written by Anti-Racist Parent contributor Renee; originally published at Womanist Musings
If a Black girl is very lucky she is born into a family that will cherish her. She will be told repeatedly that she is beautiful, even that she is a princess. Those first years are very important in building a solid self-esteem. They will be needed to help deal with the stressful years ahead, when she will be told repeatedly that she is different, run of the mill, loud, rude, abrasive and even ugly. In the years ahead, she will meet Whiteness head on and the specter of Pecola Breedlove will visit her, in her quiet moments.
If she happens to be dark skinned, the Blackest of Black, those around her might ridicule her, having internalized the blue-eyed standard of beauty. She will note how those with the lighter skin get more attention, are called beautiful, and are held up as the epitome of Black female beauty. She will watch as they toss their long, straight hair over their shoulders and wonder how her short nappy locks seem so unloved, no matter how painstakingly styled.
She will jump rope, play hopscotch, and even tag, but she dare not disagree with her playmates because she has already learned that her color will make her the aggressor, no matter her action. Don’t scream like the other little girls and never raise your voice in anger. When she is alone and looks into a mirror, she will wonder what it is about her that makes her so different. She does everything that the other little girls do in an effort to fit in but somehow this barrier, one that is not of her own making, refuses to give way.
In an effort to bridge the gap, she will explain her hair care rituals on command. She will speak of washing it once a week and then having it oiled and styled, only to be called dirty because the White girls wash their hair daily. They will turn their noses at the mere mention of hair oil, yet to her it is one of the most tender moments of the week. It is the time when she has 100% of her mother’s attention. It is the time when they may discuss everything and anything. How can this ritual be bad, when it often feels so comforting?
She will struggle to find something about herself to love. Her nose is far too broad and not like the other girls. Her lips are too full and she bites them desperately, wishing that they would deflate. In the quiet moments she will remember her parents telling her that she is beautiful and that she is smart, but the Breedlove curse hangs heavy and hard.
She will point out Black superstars to her friends, believing that she will find validation in their fame. “Hey guys”, she’ll announce, “have you heard that new song by Tracy Chapman, ‘Fast Car’ — isn’t she just great?” “The song is okay,” they will answer, “but Tracy is kind of ugly.” Dejected, she will retreat into a corner, thinking once again about the blue-eyed promise.
Her teenage years approach and boys and men begin to display desire for her. She is unprepared for their advances. At first she loves her burgeoning womanly form. Her body is curvaceous and her breasts full. Finally, she thinks, people think I am beautiful… until she learns that it is not that men find her beautiful, but that they have come to claim her. A Black woman’s body does not belong to her. It is assumed to be for the sexual satisfaction of men and they could care little about her thoughts and desires. They only want what she has between her legs.
Wherever she goes, Pecola is her constant shadow. Will she learn to love her Blackness despite the fact that world around her has told her that she has no value? Will she succumb, like Pecola, to feelings of insanity and find herself wishing desperately for blue eyes in the false belief that they will make the world think that she is beautiful and therefore worthy? If she had blue eyes, would people see her for who she really is? Her journey is not unique and yet in the quiet moments when Pecola whispers, playing the strong Black woman seems too much of a burden. The gentle sleep calls and night fades to black. Who will arise in the morning is anyone’s guess.
Editors Note: Pecola Breedlove is a reference to Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. If you have not read it, get thee to a library quickly.
renee:
i rarely cry. but your piece brought many a tear to my eye. i’m biracial and with that comes privilege of being able to be seen by the world as more beautiful than blacker women. i love the beauty of black women though and wish our youngest girls that are black could be percieved as the beautiful girls and women they are. i work with inner city girls and so many of them think they’re ugly. from early on the youngest of them cherish their white and brown peers while feeling so deeply that they’re ugly. i consistently do everything in my power to counter their feelings of inadequacy by putting up art, buying books, and complimenting everything about their beings. it’s not enough because i need society to jump in and help me.
thanks again for your words!
quendy
Really beautiful.
Phenomenal post. I grew up White in a White area, and a lot of the self-esteem and beauty issues that are forced upon women in the Black community were lost to me until relatively recently, and I find it heartbreaking that racist society has managed to force-feed people of colour the “light is closer to White” mentality to the extent that it’s become internalized. I’ll be working with inner-city youth of colour starting in a couple of weeks, and this is something I will keep in mind and work to remedy, both in my personal relationships with them and on a broader political level. Thank you so much for a great post that’s so eye-opening.
I read The Bluest Eye quite some time ago. I think that it’s time to get it out again.
This posting was absolutely wonderful and reminds those of us that have privileges attached to our race, what those privileges are and what they do to those who don’t have what society has attached those privileges. Thank you again.
I’ve read the book. I’ve shared it with girls at Color Online. We saw a fantastic play adaptation. My hope is that someone among them truly grasps it. I believe they do.
And there is a circle of women committed to affirming Pecola’s beauty and power. You are among them. We remind Pecola everyday of her worth.
Thanks for this.
I used to teach at a school for at-risk kids and most of my students were African-American, Afro-Caribbean or Puertorrican.
It was always heartbreaking to me to watch how perfectly beautiful young women seemed to regret their lovely physical features just because they weren’t like Beyonce’s or even whiter-looking. I blame fashion magazines and television, most of which against all common sense perpetuate a model of beauty that is not representative of the majority of women in the real world. Let us not forget that real people are behind the production of these media outlets.
It is very difficult for parents and teachers to successfully combat the effects of this narrow vision of beauty and to strive to change the decision-making mores of media producers. But we must.
This post made me cry. I thank God every day that, although I can’t be this for him, my son has strong Black men and women in his life that serve as an example to him of the beauty of Blackness. I am glad that my husband has an intelligent, confident mother and sister so that when I have a daughter she will look around her and see other people that resemble her and that uplift her talents and her beauty. I hope that my words and actions towards my children will help to strengthen them against the pressures of a color-conscious society. But when all else fails, I hope they can read Black literature and hear Black voices in public spaces that make them realize that they are not alone in their feelings. And I hope they are empowered by the thought that Black people just like themselves have triumphed over obstacles that would have caused people with less pride and internal strength to give up.
Beautiful. Thank you for this.
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thanks for such a heartfelt and personal post, beautifully written
Wonderful post! Your expression is superb – and I feel bittersweet feelings when I read this. I’m getting myself to a library quickly to read The Bluest Eye.
I am Japanese-Irish-German and adopted, and actually feel a bit envious when you describe the comforting feeling of getting 100% of mother’s attention in the weekly hair ritual. If only I had a similar ritual for bonding time with my mother.
Standards of beauty remind me of this teen documentary, where she reconducts the “doll test” with young African American children: http://www.understandingrace.com/lived/video/index.html
I went to New Orleans with my white husband. I sat in a bar next to a black man (I had dred extensions in at the time to try them out) and he saw India Arie at a concert. We were in N.O. for jazz fest. I declare that I love India Arie . His response, “But she sure is ugly.” And then asks me if I get lighter in the summer.
Anyway, I liked this post, but I think it should be mentioned that our color is intimidating. I don’t know, I feel like we veer into this self pity without understanding the real reasons behind the rejection of black beauty. We are fierce. Let’s not forget the many backhanded homages to full lips, wide noses, and coiled hair there is out there. Big butts could not be appreciated until a whitish J Lo had it. I feel this sorrowful mournful article to be sure and I remember being at odds with other black girls because my “hair was long.” But I was brownskin and as soon as I could I stopped perming my hair and gave up that so called privilege (altho how having perm burns on my scalp and a panic when my roots grew out could be considered a privilege is beyond me) Anyway, we are beautiful. Let’s never forget that the most hating is done to to the most unique and sometimes the most outstanding.
I think I’m about to cry, thank you so much for this beautiful post.
Wow, Renee…this was powerful. I can relate. I’m biracial, but I can relate completely to all of this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.