling.
Sort of, like, apologizing for who I was
or what I looked like. Even, like, as a kid,
wearing braids to school and wanting to take them out
because I knew they were a Black thing,
and I didn't want to be associated with that.
Sometimes I also feel, like, guilt as well.
Like, sometimes I just see my Blackness as, like,
something weighing me down. When, like...
it just should be something to celebrate.
I remember last summer,
there's this guy that I was, like, think--
I kind of liked him, and I told my friend,
who's another guy, and they were friends.
Kind of a bad mistake, but he was, like,
"Oh, yeah, like, he thinks you're hot."
He said, "You're the hottest Black girl I've ever seen."
And I was, like, oh, okay. Yeah. I'm the hottest Black girl.
Like that had to be said.
And that's always a thing. Like, my Blackness
will be put in front of everything.
I'm not just going to be pretty because I'm pretty.
I always heard, "You're very pretty for a Black girl."
And it wasn't until I got older that I realized--
I unpacked that sentence, that it's literally saying,
"Despite being Black, you're very pretty."
And it's such a back-handed-- It's not even a compliment.
You're saying that I'm really lucky that I'm pretty
because I'm Black, and I have that fighting against me.
Pageantry made me aware of this concept of beauty
that was being applied to me,
but a greater society dictated
what exactly the standard would be.
The pageant would release the head shots
of all the girls competing
a few weeks before the competition,
and all of the pageant commentators
in the community would get on this message board forum
and start to chatter about, uh, their predictions
for what was going to happen.
Who was going to be the cream that would rise to the top?
And I was so confident in myself,
because I'd done so well for the last several years,
that I knew I had to be the frontrunner.
And the first comment that I saw was,
"No. Her features are too ethnic."
I knew exactly what that meant.
My nose was too broad. Lips, too full.
I looked too Black.
And it shook me.
And it shocked me, and it pissed me off.
I actually came to a point where I appreciated that comment,
because for the first time, I felt like somebody was honest
about what their feedback really was.
Why I had been so successful,
racked up all the awards you can imagine,
but still couldn't quite win.
Why I had gotten the feedback that
"We just want to soften your look."
And I thought, what does "soften" mean?
I'll wear lilac. I'll wear pink.
I don't know if it goes well with my skin.
But I can soften. I can do highlights.
And ultimately, it wasn't about softening.
It wasn't about styling. It was about somebody
who was finally nasty enough or ballsy enough
to say what it was. I was too damn ethnic.
And that stuck with me for a long time.
I never internalized that feedback, right?
Because I never took it
as a statement on my worth,
but I did take it as a real recommendation,
a valid recommendation, for what had to happen
if I wanted to be successful in this space.
I had to change the ways in which
I looked too ethnic to people
who are uncomfortable with my Blackness.
I had to learn to contour my face
and style myself
to draw away from features
that are so distinctly Black.
And I got really good at it.
I am really good at it,
but it was a means to an end.
I never believed I needed to look that way
to be beautiful, to be Ryann, to be great, to be excellent,
but I did to win.
Little white kids would always comment on your hair.
"Oh, it's so big. You look like a lion."
You know? Like, "You look like an animal."
You know? It'd just be, like--
No one else says that to anybody else.
It took me a while to realize, like, no.
This is just how it is, you know?
It's going to be easier for them. It just is.
I was, like, bullied a lot when I was younger.
Like, the very, like, overtly racist things
from a very young age that obviously skewed
my perception of beauty and, like, Blackness and myself.
Most of was just kind of, like, little stuff
that I've internalized.
The bigger stuff is kind of, like,
the unspoken things that people say.
'Cause they're going to be, like, "You look like poo.
You look like a monkey."
Like, "Is your hair real?
Can I touch it? Can I play with it?"
Like, my least favourite thing is when, like,
people play with my hair and I tell them to stop,
and they're like, "I'm not going to stop."
I'm, like, "What?"
Like, "What are you doing?"
As a consequence of trivializing beauty,
a number of things happen.
The first is that we don't take seriously
beauty as a topic for research.
So, we are not looking at what it means
for our young people and, in fact,
our older people, too, when they value beauty most.
The second thing that happens is we largely treat it as
a matter of individual choice.
That means that we don't take account of just how much
the demands of beauty are rising.
We leave it up to individuals to resist.
So, one of the very few things that we do
when it comes to the harms of body image
is talk about resilience.
And by "resilience," we mean that individual,
they should be resilient.
How is an individual going to be resilient
against the dominant beauty ideal?
Right? That's a ridiculous thing to ask.
We need to think much more about how we change the culture.
I think when
I discuss my childhood,
with growing up with white kids,
I think that subconsciously,
I try to water it down.
There's a lot of trauma that we all go through.
We just don't recognize it as trauma,
and we don't get the help for it.
And I think that with Black women,
before we're even born
people have an idea of how we should act,
when we should act a certain way
and how we go about things.
So, if I already am born into a box,
you're not giving me any freedom to self-identify who I am.
You're not giving me any freedom to evolve.
You're just keeping me in that box.
Narrator: Then, in 2013,
a new movement emerged that celebrated Black women
for persevering through adversity.
Black Girl Magic became.
Popularized by CaShawn Thompson
and inspired by Michelle Obama's speech
at the Black Girls Rock Awards,
Black Girl Magic ushered in
an era of Black women embracing themselves
in all their glory.
It's in the midst of this
that a shocking revelation unfolded in the media,
one that no one anticipated.
Rachel Dolezal: So, my name is Rachel Dolezal,
and I have, for my entire life,
felt a connection to Africa
and to, um, the original woman,
which is a Black woman.
But my very first memory is,
at four, drawing a picture.
You know, 'cause there was, like, you know,
"Draw a picture of yourself."
And I drew a picture of myself, smiling,
and I had brown skin and I had curly braids
and lipstick.
And I was smiling, and it was, like, the happy picture.
And I just remember the reaction to that.
They're, like, "What is wrong with you?
"That's not you. You don't have brown skin.
You don't have-- That's not--"
And feeling like I was--
Like there was something wrong with me.
We are her birth parents.
And we do not understand
why she feels it's necessary
to misrepresent her ethnicity.
Rachel: In 2015,
my biological parents went on national television
and told the world that my life was a lie
and that I am really white,
and that I was conning and defrauding people.
I've gotten a lot of hatred from
many different groups, I would say, since then,
and especially just shaming and ridicule.
I've been called an insult to white women
and an insult to Black women.
White women are angry, because I did what they
never would do, and went further.
Like, I put 100 on 10.
Like, I didn't just be a white ally
and do a little bit.
I cancelled my white privilege, I cancelled my hair.
For Black women, I feel like it's a reaction to pain.
It's like a trigger.
Like, I'm a trigger, um,
to Post-Traumatic Stress.
When it comes to white men,
that's the group that I am
the most scared of on a level of threat,
because that's mostly the white supremacy folks.
♪
This pageant is a beautiful thing,
because it's still needed in the Black society.
♪
The reason why I feel that
I still had that insecurity growing up was
because it really didn't matter how much my parents
influenced it, at the end of the day,
the media is still out there.
- The media. - The media.
In media, when I saw Black women appear,
how they were represented, right?
They were, um, somebody's caretaker or maid, right?
They were the help or, uh, they were this
over-sexualized, exoticized,
frankly piece of meat.
Somebody's video girl,
or they're the angry Black woman,
and those were the three options
for the type of Black woman I was going to see.
The Mammy, Sapphire, and Jezebel stereotypes,
they're deeply rooted in history.
They haven't gone away, they've just changed
and morphed into different kinds
of stereotypes and images,
but the essence remains the same.
You were a deadbeat the day my sister married you,
and you still a deadbeat today.
Don't get smart with me, girl, my pressure's already up.
Dr. West: Sapphire was a character on the old
Amos 'n' Andy radio shows.
I think now we know her more as this
Angry Black Woman stereotype.
Who drank my apple juice?
Chris! Get in the bathroom
and wipe the pee off the toilet seat.
If she looks at me one more time cross-eyed,
I'm going to gut her like a fish.
Dr. West: Sapphire was married to another character,
Kingfish, and she was always berating him,
very negative, very critical of him.
He was sort of always looking
for a way to make a quick buck.
She would always berate him about
just being lazy and shiftless.
Now, wait a minute here.
I think the delegation should vote on
who's going to carry the money.
Alright, vote!
I vote for Sapphire.
That settles that.
Dr. West: That image served several purposes.
One, it made Black women's anger seem not justifiable,
um, but almost a comedy,
and it made it easy to assume
that this is why Black women are sexually undesirable,
because they are so mean and nasty,
and perpetually angry,
and can fly off the handle at any moment.
You know, the reason why it was created is to justify
the lived reality of Black women in the Black community,
whether that be, um, economic realities,
employment realities, the family structure,
the reason why we're-- we can't get married.
It's due to the Sapphires.
We continue to see the Sapphire moving into the 21st century.
We can look at the way in which Michelle Obama was characterized
as this kind of militant angry Black woman.
Well, you know, I think one way people are going to try
to defeat Obama is to somehow prove he's other,
he's not one of us.
If they can't prove he's a Muslim,
then let's prove his wife is an angry Black woman.
And who are the Black women you see on the local news at night
in cities all over the country?
They're usually angry about something.
They've had a son who's been shot in a drive-by shooting,
they are-- they are angry at Bush or something...
So, you don't really have a profile
of non-angry Black women...
You just sort of think, "Dang, you don't even know me."
But then you sort of think, "Well, this isn't about me."
This is about the person or the people who write it.
Like, how does this woman, who we would think is, like,
the quintessential definition of respectability,
having Ivy League degrees, become the Sapphire?
And more importantly, why aren't we allowed to be angry?
If something tragic happens in my life, as Black people,
we should be allowed to cry, to scream, to yell,
to have the same exact responses,
especially to the systematic racism that we experience
on a day-to-day basis. That's okay. We're human.
Are they going to see us?
I've got the exposure down.
- Okay. - Hold on, hold on, hold on.
Want you to get my good side. Come on.
Photographer: I'm going to get you...
- Turn around. - I was going to say...
Give me a couple pictures.
I've worked with colleagues whose exposure
to women of colour has been limited largely
to what they've seen on TV.
And if all they've ever ingested are three stereotypes
of what a Black woman is, then to encounter something
that is distinctly different or doesn't fit one of those
is... mind-blowing, it's confusing, it's upsetting,
it's discombobulating.
They have to make sense of what they're encountering,
and there are only three models for what a Black woman can be,
and this, this sort of competent, confident, outspoken
Black woman just must be the Angry Black Woman.
Whoo.
Well, I was cast to be
one of five panellists on a...
Kind of like the Survivor of novels.
It was a battle show.
You read a book, you defend your book,
you make it to the end, the winner,
the author gets to be crowned,
you know, the book of the year.
It's important for us to really look at what book is going to
have Canada open their eyes to what is happening on today,
and yes, we celebrate and we heal and we Kumbaya
and we light--
But, Jully, what about what's happening with ourselves?
- I mean-- - That's good, that's amazing.
We got to change the world, but people are really,
there are a lot of, like, screwed up people in the world.
There's a lot of colonial privilege happening.
Jeanne Beker, you know, interjected as I was speaking,
it had nothing to do with her, like, zero, but she's going
into the finals now.
She totally spoke over me
and, basically, as I went to respond,
not react, I was exactly where my feet were.
What are we doing to change the current circumstances?
We just had a Pope say he's not saying "I'm sorry"
to Indigenous Canadians when he said that in 2015.
It is happening right now. It's got to change.
Yes, we forgive, I believe in Jesus.
But why are you attacking me, Jully?
Why are you attacking me?
"But Jully, why are you attacking me?"
I actually did that same thing.
I was like, "Did anybody, like..."
And it's as if my mom, grandmother,
my nieces, my sisters,
every Black woman, girl, child
that I've ever known, experienced,
directly or indirectly, it's like they were all sitting
on my shoulders, every last one of them,
and I was able to respond.
Oh, the truth hurts. I didn't say anything to attack you,
Jeanne Beker.
I said nothing about Jeanne Beker.
No, no. I'm just saying--
Did I say anything about Jeanne Beker?
I just feel that you're speaking to me like I don't believe that.
I totally get what you're saying.
So, let me tell you what you just said.
"I feel like." So, whatever you're feeling,
take it to the altar, 'cause I'm not the one that's
responsible for your feelings.
Everybody who had some pigment on their skin
came to me with a story saying, "Wow, thank you for speaking up,
because I have been labelled aggressive and angry
and attacking, when really I'm educated
and I have an opinion, and it was my right
to speak at that moment.
♪
I'm constantly thinking about what it means to be
the Sapphire, and the angry stereotype.
So, instead of being able to react the way that I want to
in any capacity, in any space where it's not all Black,
I need to readjust, rethink, and then act accordingly,
because I don't want to be labelled
as the Angry Black Woman, because if I am,
you know, I could be considered unemployable.
"She can't work here, she's too rash,
she doesn't know how to talk to people, she's too loud,"
and that has very material consequences.
Dr. Thompson: Black women have always had to make claims
of we're women, too, and so, what is that claim?
What does that really mean?
It means that we are vulnerable,
it means that we have feelings.
The public image of Black womanhood is that,
man, we've got it together, we're strong,
or strong and we're angry,
we're always aggressive.
You know, I think about it. Like, a couple years ago
I gave a TED Talk, and they took a series of pictures
in promotion of the TED Talk, many pictures.
Me smiling, me, like, animated, and then they asked for one
shot with my arms crossed, looking, like, mean-grill,
and what picture did they use in promotion?
I was the only person. Arms crossed, mean grill.
Every other speaker was smiling, and I thought to myself,
"Whoever chose this doesn't even realize that in their head,
that's what Black women look like."
So many times I have been kind of cut down
to the Angry Black Woman.
I take up space, my hair takes up space,
my whole self takes up space, and there are lots of...
There are many times that people have been threatened by that.
And, so, yeah, that title of the Angry Black Woman,
has definitely been put on me to delegitimize things
that I'm saying, to, um...
to silence me. To silence me.
♪
And what Mr. Johnny going to do when he come home
and find a coloured woman in his house?
It's not like I'd be fibbing.
Dr. West: The Mammy is a really interesting image.
I really need a maid.
It wasn't really common or popular
during the enslavement period.
It came about after the Civil War,
when the South had lost,
and it was this notion of a benevolent South,
where everybody was happy,
where she was plump and well-fed
and Mammy sat on the porch and she rocked the children.
Come here and sit on Mammy's lap like you used to.
Oh, my baby.
From slavery through to the reconstruction era
until today, the Mammy image has served the interests
of mainstream white America.
During that time, the image of the Mammy spread
through minstrel shows, in literature,
in popular songs, radio shows,
as dolls, as household items,
and in numerous marketing campaigns.
It also gave birth to one of the most recognizable
trade names in North America.
The pancake mix of Aunt Jemima, a slave in a box,
as one historian put it, was a national sensation,
and by 1910, more than 120 million
Aunt Jemima breakfasts were being served annually,
but the company understood that
they weren't just selling pancakes,
they were selling the Mammy fantasy.
I was called Aunt Jemima while I was
in Miss America by one of the volunteers.
She was, like, an older white woman
and she'd been volunteering for Miss America for years.
'Cause I had curlers in my hair, and, mind you,
my other white roommates and Miss America contestants
had curlers in their hair, too, but because I had a scarf
around it, because I wanted to keep it tight,
she said, "Well, don't you just look like Aunt Jemima."
I wasn't going to complain about it,
because I didn't want to ruffle any feathers,
and I just told the Black security.
He's like, "We don't tolerate things like that in this system.
That's not okay." So, he ended up telling the higher ups
for the Miss America board, and when she found out that,
I guess, something was said or got to the board
and potentially her volunteer position was going to be revoked
she came to me and instead of apologizing said,
"Well, I'm sorry. It wasn't personal.
I'm from a different era.
Can you tell them I didn't mean it?"
I mean, this is the reality,
and that was in, what, 2015?
And of course, you know, the Miss America organization
took a stance on it and said,
"We don't tolerate those things."
I do think she was released, but I saw photos
where she was back just two years later.
♪
So entrenched and beloved was Mammy
that the first Black woman to win an Academy Award
for Best Supporting Actress was Hattie McDaniel in 1939.
This is one of the happiest moments of my life,
and I want to thank each one of you who had a part
in selecting me for one of the awards.
McDaniel played Scarlet O'Hara's sassy
but loyal servant.
This was such an achievement,
it took 51 years before a second Black actress,
Whoopi Goldberg, would win an Oscar.
McDaniel's fame was so great,
that when she died she received not one,
but two stars on Hollywood's Walk of Fame,
and she was honoured with a US postage stamp.
Why was McDaniel's so popular?
Few people realize that she appeared in over 300 films,
but it was almost exclusively playing sassy,
opinionated Mammies and maids and house servants.
♪
Dr. West: The internalization of those images tell you,
"I don't need to take care of myself,
I just need to take care of other people
at the expense of taking care of my own health."
So, I think that is something I worry for Black women with.
Dr. Thompson: I actually wrote an article about it.
"I'm Not Your Nice Mammy" or something like that.
They called it that, because I was sick and tired
of white women that I knew in my life acting as if
I needed to nurture them.
I'm not here to nurture you,
make you feel good, feel good on your own.
I got my own problems. Who's going to help me out?
So, emotional labour is a real thing,
and a lot of white women don't realize it,
but they, too, have drank the juice
of their own victimhood.
Something happens at work, they're like,
"You see how they treat women?"
It's like, "Honey, aren't you CEO?"
You know? Like, what are you complaining about?
I'm in the mailroom. Like, perspective.
So, their perspective is off, and why is it off?
Because it's been a century of film and television
sending that same message.
You are victims, you need to be saved.
No image of a Black woman has been more adored
than the Mammy for over a century.
Historian Catherine Clinton outlines that Mammy was created
as unattractive to sell the idea
that no reasonable white man would choose a fat,
elderly Black woman over his wife,
the idealized white woman.
So, the de-eroticization of Mammy meant that the white wife
and by extension, the white family was safe.
But in truth, the Mammy was re-imagined to hide
an extensive history of sexual violence and rape
against Black women.
You see Mammies were often young and very slim,
or even children, like Harriet Tubman
who was seven when she had to care for a baby.
But to make a history of rape palatable,
another stereotype was created, that of the Jezebel.
Are you gonna hurt me?
The Jezebel stereotype is a stereotype that came out
of slavery that said that Black women who were enslaved
were hyper-sexual.
So, it's the complete opposite of the Mammy.
I'm so afraid right now.
They have no control over their urges,
they want sex all the time.
And so, rape could not be considered a criminal act,
if you are doing it
to someone who is constantly hungering for sex.
It's almost like you can't rape the un-rapeable.
So, it made it easier certainly to believe
that rape couldn't exist against African American
or Black women.
So, it made it seem that rape wasn't an issue.
But the awful truth was that the image
of the seductive, alluring, lude Black woman
was created to negate the systemic
and violent sexual exploitation of Black women.
Patsey's experience in 12 Years A Slave exemplifies this,
whereby Epps, freely and legally
rapes her with no consequences.
Some sources estimate that 58 percent of all enslaved women
aged 15 to 30 were sexually assaulted by slave owners
and other white men,
and the legal system allowed for this.
Black women have never been protected
when it comes to their bodies, but I think,
even after slavery had officially ended,
the reality is Black women were still being raped
on a massive scale.
And it couldn't be prosecuted in the correct way.
We see our activists such as Ida B. Wells, Rosa Parks,
who were working on behalf of Black women
that were being raped.
Rape was used as a form of control.
It was a way to say, "Hey, you know,
this is what I'm going to do to your family,
"this is what I'm going to do to the women in your community.
"You need to get out of my community.
"You need to behave in the way that I'm telling you
that you need to behave, and if not,
these are going to be the consequences."
Narrator: 1959, the year a white man was first convicted
of raping a Black woman in America.
It was the case of Betty Jean Owens
who was discovered by the police bound, gagged,
and lying on the backseat floorboards of a car
where her four white assailants
had just raped her seven times.
They confessed to the rape,
there were eye-witness testimonies,
and significant physical evidence,
but the prosecutor's tactic to characterize Owens as a Jezebel
who therefore could not have been raped.
The judge sentenced the men to life imprisonment.
Six years later, however, David Beagles was paroled.
He then tracked down a woman he believed was Betty Jean Owens
and murdered her.
With an estimated 1 to 1.5 million Black women
being raped during slavery,
followed by a reign of sexual violence terror
during the Jim Crow era,
even today, Black women remain unprotected.
Malcolm X: The most disrespected person
in America is the Black woman.
The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman.
The most neglected person in America is the Black woman...
♪
There is a legacy of Black women experiencing some type
of sexual violence or sexual harassment
and it being thrown under the rug
and not fully and adequately addressed.
♪
I am the girl who survives depression
on the daily,
but as I grew older, things got intense.
My innocence was lost in this city.
I was raped and molested, the men weren't tested.
The days went by but the stain multiplied.
I stopped speaking out, 'cause no one believed me,
living as a Black woman sure ain't easy.
I was 14, so...
And it happened a couple times.
When that happened, instead of it making me become
a stronger person... I mean, I was stronger,
but my high school experience, like, I didn't feel strong.
I didn't feel like I could even speak out.
Ain't nobody going to believe me anyway,
'cause when I did, people wasn't even believing me.
I was... They're like, "Oh, you're just being a child."
"No, I'm being a teenager, letting you all know, like,
this happened to me by my own people."
It's just so much that goes in with it and I feel like
Black women are raped a lot, or molested a lot,
and it's like, there's so many untold stories,
and we just keep it to ourselves.
It's like, even if we tell them,
it's like, "Well, will you receive it?"
"Are you really gonna hear us out?
You know, are you gonna do anything?"
You know, so it's just really hard,
and when you don't get that, it's like,
"Well, then there's no point," you know?
Sometimes you don't even feel like speaking out.
At parties, people will be like, "Can you twerk?
"Like, can you twerk for us? Like, teach us how to twerk."
And I'll be like, I don't know how to do that.
Like, and I'm just not going to do that for you,
just because you think I have the butt for it,
or you think that because I'm Black
I should be able to do that.
People also assume that I'm like, a lot more,
like, promiscuous.
Like, I don't really know how to say this,
but I'm just not.
Like, I don't have-- I think like, being very comfortable
in your sexuality is very, very important,
but I just am not at this stage in my life,
where, like,
I am enjoying that as much as people think I am.
Brittany: We live in a society
where sexuality has been absolutely commodified.
But I think in regards to the Black community,
and whether or not we have bought into that,
again, it comes down to the money.
And I think we certainly see that in the Hip Hop culture.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely want to give our rappers,
our video vixens agency.
I certainly want to be able to say that they can
own their sexuality and they can do it in front of camera,
and they can do it for money.
And that's their agency, and that's their choice,
and they may feel empowered by that.
But I also think we need to look at it again
under this umbrella of oppression and commodity
and the fact that our bodies are sellable.
So, I think, yes, there are elements of,
not only the mainstream community,
but our own personal community buying into this capitalist
notion that sex sells and Black women's bodies sell.
That's my theory, that they feel as though,
in order to be attractive to all masses,
I have to show less and less and less.
I also have to be kinkier about my sexuality.
Sex sells, but sex sells differently
when it comes to Black women.
And we are in a time to be like,
"Yeah, this is my sex life and you can't shame me for it.
But I feel like, we've now crossed the line,
and that's the only way to be successful.
I think this image gives-- It's a false illusion
that they're really controlling their sexuality.
But are they really controlling it by creating these images,
or are they just mimicking who and what they're told
they should be, because that's who Black women
have depicted as for centuries?
♪
India Arie: In the music industry,
99.9 percent of female artists of any race
are having to play the Jezebel role.
Matter of fact, let me rephrase that.
99.9 of Black female artists have to play the Jezebel role.
In my mind, 85 percent of other races
of female artists have to play the role.
You know, like, diversity in the Black community,
the biggest artists, you can look at the Billboard right now
and they all fit into the Jezebel stereotype,
because that's what they need you to be to make them money.
When I think about myself,
you know, of course I've questioned it like, before,
and I was like, "Do I really like, have to do that?
Like, do I really have to... you know, be sexy?"
Sex is always gonna sell, I believe.
But can we get some diversity?
Like, and when can we get it again?
And can it be diversity where you don't have to be
a once in a lifetime great, like Aretha Franklin
for people to allow you to be heavier,
or darker, or different?
Like, can't you just be a nice artist who is good?
♪
Dr. West: I think you have to understand
with all of these images,
it's much like going through life,
looking at yourself in a cracked mirror.
The mirror is cracked and it's warped,
and it's distorted
like when you go to a fun house.
And you're saying, "That's not who I am.
That's not who I know myself to be."
But every media image you see,
that's what's getting reflected back to you.
You're saying no, that's not how I am.
And then, when you get angry about it
and you try to assert your own individuality,
people say, "Well, see?
That's actually who you are."
Please, listen to the words,
and I hope that it resonates with you.
This song is titled "Melanin".
♪
I was always compared to my sister growing up.
My sister's lighter than me,
so it was a compliment at first, but then I'm like,
"Mm. Well I want to be beautiful in my own way too."
I came from a family, from a culture,
from a social circle that loved being Black.
I was taught being Black was a wonderful thing.
Nobody ever said anything about having to change my hair,
or anything about being what shade of brown I was.
I didn't know anything about that really.
So in 2013, I released an album called "Songversation".
The first single from "Songversation" was a song
called "Cocoa Butter".
We had an image
that was the cover of that song,
and it's funny, like, I'm making this face right now
'cause I'm like, "We just did a photoshoot."
I had on a cute dress, the light was blown out real bright,
the dress had gold reflection,
the background was gold, I just looked, to me, gold.
You know, like, how you look--
different light does different things to your skin.
Science. That's what I saw.
And then one person said,
"India Arie meant so much to my daughter,
and to see her lighten her skin like this is..."
Blah, blah, blah,
they just went on and on about how they were mad about it.
I literally was like, "What are they talking about?"
And then, I was said, "We're still doing this?"
I said, "We're still doing this?"
The Black community we're still doing colourism?
That's literally what I thought.
In our community, we're propelling
light-skinned individuals as the standard of beauty.
We can date it all the way back to our entrance
as enslaved beings into uh, this country,
and into the Caribbean and other surrounding areas.
You know, if you were light-skinned
you were afforded certain privileges,
that dark-skinned individuals were not.
And then we see that once slavery is outlawed,
that the Black community was actually
some of the first people to create particular tests
around colourism, namely the comb test.
If this comb cannot go through your hair,
you cannot join this church or this organization.
The brown paper bag test.
If you're darker than the brown paper bag,
you cannot join this organization.
The blue vein test.
If we can't see your veins through your arms,
you cannot join this organization.
So this is something that has manifested historically
in our community, but not to be separated
from the overarching frame of white supremacy
that has created this reality
and has created the standard of beauty
and all that is important and dominant as whites.
I remember when I was in grade 9 or 10
and men starting to, you know, show interest in me,
and that happening in not a very nice way.
It was like catcalls. Like, that was how it started.
And one of those catcalls was something like,
"Look at her with her long thick hair and her light skin,
I'd like to breed that."
And I was just like... "What does that mean?" You know?
And that started this really long and problematic journey
with understanding light-skinned privilege.
I thought that this was just a New Mexico problem,
but it's worldwide.
I see no other culture, ethnicity, background
degrade their own women, except for the Black community.
I don't see Hispanic men ever say,
"I don't date Hispanic women."
I don't hear white men say, "I don't date white women."
But I've heard it time and time again that Black women
are not enough for Black men.
But when it comes to police brutality,
when it comes to protesting,
when it comes to standing up for Black people,
it's always the Black women who have the Black men's back,
and it's always the Black women who initiate.
Why is it that we're okay to love behind closed doors,
but once you get big and famous, we're no longer what you want.
Oftentimes, when I have conversations with Black men,
they will say, "Oh, it's just my preference."
And it's like, "Well, that's not how this works."
Preferences are created by some type of external stimuli.
There's a reason why you have a preference.
There's a reason why you like one colour over the other
whether you know it or not.
Some of the most difficult
and heart wrenching and challenging conversations
that I've had with homegirls
have been around colourism and shadeism,
and what it means to roll as a crew
and who gets, you know, picked up when we go out,
and who doesn't.
Come in! Well, hello, hello! Come right in.
- How you doing? - Hello, hello, hello.
How you been, my friend?
Grab a glass, grab a glass. I missed you too.
To us.
Cheers.
Okay, we have to clink.
People ask me, like, "What are you?"
And I'm like, "Oh, I'm half Black, half Spanish."
- That's what I identify as. - Right.
I grew up in a predominantly white neighbourhood,
where like, I was-- - One of the few.
--of a handful of like, kids that were mixed or Black.
My dad is Black, my mom is Spanish.
But I feel like when you have a drop of Black in you,
people look at you as Black, and I consider myself Black.
Yeah. And so, my question to you guys,
'cause I hear this a lot, of... "I don't date Black girls."
But I've been around you guys and I know boys who are like,
"I'm trying to holler at your friend."
And they always say to me, "I don't date Black girls,
- but she's light-skinned." - What?
- I hear that a lot. - They say that?
A lot of the athletes that I used to hang out with
they would say that. They'd be like, "I don't date Black girls,
but she's light-skinned--
You should say, "Well, she's still a Black girl."
Well, she's still a Black girl!
When my mom was pregnant with me,
had nightmares and she would cry because my mom
was having a baby with a Black man.
And she would cry and like,
I came out light and she was okay.
She... yeah.
I have Black friends,
but I don't have a lot of Black friends
that are Black in the same way that I am.
Because a lot of my friends, you know,
people think that they're Spanish or something.
Like, there's no mistaking that I'm Black.
And being a lighter version of Black
has always been way more celebrated.
I mean, people put it in their user names for God's sake.
Light-skinned Princess. Like, it's like what?
You know, you never see any dark-skinned girls doing that,
because it's never been a good thing to be dark-skinned.
I even still remember thinking, "Oh, at least I'm like,
not too dark," you know, "at least I'm like,
at least a little bit lighter."
Which is so problematic.
But I think even in terms of how we were talking about colourism
and how like, maybe like, certain dark-skinned women
are accepted versus others, I think every kind of like,
I guess category of Blackness has its specific standards
that you need to meet.
Being a dark-skinned Black girl,
I definitely have noticed differences,
and even from my sister.
Like, we're pretty close in complexion,
but I'm clearly darker.
I think mainly, the thing is, like, with guys,
and how-- what they think is attractive.
You're always categorized.
You're not just a Black girl, they'll be like,
"Oh, is she dark-skinned?"
"Oh, is she light-skinned?"
Like, if she's dark-skinned, "Oh, she's not that pretty,"
or, like, things like that.
And I just think, it's definitely there.
I'm Rayne's sister, so I obviously like,
have some firsthand experience with her boy drama.
I've like, seen her friends, like a good 90 percent of them
fit the stereotypes of like the blonde, blue-eyed,
like, skinny, like, princess, rich whatever.
And like,
I don't really know that much about their love lives,
but I know a lot about yours,
and like, I know, like, your confidence,
and like, your personality
is, like, something that just draws people towards you.
But obviously without saying, like,
you're an extremely, exceptionally beautiful person.
I will not tell you this again, but you are.
You know how many people are never gonna be heard
just based on them not being the right shade of brown?
Or not having the right hair texture,
not having the right combination of brown facial features
and hair texture? Just "You don't have the right combination
"it don't matter how good you are."
Do you know how many people are not gonna be heard?
I just thought that we were better.
♪
Black hair is so versatile.
Black hair is so natural.
You can do any hairstyle with Black hair,
from a weave to a wig
to a colour to a relaxer,
you can just be extremely creative.
Black hair, to me, embodies all textures.
You can have silk, you can have cotton, you can have wool,
and all of that is allowing us
to have a canvas to create from.
So many times people have tried to diminish our value
and they have used our hair against us,
and one of the reasons I think other people recognize
the strength and the power that's in our hair.
Like, our hair grows up, and out.
And it's in your face, and it's gorgeous,
and it's fabulous.
I believe they see us as-- as "exotic,"
as glamazons, as eclectic,
as untouchable, almost. Unreachable.
"Oh, she can change her hair every day if she wants to."
We have permission to choose a look.
But what I think many of them don't realize
is oftentimes, when we're choosing a look
or choosing a character, or choosing a persona,
there are other things going on inside of us
that we have had to hide
in order to get through certain doors.
It could be that you took your dreads out
or you took your twists out, or you permed your hair,
or you put on a weave, but why?
Outside of just because you feel like doing it.
There's that aspect as well.
Sometimes we just feel like flipping our look up.
But there are those times where it's like,
"Am I accepted if I walk through this door?"
♪
In Africa, Black women had ornate hairstyles, right?
'Cause those hairstyles signaled whether you were married
or you were dating, you had just lost-- your husband died.
That's what hair was, it had meaning.
Suddenly you're in a slave ship and then you come over here,
and there's no combs, there's no products,
there's no one in the neighbourhood that does hair.
You're literally an enslaved person,
and your hair is all-- you know,
my mother would say, "It all 'out a do," right?
What are you gonna do?
So that is actually the beginning of also the head wrap.
Because they couldn't care for their hair,
they had to cover it.
So what happens is that, you know, you have the masters
who want you to work inside the house,
but they want you to look like them.
They don't want you to look like you.
So then, they start requiring that if you're gonna work
in the house, you have to wear a wig.
♪
And so after a while, think about it, in the psyche,
you start to see your hair as a problem.
You can't care for it, you have to cover it up,
when you enter the plantation home,
you have to wear their kind of hair.
Generation after generation, you are going to start to think
your hair is a problem, and that's what happens.
So then when we get into the Reconstruction era,
post-slavery, so we're in the 1880s and 1890s now.
Suddenly African-American women are like,
"Well, we're not enslaved anymore,
and we want to be beautiful."
And what is beauty? Straightened hair.
And so now let's flash forward, and enter Madam C. J. Walker.
Now Madam C.J. Walker says,
"You have a chance to be beautiful.
"And not just that, you can also be a business owner.
"Because you can learn the Madam C.J. Walker system,
"learn how to shampoo, press, and curl your own hair,
"to make it straight,
"and then you can help other Black women do the same thing."
And straightened hair is also now about progress.
Straightened hair is about a new-- they used to say,
"A new century, a new Negro," right?
So now, straightened hair is actually this thing
that is empowering.
So, for a long period of time,
straightened hair meant that you were somebody.
That you had dignity for yourself,
that you were no longer a slave, you were--
you were disassociating from that past.
This negative stigma that's now attached to straightened hair
is really post the 1960s,
and the back-to-Africa,
Black is beautiful, natural movement.
To where now they would say "You're straightening your hair,
"somehow you don't love yourself."
Meanwhile, if we were to go back to 1920,
"You have straightened hair? You love yourself!
"That's why you're straightening."
I used to get bullied a lot for wearing my hair like this.
A lot of Black men, especially,
did not view me as beautiful,
um, because of that...
so that's something that really hurt me the most.
Black women, of course, were encouraging,
but of course you get people telling you,
"All right, when you gonna straighten your hair?
"When you gonna do something to your hair?
Your hair, your hair, your hair," and it's like,
"All right, y'all, like, this is my hair, though
at the end of the day."
Why do Black men love straight hair?
If I could tap into that consciousness as a Black woman,
that would have spared me so many years of heartache.
I don't know. I mean, I think-- I think we have to think of it,
Black men are of this culture.
I used to teach a lot of visual culture courses
and there is a quote by Peggy Phelan, where she says
"If representation equalled power,
"then white women should be the most powerful women--
"people in the world," because that is actually
the image that you see the most.
I challenge everyone to just start paying attention
to the images that you see on a day-to-day basis,
you're gonna be like, "Oh my God, Becky is everywhere!"
You're just gonna start noticing!
White women are everywhere, so think about that.
Now you're a man, forget being Black.
You're just a man. Everywhere you go,
you see a beautiful blonde, typically white woman
in your face.
After a while, why wouldn't you think that that's beauty?
And why wouldn't you-- even if you fall in love
with a Black woman, want her to kinda start to mimic
that thing that you probably secretly desire.
So when I met Kevin, I think he saw me as white,
but he also would have dated me if I was light-skinned Black.
After we were married,
he never wanted me to wear braids.
never wanted me to wear any kind of textured hair, anything.
Wanted me to get my hair straight and platinum blonde.
Then I thought, "You know what?"
"Like, he will be-- it will be better,
"'cause now we don't have to do all that other stuff,
"and we're married, and like,
"I can help him love himself as a Black man."
I-- you know, "I see beauty and inspiration in Blackness.
"And he... like, he'll get there."
He, on the other hand, wanted me to be more European and whiter.
Because the whiter I was, the more I was a trophy for him.
Blonde, straight hair, as skinny as possible.
He would make comments about, like, you know,
like... "No white woman has that kind of a butt."
You know, like, "You need to get a respectable white butt,"
you know, or whatever. Just like...
I'm just, like, I just...
I don't know, like how do I...
And I constantly, like, at the end of the marriage,
five year marriage, um,
my spirit was so repressed.
I don't even see myself as special or beautiful or anything
'cause I've been so, like, crushed into this, like,
white mould that he wanted me to be.
And when I got divorced,
the first thing I did was braid my hair.
The history of Black women and the legal aspects
of our hair goes back to Rogers V. American Airlines.
Like, that was a pivotal case.
So Rogers, her name was Rogers, she was an airline stewardess
for American Airlines who was fired for wearing cornrows.
That case actually went through the courts,
and the decision was made that yes, you can discriminate
against a Black woman for her hairstyle,
because a hairstyle is mutable, meaning it can be changed.
The judge said it has nothing to do with culture,
it has nothing to do with-- with-- with, like, genetics,
"She can choose not to wear her hair that way, she's choosing."
But what the caveat is to that case
is that the judge actually cited the movie Ten, with Bo Derek,
and said, "Well, look at Bo Derek.
"She is blonde, blue eyes, and look,
"she did a movie where she cornrowed her hair,
"and now it's not cornrowed."
He literally said, in his judgement,
"We can't understand why the plaintiff
"is trying to be like Bo Derek."
I.e., Bo Derek-- Bo braids,
so she invented braids 'cause she was in a movie,
"Why would you want to be like her? You should be yourself."
And so that case was a landmark case because it also signified
to Black community that again, the outer world
seems to think that we are taking our cues from them,
meanwhile braiding goes back to Africa.
It has nothing to do with Bo Derek.
It has nothing to do with a film. It's historical.
After that movie,
suddenly Bo braids becomes a thing.
So all the top hair salons in New York and LA,
they start doing braids!
Like, white women start going into the hair salon
to get their hair braided like Bo Derek,
and it's like, this thing, like this craze,
the craze of '81, it just takes over, right?
'Cause everybody is getting braids.
And so it becomes this amazing thing,
and then just like that, it goes away.
Just like that, they said, "Oh, braids are out.
"Why would you do that? Black women do that."
So Rogers V. American Airlines set a precedent.
In 2018, there was another case of hair discrimination
that went against the precedent,
and it actually went up to the Supreme Court.
That case hasn't been decided on yet.
♪
It's still legal to fire a Black woman
because she cornrows her hair or she has dreadlocks.
Everything we do is cool on them,
but it's not cool on us.
That's why you see this abundant amount of boxer braids
being the new trend, or cornrows being the new trend.
Or laying your edges.
But that's what it is to them, it's a trend,
and to us, it's our lifestyle.
And so when I see Kim K do it and when I see other celebrities
doing things like that, it's disheartening
because there are so many women who get discriminated for it.
There are so many women who go in for an interview,
and they won't get the job based on their hair.
It's seen as "ghetto."
It's only ghetto 'til a Kardashian does it.
The moment where we really went into a total frenzy
talking about appropriation of our culture, we're like,
Khloe Kardashian wore two cornrows straight back,
and some women's magazine ran a story
on "Khloe Kardashian's daring new boxer braids."
And every Black woman in the world
rolled their eyes in unison,
like, "Girl, that is nothing
but the same cornrows that your mother sent you to school in."
What's considered "ghetto" is now popular. Okay?
Big lips all of a sudden is the trend,
when all along, we've always had full lips.
Why does my culture have to be like a costume?
Like, I can just-- "Oh, I can just try this on,
"and look cute for this day, and then just throw it away."
Today it's not just that big butts are celebrated,
it's like, massive butts that have been,
you know, given "help"...
are what's celebrated.
There's the famous story of Saartjie Baartman,
AKA Hottentot Venus.
You know, this tragic story of a woman who was put into a--
who was stolen from her home, and was put into a cage
to be on display, so that people could gawk and point
at a woman who had features that were considered so strange,
so out of their norm, so animalistic...
...that it was considered worthy to put in a zoo,
to put in a cage as spectacle for entertainment
during a night on the town.
And that same feature that was the reason she was dissected
and was used as a science experiment,
and that her body, to this day,
is still not completely returned to her homeland,
is now on the cover of magazines.
15 years ago, we would not have imagined
a global ideal that required, um, white women
to be doing lip fillers and bum lifts.
I think the current ideal, um, is a slightly new moment.
Now that doesn't in any way mean that all those old
colonial hierarchies aren't still really important
and influencing, you know, so there are still very many
places in the world where fair is still best, right?
And that's still true.
The area that I think is changing dramatically
is the thinness with curves.
And that's partly because
we now can do buttock implants and things, right?
So, there are ways in which you can make a body bigger
in the right places, right?
That wasn't true before.
So, you can make a body thinner by dieting.
Everybody can diet,
but it doesn't result in the same bodies, right?
But you know, um, but um...
to make a body bigger only in some places,
that's a really new possibility.
But the ideal that we're ending up with
is one where it's not European, either.
It really is global, and I think that's something
that we probably couldn't have imagined 15 years ago.
You know what, I think white people don't know how
to not be the centre of the universe, quite frankly,
and now we see, like, this shifting global pop culture
that is American culture,
that is really just diluted Black culture,
and that's got to be really foreign to folks
who have always been the star of the show,
always been the centre of the party.
And I imagine it's got to be uncomfortable
to try to navigate through this world
where you now share a spotlight that was always yours.
This is a really new moment because, you know,
in a global world,
we are moving towards a very different mixed ideal
where nobody's good enough without help.
So, if you wanted to be really cynical,
you might think part of what happens in a mixed ideal
is that virtually no one makes the appearance grade,
irrespective of race or class, without help.
Typically, it's European women that are doing it,
and they have all these legions of followers,
and beauty brands send them stuff and send them money,
and they pretend and they wash it off!
And to them, they're doing nothing wrong.
For some reason, greater American culture
has a fascination with taking,
whatever has been done by Black people
for years and years and years,
and putting it on a white girl and calling it the new trend.
You just kind of have to sigh and roll your eyes.
"Okay, sure, girl. Whatever.
Let me show you what your next trend's gonna be."
Black-fishing, yeah,
you're pretending to be what you're not.
People, it happens.
It's been happening!
It's been happening, but you see,
the thing is now that there's the means again to see it,
we're living in the influencer generation,
which means cha-ching-ching-ching.
There's money to be made.
It's all about the dollars and the cents.
So, when certain models could look like that look,
what they perceive as the look of beauty,
whether it's the mulatto look
or that is-- exemplifies beauty, it's interesting,
because not all of us are walking around
with our natural hair and chilling.
I find it extremely offensive!
Deeply, profoundly offensive,
because every time somebody does that,
they're basically reducing Blackness to aesthetics.
"Oh, I just need the lips, I just darken my skin.
I just get the thing."
We're more than that.
That is not what it means to be Black.
Those are just aesthetics, right?
I don't understand how someone willingly, and like,
spends money and time to, like,
try to blend themself into a community that has just like,
been enduring, like, everlasting oppression.
It's like the extremist of appropriation.
Like, you're not even just appropriating my culture
at this point.
You're genuinely just trying to be me.
Growing up, you want to be white.
Like, it's just like how it be.
Like, every Black girl goes through it.
- Yeah. - Like, you want to be white.
It ruins you! It's awful!
Like, it's a terrible experience.
So, then to grow up and to finally, like,
get into this stage of like,
"Yes, I love myself. Blackness, beautiful, yum."
And then, like, the people who you wanted to be
now want to be you.
- They deny it. - Yeah.
They say like, "I didn't know people thought I was Black."
Yeah.
It's like, "Yes, you did. You know."
You can look in the mirror,
only Black people look like that.
There's an entire spectrum
of appropriating Blackness, from Rachel Dolezal,
who, you know, was appropriating it
for perhaps different reasons
than what we see with the Ariana Grandes or the Kim Kardashians
or the Instagram models or video vixens.
But to me, the entire spectrum is problematic
because it's again appropriating culture.
It can be washed off,
and again, that is not the experience of Black people,
and anyone that wants to support the Black community
should be doing so as an ally,
rather than centring themselves and their voices.
Hmm!
I think the problem with...
cultural appropriation
with regards to Black and white women in America,
I think the problem with that is that the history of race
is such a painful one,
that then, to be just be like, "I like the way this looks!"
It's so, um...
it's dismissive of something that's too profound to dismiss.
It's hard to expect a 21-year-old
who just thinks that Black people are pretty,
it's hard to expect them to understand what they're doing
and how it is offensive.
And so, I understand why they do it,
because it's beautiful.
Black and brown people, brown skin, textured hair,
it's beautiful.
They wouldn't be doing it if it weren't.
But the fact that it's causing us so much pain,
or that it causes so much anger, which pain, it's all pain.
The fact that it causes us pain...
...my mind is going back and forth
because how do you hold someone responsible for something
that they just don't know?
They don't know,
and since they don't know, it's flattery.
When I was wearing braids in the '90s,
Black women around me were saying like,
"Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.
To copy is to compliment."
Now, it's like nobody is saying to copy is to compliment.
I'm a documentary addict, basically.
And so, I literally was like, "It came out today!
I got to watch this Rachel Dolezal documentary on Netflix!"
Like, the day it came out.
And I had, um...
compassion for her.
She wants to be Black from a place of love,
and it's sad, actually, because...
I didn't feel like for her it was coming from a place
of trying to gain something.
'Cause she lost everything and she's still not living as white.
My only issue with Rachel Dolezal
is just as we can't deny the fact of our birth,
nor should you.
You have a fact of two white parents.
It's facts!
You have to start to,
the cognitive dissonance that you've created,
you have to un-dissonance it!
Okay, you have to come together. You are a white person.
You can choose to live as Black.
I don't have an issue, honestly,
I really don't have an issue if she wants to choose,
but stop denying your lineage.
That's where I have an issue with her,
because I can never get afforded --
I am never afforded the right to deny that I'm Black.
I can't just decide one day
and show up and start telling people,
"No, guys, I'm really white. Believe me.
No, no, I know my hair's kinky, but no, no, no, I am."
They would think I was crazy,
and yet, here is this person doing the same thing.
Blonde one day,
then come in with her little two-strand twists the next day.
I can't go back to whiteness.
Literally, like I would...
that to me, that is suicide of me, of me.
Um, so I don't know where to go
'cause I don't want to offend people, right?
I'm not like living my life
in order to try and, like, make people upset.
Are there days when I wish
that I just solidly fit into a goddamn box?
Yes.
I think that might be kind of nice,
like in some way just being like, not having that conf--
you know, that constant chaos and confusion
around the colour line.
But, this is my journey,
you know, and I'm in between, in whatever way.
I think the anger in seeing things
that we've been shamed for
celebrated on women who are not Black is natural.
For me, to be angry about it,
would frankly, hurl me into a state of constant rage
that I just can't afford.
I, for my own mental health, have to roll my eyes at it.
There are a lot of things that Black people,
Black women face that are directed at us
that no one else has to endure.
I have to pick my battles, and tackle the...
the most damaging of those first.
And one day, I think I'll have the luxury of, you know,
righteous indignation about a Kardashian wearing box braids.
But for now, I just, "Okay, girl."
I'll laugh it off, I'll laugh it off.
Woman: You, no, you didn't!
Woman: Yes, girl!
Oh!
I see a lot of growth,
embracing your melanin, the skin that you're in.
Embracing your natural hair, and I like that that's a trend.
You know, I know some people are like,
"Oh, my God, it's a trend."
Girl, isn't this what y'all been wanting?
To be a trend.
I'd rather self-love be a trend then anything negative,
'cause now we are stepping back into our power.
Let's keep embracing that beauty
because it's always been here and it ain't going away!
Nope!
Alexandra: The world's different,
but the prejudices that are there 50 years ago,
they're still here today.
It really hasn't changed.
I'd like to say we've come a long way,
but when you look at the underlying principles
that we've fought,
they're still there and they're still permanent.
I am here today, and I feel beautiful in my skin
and who I am, and how I walk into a room,
I feel that way because I made myself that way.
I don't need your recognition,
but I do need you to understand
that when you take something from us,
give us credit where it's due.
Hi!
Hi, how are you?
It's good to see you.
- Hey, y'all! -Hi!
Give me one second,
I'm just going to set some stuff up for you guys.
I know, this is what everybody comes to see, anyway.
Oh!
All right, y'all. How's it going?
I am an entrepreneur, a tech entrepreneur, actually.
And I guess you guys probably guessed
that I'm Miss Black America,
and I became the 50th anniversary Miss Black America
about a year ago.
And now, I get the privilege
of representing a historic organization
that was at the forefront of making strides
for Black women in America,
ensuring that we have positive representation in media
and that we could be a part of the discussion
about what it meant to be beautiful
and exceptional and intelligent.
Thank you, guys, so much for having me here at BELA.
It was really an honour.
I believe that every young woman that is here today
has the power and opportunity to change our world
in a fundamental way,
and I will be back!
Thank you for having me!
50 years ago, women who were competing for Miss Black America
just wanted to hear that they were allowed to be beautiful.
The world, the America in which we exist,
has certainly changed and evolved for Black women,
but oddly enough, I find that in 2019,
we're still fighting just to be human.
It almost seems as though in many regards
we have taken steps back as a culture.
You know, I, on some level,
wish that we were just fighting
to be allowed to be beautiful,
to be told that we were beautiful
and desirable and attractive.
I find that the fights that I'm having now
are fights for survival.
Fighting to know that our government doesn't believe
that I could be shot dead in the street,
and that the person who did it could walk away scot-free
if they wore a badge.
I wish I were concerned solely
about whether or not people thought I was beautiful.
♪