Bougie* by Design

by Racialicious Special Correspondent Latoya Peterson

“No one ever means bougie as a compliment. It’s never ‘Oh, you’re so bougie!’ It’s ALWAYS a negative trait.”

I had asked one of my close friends about being bougie and how the word is perceived in black circles. Depending on how it is used, bougie can almost be a curse word. Bougie is a stand in word for being racially removed, for pretending to be superior, for being out of touch with “true blackness.”

For many, being hit with a bougie label comes at random. Maybe it’s because you speak English with tight diction and clear pronunciation. Maybe it’s because you prefer off-broadway to the chitlin’ circuit. Or maybe it’s because someone doesn’t like how you dress, how you wear your hair, or your attitude.

When I lived in Prince George’s County, MD I got called a “bougie bitch” so often I started to think it was my name. What prompted those outbursts? I refused to get into a car with a man I did not know personally. I’ll stay my bougie ass right here and wait for the bus, thankyouverymuch.

Bougie is most often a label applied to us by someone other than ourselves, as a way of demonstrating their superiority. It implies that they are authentic and you are counterfeit.

I am not sure if the term bougie as I have encountered it exists outside of the black community. Still, I am always more amused than offended when I encounter the term. After all, the counter to being bougie is to prove one’s own street cred by discussing their own hardscrabble beginnings or the rough areas where they are affiliated.

I used to play this game, particularly when I was younger. Any assertions of the word “bougie” would magically vanish by reciting my father’s address. As I grew older, I stopped playing the game. It was foolish to me, particularly because the types of people held up as the paragon of blackness, the regular folks, the street preachers and hustlers, the young hoods and door-knocker earring wearing divas that populate my family tree are the people who pushed me to become as bougie as possible.

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For my father’s 43rd birthday, he decided he wanted to do something a little different and step outside of his culinary comfort zone. Over the protests of my younger brother – who desperately wanted to make a mess of a plate of fried shrimp at Red Lobster – he asked me to name some more interesting restaurants near where I live.

I mentioned the local Burmese place. Dad was game.

After selecting entrees, our appetizers were delivered. They were a Burmese twist on an Indian samosa – wrapped in rice paper and lightly fried into small triangles. Dad ate one and enjoyed it. He asked what they were. I told him it was a samosa.

“A Samoan?” he asked.

“No, Dad, a samosa,” I explained, emphasizing the final syllable. “You know, like what you normally eat at an Indian restaurant.”

My dad regarded me with a bemused smile.

“Toya,” he gently chastised, “there weren’t any Indian restaurants in South East in the 70s.”

Fuck me. There was nothing left for me to say. Like a good daughter, I shut up and ate my Samoan.

******

Though the scene I describe happened months ago, I still reflect on it often. To me, what happened perfectly describes the balances that are walked with people who are in the process of changing classes. Not a single word in the exchange above was exchanged with any kind of negative intent – we were just having a moment when our two worlds collided.

My father – like many parents – wanted to make sure his children enjoyed a life and standard of living that he was not able to benefit from as a child. His desires were manifested in two of his children and we have gone on to surpass his hopes. (To be fair, my parents both raised their stations in life as well – from being impoverished teen parents to successful business owners.)

My sister and I are exactly what my parents wanted.

However, we are the ones who internally deal with the class fallout. Changing classes isn’t exactly an easy process. There are markers that go along with status that bear evidence to the change. Those changes serve to force a wedge between you and the “others.”

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