I have experienced a general ignorance about racial and Indigenous issue in queer and femme communities, and an expectation that anti-racist activism be considered secondary to feminist, anti-homophobic and anti-femmephobic activism, when queer femmes of colour often experience our identities to be one holistic piece. It is an impossible request for a femme of colour to separate her experiences as a person of colour from her experiences as a femme or her experiences as a queer, and it is unreasonable to ask us to prioritise racism last simply because it is not something that affects white femmes. Significantly, this attitude promotes the idea that femme is an identity that cannot co-exist with an identity of colour, that one must choose between being a person of colour and being a femme, or that being femme is a “white thing”. This drives femmes of colour away from femme community, from femme organisations, and possibly away from femme itself as an identity and a self-label. If femme communities and organisations are to acknowledge and embrace the diversity that exists amongst femmes, we must make an effort to be deliberately inclusive, to work to have femme viewed as something other than a white identity, and to acknowledge that working against racism should be something done by everyone.

As a femme of colour who is read as white, I’ve experienced a lot of white queers simply misracialising me. Queers who know quite well that I’m Indigenous will ignore this fact, either through their own white privilege, through refusal to correct their ignorance of Indigenous issues, or through a kind of blindness where they cannot see past my skin. While recent years have seen an attempt by many Australian queer communities to address issues of internalised racism and become more inclusive of racially diverse members, they often still remain white centric and exclusionary to people of colour. The only answer to this is for every member of these communities to actively address inclusivity as a priority, to work at addressing their own internalised prejudices and biases, and to aim for a diverse community as an ultimate goal. I strongly encourage everyone here to take the time to read a little of the awareness-raising work being written by some of the amazing femmes of colour and other queer women of colour, even if most of it is coming out of the US, where there is a far more established femme of colour community than there is here. Hopefully we’ll start to see some homegrown voices soon.

- From Feministe, June 15

Reader Nancy L sent in an article from the New York Times with an opening that made even this jaded activist do a double take:

RESTINGA SÊCA, Brazil — Before setting out in a pink S.U.V. to comb the schoolyards and shopping malls of southern Brazil, Alisson Chornak studies books, maps and Web sites to understand how the towns were colonized and how European their residents might look today.

The goal, he and other model scouts say, is to find the right genetic cocktail of German and Italian ancestry, perhaps with some Russian or other Slavic blood thrown in. Such a mix, they say, helps produce the tall, thin girls with straight hair, fair skin and light eyes that Brazil exports to the runways of New York, Milan and Paris with stunning success.

So this is how we’re going now? What is this, the hybrid vigor myth on speed?

The smartly-written article takes an interesting turn – while the models associated with Brazil are overwhelmingly white, the country is beginning to embrace nonwhite women who fit their standards of beauty. And yet…

Despite those shifts, more than half of Brazil’s models continue to be found here among the tiny farms of Rio Grande do Sul, a state that has only one-twentieth of the nation’s population and was colonized predominantly by Germans and Italians.

Brazilians are equally perplexed:

The pattern creates a disconnect between what many Brazilians consider beautiful and the beauty they export overseas. While darker-skinned actresses like Juliana Paes and Camila Pitanga are considered among Brazil’s sexiest, it is Ms. Bündchen and her fellow southerners who win fame abroad.

“I was always perplexed that Brazil was never able to export a Naomi Campbell, and it is definitely not because of a lack of pretty women,” said Erika Palomino, a fashion consultant in São Paulo. “It is embarrassing.”

The article is interesting, both for its look into the fashion industry and the strange focus on sites of colonization as portals for beauty scouting. But the whole situation does make me wonder who is responsible for upholding white standards of beauty. This article, I believe, makes a strong case for those who control the images of beauty, and how their preferences can dictate the idea of what is sellable. However, they always throw their decision at the feet of consumers – but who conditions what consumers see as beautiful?

While checking out Bossip, I saw a link to an article at HipHopWired about Mattel’s new line of black Barbies, S.I.S or So InStyle.

You already know I was hesitant to get my hopes up, and that hesitation was warranted.

I am not one to complain about any and everything. However, as someone who would’ve sold my little brother and my first born child for the newest Barbie when I was a wee lass, I expected Mattel to come better than this. You know why? Because I know they can do better.

When I was about 13 years old, my mom bought me Barbie’s special edition Kenyan Barbie from their their Dolls Around the World collection. My mom didn’t give a damn what I did with the other “chocolate” covered Barbies. She cared about this one, and she was and still is prized. She was the first Barbie doll that I felt accurately reflected my features and aesthetics. Sure, I had black and white Barbies, but they all looked like the white Barbies, except for her.

I remember looking at one of them and thinking, “Okay…so she must be mixed then?” It was alright, I guess. My grandfather has blue eyes, and he’s very dark-skinned, so I figured the Barbies had the same background as him.  However, I do not have blue eyes. I didn’t have long, wavy hair that had little no kink in it (unless I relaxed of course). Naturally, black Barbie’s appearance was something that stuck with me, and I wished I could look more “other” than I really was.

Trichelle (pictured above) is the one doll that has what could be considered natural black hair, but they couldn’t keep it going, and changed her eye color to hazel and lightened her skin.

Kara (pictured above) has the skin tone, but has what would be the equivalent of a busted ass, Celebrity Seaborn wig. I don’t EVEN want to get into what’s off with her little sister…

Grace and her sister (above) look good, but then again, their eyes indicate that they are somehow mixed with something, adding to their not quite black “otherness.”

*sigh*

This is why I am glad I have boys, although, the situation sucks for them too, because Batman, Superman, and all the other “toy men” don’t usually look like them.

Mattel, you disappoint me. What was wrong with giving these dolls from your S.I.S line natural hair, dark brown eyes, and features that fit with most of the particular demographic, black girls, that you are looking to cater to?

If you guys think that these dolls don’t mean shit, might I kindly ask you to check out the Doll test?

You should not be lauded for this, Mattel. I appreciate you thinking of us and all, but you dropped the ball on this.

Even if you wanted to keep these dolls, that’s fine. I’ve already described my grandfather and family history here. Where is MY doll? Where is the doll with the Afro? Where is the doll with twists? Where’s the doll with the lowboy? Where’s the doll with the dark brown eyes, and the flatter nose, and the voluptuous lips?  Where’s the doll that has all of those things, not just some? Where’s the doll for little girls that look like me?

Let me be more clear, these dolls (except for Kara’s crazy lace front) are not terrible. I think they are actually perfect for little girls who have a mixed background. These pretty much cover a broad aesthetic and look like plausibly like someone with mixed heritage.  In that respect, these dolls are perfect!

However, for the little black girls that look just like ME with unmistakably Afrocentric features, these dolls appeal to the tried and totally untrue, but respected, hip-hop beauty ideal that has become an “exotic girls only” industrial complex. So not only are young girls bombarded with those images on television, if their parents aren’t careful, they are basically kicked while they’re down walking through the toy store.

The message is clear to little girls, and it’s saddening because they will go on to feel this more acutely as they get older. The message is unless you are “exotic” or multi-racial, you are simply and utterly unremarkable, unworthy and unimportant. They may make a doll with more Afrocentric features, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Little girls will then inevitably draw conclusions that they are not good enough, because they are not pretty enough. You must be multi-racial (or have some indication that you have some “white” or “Cherokee” in your family), with light eyes and long flowing, loose-curly (3A) hair as a minimum.

Should Mattel somehow make things right, I implore them to give said black Barbie, NATURAL hair. Yes, I said it.

For years, before I gave in and begged my mother to relax my tresses, I would comb my Barbies’ hair and covet the hell out of their plastic hair plugs. Hell, it was long and flowing and straight.

Barbie=Beautiful, so therefore, Barbie’s Hair=Beautiful was my equation.

I imagined that my hair, if “treated,” could grow long and semi-wavy, but kink-less, and I would be one step closer to being a Barbie, in my own right.

What was wrong with creating a Barbie with short, as close to natural hair as possible? Hell, if short is not your thing (and I know you can do it, because you have hairstylists for Barbies, Mattel), then why not a natural mane on, say for example, Kara?

Black women’s hair does not normally grow, or look, like one of Tyra’s gaudy lace fronts. Matter of fact, what I’ve seen in Seattle is anything but long and flowing, but rather, short, fried, sad and barely hanging on to scrunchies and hair bands. It is usually thin, with little volume, even if it may be long. I’ve seen weaves, I’ve seen braids with all kinds of colors. I’ve seen sisters with natural hair, like blowouts, cornrows, teenie weenie Afros (TWAs), locs, twists… The point is I have yet to walk down the street seeing black women, all sporting the same tired, ghastly, and patently unnatural weave or wig.

Do you even know what Kara would look like if she were a real human being?

I’m a firm believer in that indoctrination can bring whole groups of people and civilizations to their knees. These dolls are just one more tool in the indoctrination process that prizes and rewards self-hatred over knowledge of self, and love for self, in the black community.

Shame on you, Mattel. By intentionally leaving out a Barbie with natural Afrocentric features, you’ve basically given little black
girls who don’t match a multi-racial aesthetic in the least, a figurative middle finger.  Congratulations!

Barbie cannot have a flatter nose, Barbie cannot have natural hair, and she damned sure cannot have short, natural hair (GASP!). Barbie shall not be too ethnic, that’s not hot in these toy store “streets” I guess.  For Barbie to be pretty, she cannot be too black.  For Barbie to be feminine, her hair must not give any inclination that it might be “nappy.”  God forbid, she have shorter hair than her “down to her back” tresses…  That would make her a boy, I guess…

I urge parents to not fall for this, and urge you to not accept anything below the standard, because these dolls are way below
standard. Mattel has been around too damned long to put these dolls out, oblivious to the message they send. They are trying to get on the right track, but they need a hell of a lot more work to get to the goal of having fully inclusive black Barbies.

Again, we come in many shades and colors, with a plethora of features, but I seriously question Mattel’s motives for “excluding” a certain shade, with certain features.

Not GOOD enough, Mattel. Sorry to break it to you.

(Source and photos spotted at HipHopWired)

Just a few weeks ago I was flipping through the pages of a fashion mag with a friend.

An editorial featuring an obviously biracial black/white model sporting a huge curly ‘fro caught our eye and that I have to say – I just loved the style.

I have been natural most of my life (not necessarily out of conviction but due to the chronic and persisting shortage of German hairstylists who can deal with wild biracial hair more on the afro side-or with any kind of biracial or black hair) save a few relaxed spells every few years after which I desperately longed for my kinks and curls to come back.

Anyway, my style of the moment is natural and the model’s medium-length curls were something I really considered desirable. The hairstyle did strike a chord with me, but my friend Jen, who has two African parents, is many a shade darker than I am and has shiny and fantastically healthy-looking relaxed tresses (which I have never managed to obtain) was a lot less enthusiastic about the model’s look.

“That’s something mixed girls get away with” she said, “They can get their hair to look like that – I couldn’t. I feel that curls are something like the latest fetish – it’s like there are black girls with great curls all around, advertisement, movies, magazines. And lately it has become a bit like what straight hair used to be-you’ve got to have it.”

It had never occurred to me, but speaking to Jen, I realised that she might be right. Over the next weeks everywhere I looked, be it the streets of my city or most of he few female black German TV-presenters – it really seemed that nowadays the fly mixed or black girl hast to have curls. Generous, semi-loose curls that is, tight enough to give you the volume but loose enough to be considered beautiful in a more mainstream way.

Suddenly I noticed that there were other mixed women like myself sporting curls and curly fros, short or big hair and that black girls with curls really seemed a growing trend in German cities. I also realised that hardly any women with tightly coiled hair, like Jen’s, wore their hair out or natural.

“That’s because of the pressure to have hair that at least gets near the look of ‘typical’ mixed race curls,” Jen complained and I feel that she definitely has a point.

The new trend that I and many other women of color have happily embraced seems to have it’s downside.

Obtaining a certain look hair seems to be almost as pressurising as it was to have bone straight hair back in the day. Only now curly hair is the new straight hair.

In Germany, the politics of (black) hair have been very different from the US. Up to this day, unlike the US, multigenerational mixed black people are almost non-existent in Germany. That is one reason why the “biracial” and “black” hair divide may be sharper than in the US. Though the first multigenerationally mixed families are only just emerging, most black Germans are still of direct African origin, be it through one parent or both.

The small “black” population after the second world war up until the 1960s was made up mainly by the biracial children of white German mothers and African American soldiers stationed in the country. From the mid-1960s onwards the fathers were mainly Africans who came to Germany from their newly independent countries to pursue their studies.

The “traditional” hairstyle for the majority of biracial Germans pre-1990s was to wear their hair natural, not necessarily because you liked it that way, but because there were no hairdresser or product options around.

In the olden days most of us had German mothers totally clueless of how to handle their offspring’s biracial hair. Bless them, I would be quite at a loss myself if I had to care for a child with bone straight European hair, and let us not forget – those were the days before the internet made black hair care tips and mail ordering stuff from the States widely accessible.

I remember that as late as the 80s the hairstyles worn by the Huxtable women in the “Cosby Show”or in MTV music clips were unobtainable for most black women in Germany. It was only in the early 1990s that the increasing number of new African immigrants led to the emergence of the African hair stylist in Germany.

Getting your hair relaxed soon became a sought after option, but even today there is a lack of well-qualified stylists and very often they are likely to be more skilled in doing braids and extensions than in relaxing biracial hair.

Following the new curly trend after many years of experimenting with relaxers, the number of German women of color wearing their curls in a natural state has increased, even if – as my friend made me aware – mostly amongst the mixed girls and women .

I went on to do my research on the internet and many a web community in which I expected women of color to celebrate the diversity of their natural hair was full of product-, money- and time-consuming tips how to obtain the perfect curl. To be fair, there are a few great sites out there catering to the needs of a diverse curl community and doing a fantastic job giving positive appreciation to our diverse hair. The positive examples I have in mind were those sites that actually gave style advice that kept in mind that you do need a certain hair type to start with – to be able to obtain a certain natural look without killing yourself for it. However my overall impression was that there seemed to be almost an obsession with obtaining a certain type of curly hair –and I wonder if Jen is right and right now society is just blatantly more accepting of the seemingly effortless shake-and-go curls or maybe a curly fro than of a tightly curled Afro? And that women whose hair just will not curl that way are left out of the new beauty standard? Once again?

It seems that what could be a liberating and long awaited expansion of a narrow beauty ideal has a flipside after all and that ultimately we should trust our hair, not the trend. Curls are great and we love them – but don’t stress yourself about them too much. Keep in mind that well treated hair is always beautiful, be it relaxed, curly or a straightforward Afro!

(Pictured: German celebrity Annabelle Mandeng)

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

Continued from “Bela or Bust: Part 1: On Gender” . . .

Author’s note: My apologies for the delay between part one and part two! I have recently moved back to the United States and in between re-adjusting and job hunting, I had not had the chance or the mental clarity to sit down and actually write!

The popular anecdote goes “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” If I were to rephrase this expression to fit Brazil, I’d say “Beauty is next to Wealth.” Though Brazil has grown considerably with tourism, natural resources, and factory-based goods as its largest sectors of revenue, on the ground, the class divide is evident and going strong. One ironic way to overcome class and bridge the class divide, at least superficially, is through a well-kept appearance. I say ironic here because in order to appear a social or economic equal, one must continue to consume, thus depleting one’s income, even if it is far from disposable.

Luckily for many Brazilian women, maintaining one’s physical appearance is not so heavy a financial task. Even in large cities, one can get an amazing manicure/pedicure for less than $20 reais ($10 USD), a facial for $50 reais ($25 USD), a “Brazilian” wax for $15 reais (known there as “depilação de virilha”; $7 USD) and multiple sessions of lymphatic massage for $100 reais a month ($50 USD). In comparison to the cost of aesthetic maintenance in the United States, Brazilian women are the fortunate ones. In some ways, the cheap costs, even for the average Brazilian, allow for a democratization of access to beauty, whereas in the U.S., this is not so much the case. And when one can find cheap beauty related services in the U.S., the question of service, quality, and even employee rights follows the far too reasonable price tag.

With relatively equal access to stellar services, many women have access to maintaining an image that puts them physically on par with their wealthier counterparts. In other words, she may not be rich, but at least her looks are equal to if not superior to someone with greater material wealth. In the United States, this “phenomenon” of sorts, democratization and equality by way of the physical, can be witnessed in the purchase of clothing and vehicles by those of a lower income. As quality attire is not nearly as expensive in the States as it is in Brazil (due mainly to import taxation and trade issues) and the intellectual property rights of high end designers are often violated by chain stores like H&M and Forever 21, people of the working and lower middle classes have greater access to some of the same clothing styles worn by the rich. As wealth, at least in the past, seemed less of a precarious state in the U.S., the preoccupation with “looking rich” was not evident. In fact, I would go as far as to argue that in many cases, the wealthy in the States can be indistinguishable from the general public (look at stores like Urban Outfitters, which peddles the image of tattered, vintage, and reconstructed clothing at a high price). This is not the case in Brazil, where the wealthy can be spotted from miles away.

Beauty can also mean an escape for some Brazilian women living in poverty, hence the idea of being good looking and well-groomed being given such high cultural value. There are frequent favela (slum)-based beauty pageants, model searches, and even the same video model industry seen in the states, one of them being the ever-present competitions for the next “it” girl in funk carioca (known as baile funk in the U.S.). Named for the most abundant parts of their bodies, the Mulheres Fruta (“Fruit Women”) are famous for their physical beauty. Take Mulher Melancia (“Watermelon Woman”). Famous for her backup dancing for MC Creu’s “Dança do Créu” (NSFW) and her more than generous backside, Andressa Soares (pictured above, right, with Mulher Melão (Melon Woman), left) has been in Brazilian Playboy and even a European tour all as a result of her bottom. Amazing. But it sure beats poverty any day, I suppose.

While beauty may not involve a direct translation into fortune and fame, it nevertheless serves as a surrogate for wealth in the social realm, calling for positive attention that would otherwise be absent in the face of poverty. It also can become an exportable currency, a stereotype for which Brazil is famous (beautiful women), but one that has also led to destructive and exploitive relationships between women who use their beauty as a source of income and the tourists who flock there to consume it.

Even novelas, Brazilian soap operas, repeatedly regurgitate the same Cinderella stories, creating the framework for the myth that beauty is a ticket out of the slums (or at least can allow for a temporary vacation with a wealthy benefactor). But this dream, just as many other rags-to-riches narratives often do, falls flat when translated to reality. Class mobility, while a possibility, is a rare occurrence in Brazil. So even though beauty could be considered a temporary equalizer, the end result of glaring poverty and a large percentage of the wealth staying within a small percentage of the population is what continues.

Next: On Race (Part 3)

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse 

Continued from “Bela or Bust (Introduction)” . . .

Author’s note:
I recognize that to say that the preoccupation with being beautiful for women in Brazil boils down to three separate entities is oversimplifying. Gender, class, and race obviously intersect constantly and are difficult to consider beyond their Venn diagram-like existence. Yet for the sake of clarity and hopefully accessibility, I have decided to discuss this topic in three parts: 1) gender, 2) class, and 3) race.

Despite Brazil being one of the most powerful countries in Latin America, it is still working to develop an image that coincides with the nations with which it frequently interacts for diplomatic purposes and international recognition. While issues surrounding class are certainly a cause for shame to the Brazilian national identity, one of the other issues on its pulse for change is gender. Brazil has undergone rapid change in the last few decades in terms of women’s equality, with women moving from predominately domestic roles to working beyond the home and holding positions of power. Yet even with these achievements, the obsession with physical perfection has not dwindled, though in Brazil’s case, advances in women’s rights and an extensive beauty regimen are not necessarily at odds. In fact, in an ironic twist, what some women in the United States may find as a sign of oppression has become a mark of power and success.

Having grown up in the South, I’m accustomed to seeing women spend hundreds of dollars a month on their appearance and hours on maintaining it, but when I moved to Brazil, I was sincerely shocked to see that in both small towns and big cities, full-service beauty salons were everywhere, including people’s homes. Many Brazilians know someone who knows someone who does waxing, hair straightening, and nails in the back of her house. As Brazil has one of the largest informal labor sectors in the world, beauty certainly makes up a large part of this statistic, mean that many women have additional job opportunities even when they remain in the home. From Avon, Racco, and Mary Kay sales to nail care and lymphatic massage, the opportunities for a supplemental income are endless and easily accessible for women of all walks of life.

An intense focus on beauty has also been a mark of pride for women, especially as they climb socially. With more women each year entering the workforce in Brazil, peer recognition and respect are contingent on appearance. As more women hold positions of power, the pressure to remain beautiful only grows, as it can sometimes guarantee a better position and internal advancement within a company. However, this is not a phenomenon that is exclusive to Brazil, as this situation is often repeated in the United States, yet to a less obvious degree.

At this point, some of you may be asking what exactly I am implying when I say things like “intense focus on beauty” or “extensive beauty regiment.” When I say this, I am talking about what we would consider “high maintenance” in the United States as the accepted norm for women’s appearance. A woman must always be “bem arrumada.” This means that even when one goes grocery shopping, heels, nice clothes, and styled hair is the norm. One of my students once told me that she felt absolutely dirty when her nails were not done, and another informed me she would never leave the house with wet hair because that was super “pobre” (“ghetto”). Sure, some of the beauty norms make total sense, particularly those related to hygiene and personal maintenance (i.e. frequent waxing) considering the heat and beach cultures of some regions of Brazil. There is also a cultural connection in that just as many Americans obsess over cleanliness, Brazilians often obsess about neatness. This desire to be neat and clean goes beyond the household and can be easily observed in people’s overall appearance. But in terms of the daily need to be basically perfect, a pressure that is placed disproportionately on women, there is certainly room for questioning and criticism.

I’ve seen girls as young as 4 and 5 wearing heels and getting their nails and hair done, as if even female children are to be part of the adult beauty pageant I see on a daily basis. A recent article in the Brazilian magazine Veja indicated that more and more each year, young girls are becoming beauty statistics as they frequent salons almost as much if not more so than their mothers. With the expectation for young girls to be well-groomed, there also comes a similar expectation for them to be well-dressed. However, as clothing here tends to be generally more provocative (read: lower cut, worn tighter, more revealing), that expectation is somewhat poorly placed if we’re talking about children. Clothing here that would not be well accepted in the United States, at least not for daily wear (i.e. clothes Americans would wear to a club) make up the every day clothing, even work clothes, in certain regions of Brazil, so there is obviously a cultural difference. But I am not alone in my statement here that clothing for young girls has become increasingly limited to clothing that too closely replicates the clothing of their mothers and older female peers.

Even the clothing for women, at least that which is cheaper and more accessible to the general public, is somewhat troubling in that the focus seems to be to reveal as much of a woman’s form as humanly possible, yet at the same time, to infantilize her. I once remarked that I was tired of seeing clothing made for “baby prostitutes,” as so many of the items available for women would be incredibly revealing yet covered in pastel bows, equipped with tiny pockets, buttons, or additional frou frou that made me feel more like someone who is 5 instead of 25. Of course, style is different everywhere, clothing trends change, etc. But I mention all of this because I think it goes hand in hand with the gender divide and the issue of beauty.

Brazilian men, who certainly are the benefactors of such beauty standards (i.e. economically) are not held to nearly as high expectations when it comes to appearance, and that relates to anything from physical care to clothing choices. It is arguably the same in the United States, though in both countries some men are beginning to become more appearance-focused. What is different, however, is that in general, women in Brazil (appearance-wise) tend to fit into a very specific box and men in another, the divide being so great that determining one’s sexuality (i.e. gay, lesbian, straight) can boil down to the simplest of things like if a woman’s nails are manicured or wears dresses out dancing (or not) or if a man cares about his weight and hair color (or not).

So while from a distance, the idea of Brazilian female beauty being that of heavenly proportions, in actually, women in Brazil just tend to work much harder on average than women in the United States and some other countries in the West. But that beauty certainly does not come without a heavy price, one on which one’s social acceptance and class mobility can depend far more so than elsewhere.

Next: On Class (Part 2)

by Special Correspondent Wendi Muse

“So, are the girls hot?”

This is the most common question I receive from American men when I explain that I have been living in Brazil. These men come from all walks of life, are of various racial, ethnic, and class backgrounds, and of varying levels of education, exposure to other countries, etc. Long story short, this question seems to be on the minds of many men. It is, for better or for worse, a universal curiosity.

But in my response, I quickly put things in perspective.

“Well, for one, Ugly travels. I see just as many unattractive people in Brazil as I do in the States, and equally as many beautiful people on both sides as well. But I can safely say that the majority of women in Brazil work really hard to be beautiful, more so than the majority of American women.”

There are usually follow-up questions about body types (butts being the primary focus, of course) and clothing styles (are the clothes all skimpy?) and I handle those accordingly. The preoccupation with appearance in Brazil-related questions is to be expected considering that one of the primary portrayals of Brazil in the United States relates to beach culture, scantily-clad women, and sex. But when one takes the time to consider the reasons behind the high standards of beauty in Brazil, it is obvious that there is more to being beautiful and participating in the process of achieving that than just a bikini wax or the perfect nails. Beauty in Brazil is a complex matter involving gender, race and, most certainly, class.

In terms of statistics, Brazilian surgeons perform cosmetic plastic surgery at one of the highest volumes in the world. According to the Brazilian Society of Plastic Surgery, 1,157,540 cosmetic surgical procedures were performed in 2007, placing Brazil behind the United States in the volume of annual procedures (the U.S. ranks number one with 1.8 million, a number that does not include reconstructive surgery or non-invasive procedures like botox injections). For 2008, the Brazilian beauty industry (and this number only accounts for formal sectors) recorded $21.7 billion reais (about $11.8 billion USD) and a 10.6% growth in revenue since 2007. Articles upon articles remark at the growth of the beauty industry despite the pending doom of the global economic crisis. Coincidence? I think not.

In the upcoming weeks, this 3-part article on beauty in Brazil will continue with analysis based on race, class, gender, and media. Be sure to stay posted for more!

—–

*Bela (yes, just one L, aka that is not a spelling mistake) means “beautiful” in Portuguese
**Pictured: Brazilian model Adriana Lima
***For statistical citations, please see the following:
http://www.scribd.com/doc/6430219/The-Plastic-Surgery-Capital-of-the-World

http://www.yourplasticsurgeryguide.com/trends/asps-2007.htm

http://www.esteticafacial.biz/cirurgia-plastica-0
http://www.revistamercado.com.br/vernoticia/45/2/

models Joseph Ackon, Samira Carvalho and Ronaldo Martins for Osklen

Yesterday afternoon, I was talking to one of my colleagues when I noticed one of the most beautiful black women I had ever seen in my life walk through the door. Despite the young students running around at her feet, she remained calm. She stood out among all the other parents awaiting their children as she was the youngest, the one with the most poise, and the darkest. Amid all the other white parents, this young woman, despite the simplicity of her white canvas jacket and jeans, called for the most attention. She was simply arresting. My first thought was, “wow, she could be a model.”

Yet this moment of wandering imagination was quickly squelched by the loud voices of two young and rambunctious pupils approaching from behind. I continued to watch as the two pale, fair-haired children ran to join hands with the woman who could give Iman and Naomi Campbell a serious run for their money, the contrast of their skin colors and body language putting everything in perspective. She was the children’s caretaker, their nanny, possibly the family maid. And that is exactly the social order in which she would most likely remain, for no matter the intensity of her beauty, in Brazil, her color would be a disadvantage –  the mark of Cain, if you will. She was the color that I had heard some pray their children would not be. She was the color that stood as shorthand for crime and poverty. But in my eyes, she possessed a color that I quite frankly missed.

It’s rare that I see people who have very dark brown skin in the Southern region of Brazil, which is made up primarily of whites of European descent (the majority being of Italian. German, and/or Portuguese origin), Asians (of Japanese descent), and people one could classify simply as “Brown” or “Beige,” in that their racial background is multiracial and ambiguous or generally indiscernible (though this includes all of the aforementioned as well as African and indigenous origin). Though I occasionally see more blacks* in major cities of the south like São Paulo, they are few and far between in my neck of the woods. But upon seeing the woman who had come to pick up her charges, I was reminded of the simple fact that not only were people (especially women) markedly missing from the general population in the region in which I live, but they were glaringly absent from the fashion and beauty industry in Brazil.

A few moments later, I went upstairs to check my email, the UOL homepage reminding me to “VEJA DETALHES DOS LOOKS EXIBIDOS NOS DESFILES DE SPFW VERÃO 2009/2010.” Something had completely slipped my mind: It was São Paulo Fashion Week.

Though SPFW had just begun on Wednesday, it had already caused a pre-event stir thanks to allegations of racism on the runway. The fashion week runways in Rio, though particularly in São Paulo, were striking for something beyond the fashion. Instead of being recognized for innovative designs, the shows were marred by accusations of blatant discrimination toward and exclusion of models of color (in this case, meaning primarily models of African and indigenous descent). Despite Brazil being a nation with nearly 50% of its population composed of people with African descent (according to the 2007 study conducted by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (O Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística, or IBGE)), the catwalks were snow white. In a country as diverse as Brazil, it was a shock and metaphorical assault toward a large part of the population by way of their very absence from the nation’s most pivotal event in fashion and beauty after Carnaval.

After the allegations mounted to an all-time high during last year’s SPFW shows, particularly with the help of extensive coverage by Folha de São Paulo, one of the most widely circulated and influential papers in Brazil, the organizers of SPFW were taken to task by federal prosecutors. According to an official model count made by Folha reporters, of the 344 models who participated in the January 2008 SPFW shows, only eight of them (you read that right, eight) were black. Prosecutor Déborah Kelly Affonso, who is part of a group of prosecutors who concentrate specifically on the issue of social inclusion, initiated what would become the fashion equivalent of affirmative action.

“The percentage of black models at the event is far less than that of white models. The objective of [the public prosecution department for which she works] is to come to a consensus on social inclusion, to establish the minimum number of black models to participate in the shows,” noted Affonso.

As a result of this accord, SPFW was obligated to ensure that at least 10% of the models in each designer’s show were black, of African descent, or of indigenous origin, or otherwise risk paying a $250,000 fine. Considering the demographic profile of Brazil’s population, one would assume that meeting this newly established requirement would be easy. Yet some designers and stylists were less than enthused about the decision. Some denied all instances of racism, while others offered everything from straight up idiocy to petty, thoughtless excuses in order to legitimize and maintain their racist casting practices.

In reaction to the new racial quotas, one designer, Gloria Coelho exclaimed, “The quota can interfere with the work of the designer. Our work is art, something that has to convey emotion to which the people can identify.”

I suppose “The people” with whom she is talking about having this great connection are not the 50% black/brown ones. But Coelho does not stop there. She continues to put her designer shoe-adorned foot in her mouth.

“During Fashion Week, there are plenty of black people sewing, helping style the models, working behind the scenes, and making beautiful things . . . there are black assistants, black salespeople….why must they also be on the catwalk?”

And I thought I had heard it all when European designers gave the typical “but their skin color distracts from the clothes” response.

According to Coelho, having black people work in the background was enough. If their work is coming out on the runway (albeit under Coelho’s name, meaning they receive no recognition for their work), why must the people wearing it be black too? While I could mount a week’s long response to Coelho, I will refrain and restrict my grievances to the following:

Dear Ms. Coelho,

When people who share your skin tone or ethnic background become one of the poorest, underserved, and least frequently recognized, praised, or accepted groups in Brazil, or even the planet, give me a call. When you happen to live in a place where everyone from actresses and politicians down to dolls and cartoons look nothing like you, send me an email. When the people who look like you often portray maids, criminals or fools on tv, send up a smoke signal. Until then, please reserve your dismissive, self-serving, privilege-laden bullsh*t for someone who has the patience to listen and commiserate.

Sincerely,

Someone Black

SPFW organizer Paulo Borges is another one on the FAIL list, having made several contradictory statements regarding the quotas. First, he claimed that he had no control over which models participated in the shows. Yet in 2007, Luminosidade, an organiztion of which he is a part, signed an agreement to restrict the use of models with severe health problems (i.e. eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia or who were incredibly underweight) as well as models who were under the age of 16. Despite having been a part of this agreement and the organizer of Fashion Week itself, he has no say in who walks. . . Interesting. Then in hopes of distracting critics, he trotted out his adopted black son as a token of his being opposed to racism. Yet as noted by Folha, this decision is purely of personal political note and has nothing to do with the commercial side of his affairs. See! I am not racist! I have an ADOPTED BLACK CHILD! Cute.

Borges (right), sporting an Obama shirt (see? he’s not racist!), pictured with actress Alice Braga (left)

Casting agencies obviously play a major role in this runway racial struggle. As they are primarily responsible for sending the models to meet and audition for the designers, they hold many of the cards. Anderson Baumgartner, director of Way Model, an agency based in São Paulo, explains that there are fewer black models in the shows because they do not usually fit the body type sought after by the designers.

“They are more voluptuous, sexier; lots of them have bottoms that are a little bit bigger.” Others think the problem may lie in there being fewer black people in hot spots, or high fashion areas in São Paulo. “People of African descent are not at the restaurants or at the places where the scouts search. You see fewer of them on Oscar Freire.**”

Needless to say, Gisele Bündchen was discovered while eating a Big Mac at a McDonald’s in a São Paulo mall. The excuse just doesn’t fly.

And while other designers, such as Alexandre Herchcovitch , São Paulo born and based designer and creative director of SENAC, a Brazilian fashion and design school, do not oppose the quotas, there is more to the story than simple opposing or supporting the government’s attempt to level the catwalk. Some black models, organizations, and agencies are not exactly welcoming of the change, though for very different reasons.

According to Folha, Hélder Dias de Araújo, head of a black modeling agency, is one of the only people to accuse of SPFW of racism outright, yet he discusses racism with a twist.

“Sure, there is prejudice. But it’s more social, class-based, than racial. If [we were talking about] Pelé or Barack Obama, no one would ignore [the problem].” Yet he notes that he is against the catwalk quota system, mainly because he believes that “Brazil must be ashamed to see that it is not a place for a ‘pure race.’”

In other words, in continuing the racist practices in the fashion shows, Brazil would be setting itself up for embarrassment. Why host shows with an all-white cast of models when it is obvious, widely-known, well-documented that Brazil is a place of great ethnic and racial diversity?

Others oppose the quota because they believe it is not enough to remedy the problem of racism and exclusion in the fashion industry. Organizations like Educafro (Educação e Cidadania de Afrodescendentes e Carentes) is organizing an all-black fashion show in Ibirapuera Park (where SPFW takes place) as a protest to the continued absence of black models in fashion. They have also asked for invitations to the SPFW shows, primarily to conduct their own black model count, a task they have little faith in the Prosecution’s Office to actually do (as of today, no such count has been planned by the government).

Both their and Araújo’s argument make this issue a bit more complex and raise more questions about how to deal with the occupational hazard of racism in the arts. In such fields, do racial quotas and affirmative action-like measures have a place? Do they somehow infringe on artistic freedom or, worse, do they inhibit the prospect of viewing the models as individuals instead of statistics? And what is to be done to ensure the inclusion of non-black and non-indigenous models? What about models of Asian or Middle Eastern descent (both groups make up a considerable part of the Southern Brazilian population)? Though SPFW has only just begun, there are still a few more days and many more seasons to come for the public to observe how this will play out. Yet as racial tension mounts throughout Brazil as a result of multiple government measures to create equal access for all its citizens, regardless of race, one has to wonder what the state of race will be in Brazil in a decade or two. In the meantime, I’m going to sit back, relax, and watch my people work it on the catwalk. . .
—–
*I am using the generally accepted Brazilian definition for “black” here. For more info on this, please see my piece “Busy Being Foreign”

**Oscar Freire is a street, and by extension, quasi-neighborhood, recognized as one of the most upscale areas in São Paulo. The street is home to many expensive and well-known designer stores and boutiques. I have visited this area several times and even as someone foreign, I have felt out of place as one of the few middle class, non-whites gracing the pavement. The class tension is so evident it could be cut with a knife.

***check out clips from SPFW shows here: Fashion4FunBrasil

For more SPFW coverage (in Portuguese), go here: SPFW on UOL

—–

Sources consulted and translated for this piece:

Fioratti, Gustavo. “Cota para Negros Mobiliza a São Paulo Fashion Week” Folha de São Paulo. June 17, 2009 (link)

“Promotora Quer Cota Para Negros em Desfiles” Folha de São Paulo (Online Edition) April 12, 2009 via Geledés Instituto da Mulher Negra Blog (link)

This weekend, I was interviewed for a magazine article. Nothing to do with my book, or even writing, for that matter. The topic of the hour was body image. This is a topic I could go on and on and ON about (and have, on several occasions), but I’ll refrain just this once.

Before the interview, all sorts of thoughts went through my head about what I might talk about — will I do the usual issue of weight and body size/shape? Would I go to the more familiar topic of areas of my body I’ve waged war with? Or would I go into the skin shade territory? So many areas to cover (no pun intended), not enough interview time . . .

So, when the lovely interviewer called me, we had a fantastic, lively, friendly discussion. It was fun and hilarious. We were about forty-five minutes through when I realized all I’d talked about was my hair. My hair. Not the usual trilogy: butt, boobs, belly. Not flab, sag, and lumps. Hair. And not body hair, either.

I had no idea what a huge issue hair has been all through my life. But as I talked to Ms. Lovely Interviewer, I realized that as a Sikh girl-child, then young woman, so many battles over control and power in my house were fought around the territory of my hair. I was not allowed to cut it, there were certain hairstyles I could not wear, and there was just so much IMPORTANCE placed on what I did or did not do with my hair.

As a little girl, I thought cutting my hair would be the answer to all my problems. I thought not being allowed to cut it was what kept me apart from the “rest” of the world. It was what kept me from connecting. And that was something I so very much longed for. Later, as I began to question things, I wanted to know why the religion allowed my father and brothers to cut their hair, but not me or my mother. Obviously, the religion intends both men and women to keep long hair, but in my house this was not the case. (That’s a whole other post, though.)

Also interesting was just how much the interviewer and I could relate on the hair topic. She happened to be African-American and went through many different periods in her life where she struggled with the “Natural or straightened?” question. Her hair was a site where many inner and outer battles were fought, too.

I thought about movies where whenever someone wanted to change their identity, or get a fresh start in life, the first thing they did was cut off their hair. Even with makeovers on popular daytime talk shows, the biggest way to make a difference in one’s appearance (thereby, in one’s life?) is to change the color/cut/style of their hair.

Through my conversation with Ms. Interviewer, it hit me that whenever I wanted things to change in my life, whenever I felt smothered, or not in control of my destiny, I went to a salon. And later, I bought a good pair of scissors and clippers and took matters into my own hands. Doing what I wanted with my own hair felt like a kind of freedom. It was a defiance and a breaking and a challenge.

“This is mine,” was the message.

And the message got across alright. Not only did the message get across, but it also found its way straight into a whole heap of punishment when I lived at home.

Ms. Interviewer said she had thoughts like that now, as well — that if only such and such were different, her whole life would somehow be better. We wondered if this was something others experienced in terms of body image. I had a friend who, whenever she wanted to feel pampered or taken care of, she’d go to a salon and have them wash her hair. That’s it–nothing else–just a wash.

I also marveled at the fact I could meet another woman from any other racial, social, economic, or political category, and we could easily have identical body image stuff. The article I was being interviewed for will include the experiences of seven or eight women from all walks of life and is set to hit the stands soon.

In the meantime, I’d love to know what your experience has been with body image. Has it even been an issue? If so, where did it center around? Where are you at with it now?

“That’s colonialism all over your face!”

The quote is from one of my favorite Asian American Studies professors on eyelid surgery, nose bridge implants, and any other kind of cosmetic surgery that transforms Asians physical features into more Caucasian ones. She meant that there is one standard of beauty—the Western one—that gets imprinted on our faces, our bodies, and our senses of self.

It’s easy to see that the Western ideal of blond-haired, blue-eyed, All-American (or Ayran, if you’re more sinister) beauty is the dominant standard. Look no further than the all-present world of popular media. Advertisements, TV, and movies glorify beautiful faces, but these beautiful faces don’t look anything like me—or you, probably. Every billboard says, “This is Beauty, and you are not quite it. Envy my bag, my hair, my look and my, uh, eyelids.”

Racialized plastic surgery is a popular topic on talk shows like Tyra and Montel. They raise the question: does eyelid surgery erase or enhance race? The audience nods along in agreement that eyelid surgery is a way for Asians to conform to white prettiness. The plastic surgeon and his patients say that they are just enhancing Asian looks. I may not have big, round eyes, but I can see perfectly well what’s going on here.

These girls feel really bad about themselves. Liz and Keyounga (the guests on Tyra and Montel) both say they were “the only Asian girl at school” and remember being called “chink.” They have memories of face-to-face racism. I can sympathize with that. Eyelid surgery is not simply a matter of wannabe white, it’s also about trying to remedy their experiences of racism.

The crease, that coveted fold, is such a small thing, but it has come to mean so much. This is because the eye is the quintessential sign of Asian difference. The “Asian” eye is the focus point of racial taunting, like “slant-eyed” you-know-whats and “ching chong” jokes with the accompanying hand gesture. Going into surgery, Keyounga says, “Maybe I won’t get called chink anymore.”

Plastic surgery offers a way to hide those physical features that have been denigrated. Getting new eyelids or a new nose is a form of racial covering. The term is Kenji Yoshino’s, who explains that to cover is to tone down a disfavored identity to fit into the mainstream. And covering is something everyone does because behaving mainstream is a social necessity. (I’m not a plagiarizer, so you can read this on page ix of his book Covering).

So, in effect all this westernizing plastic surgery is a form of assimilation. You can swim in the mainstream instead of upstream by transforming your appearance. The slanted monolid eye is the marker of Asian difference, so changing it brings you closer to sameness. Does it really?

Liz and Keyounga are aware that plastic surgery doesn’t make them look white. “I’m still Asian,” says Liz, but she doesn’t seem too happy about it. Eyelid surgery patients are probably not trying to pass as white, but they are at least trying to appear part white. They come out of surgery Eurasian, with a few European features like a “tall” nose or slighter bigger eyes added to their generally Asian faces. It’s a double-bind of wanting to be Asian, but not too Asian. In other words, wanting to be different and the same as “everybody else.”

Getting cosmetic surgery is a personal choice, but even our most personal choices are influenced by dominant culture. Internalizing western notions about what is beautiful (and what is ugly) happens almost subconsciously. Knowing that Western beauty is dominant, has helped me question its standardization. I guess that means I won’t be getting my face “colonized” any time soon.

This story has been reprinted with permission from the Asian American Journalists Association.

*Warning: Strong Language*

Regular readers might remember a piece I wrote a year or so ago, called Hair, Apparently. In the piece I wrote about an incident where I felt like someone had insinuated I was a “house nigga” because my hair was straightened with a chemical relaxer.

The piece sparked an interesting conversation in the comments and I was comforted by the reactions by most of the readers – do you and let it be done. The overwhelming consensus was your hair is your hair and you should be able to do with it what you please. (Should is the operative word, but more on that later.)

However, a lot of time has passed since then. In the interim, I read Tami’s piece (the original version of the piece posted here), started reading Afrobella’s blog regularly, and watched as my friend Spiffany transitioned from chemical relaxers to a beautiful and natural do. I admired what people could do with their naturals, but never felt motivated to do it myself.

Yet, Tami posed a little question in her original piece that always stuck in my mind.

Earlier this year, a fellow blogger very smartly observed that black women may be the only race of women who live their whole lives never knowing what their real hair looks and feels like. Think about that.

I was one of those women. Aside from a happy little puffball photo from the fifth grade* and a couple of shots of me with pressed hair, I had a relaxer for as long as I could remember. And that question stayed with me, for the next six or so months until I had my third Catastrophic Relaxer Disaster^TM and found myself bald at my temples and missing a big chunk of hair from the back of my head.

From that day on, I was like “Fuck it – I’m letting it grow.”

And so it has. Today, I’ve been relaxer free for more than a year. My hair is fully natural – I cut out the last of the chemically straightened hair six months ago and haven’t really looked back. I love my hair now, love everything it does, how it looks, all that.

But it occurs to me that this was strange journey for me. Navigating transitioning my hair out was never really about my hair – it was about notions of societal influence, beauty, intra-group standards, cultural conditioning, and asserting my own personality. It was about my hair as a political battleground – where people read the pattern of my stands like tea leaves, trying to divine my personality and political views. It was about everything except what I actually wanted to do – which was stop relaxing my hair and wear a new style.

While I scoured all the pro-natural sites on the net for advice, all I learned were new styles. No one told me how to cope with the transition itself. Everyone cuts to the happy – “You’ll love yourself! You’re free from chemicals!” speech, but no one really talks about how tough that road is to walk. So, let’s look at a few of the things we tend to gloss over when we talk about natural hair.

The Influence of Men and the Perception of Attractiveness
Let’s start with the outside influence aspect of things. About two weeks out from the Catastrophic Relaxer Disaster,^TM I was hanging out with my friend KJ, the natural haired friend I referred to in the first piece. Artfully rocking a cap and a long bang to cover my bald spot, I excitedly told her my decision – I was switching to natural hair.

She stopped fumbling through earrings and looked up at me, face locked in a hesitant expression.

“What did your boyfriend say?” she asked carefully.

I was kind of shocked that this was the first comment from my pro-natural, all organic food eating, anti-make up, womanist, vegan friend. However, she was simply expressing a sentiment from her own experience – sometimes, something simple like transitioning your hair can end your relationship. KJ still felt the sting from prior relationships that were seemingly full of love, trust, and shared personal politics – except when it came to the issue of her hair. In that case, she was encouraged to conform to a beauty standard she did not believe in to please her boyfriend with a long sheet of silky hair – after all, she’d been growing it out for years, so it should be really long by now, right?

Luckily for me, the guy I am currently dating was 100% down with natural hair. So that hurdle was crossed. However, about nine months into the transition, I got a reminder as to why this is an issue in the first place.

My boyfriend and I were invited to a wedding, where I was seated with a group of other young, soon-to-be-married couples. (My boyfriend was in the wedding party, so he was at the head table.) The other women I sat with all had shoulder length or longer weaves. They entered into a conversation about the proper upkeep of their hair, and one women politely decided to include me.

“I like your hair,” she said, looking at my curls which – on that day – looked like they belonged in magazine. Another woman mentioned that she too liked my hair and would love to try cutting her hair off and doing a natural. Her boyfriend shot her a look before coughing into his napkin. The first women quickly added “Not that I could – [my boyfriend, he] wouldn’t allow it.” The first woman’s boyfriend carefully nodded, and with a glance at me said “Well, that kind of thing only works for some people.” He went back to his food.

I signaled for another glass of champagne.

Speaking from personal experience, it appears that men – and their perception of beauty – do hold a lot of influence over how women choose to wear their hair. Men supply their (often unsolicited) opinions and negative ideas and negative reactions have a tendency to paint how we see ourselves. When I was a teenager, I remember hearing a male friend make an off-handed remark that there was nothing worse than seeing a fat girl with short hair – and the group of guys he was with wholeheartedly agreed. Another guy added, “It’s worse if the woman is black. It’s like she’s not even trying to be pretty.”

That sentiment stuck with me – especially as I have heard it echoed in different forms by men I met in adulthood. While there are some men who will bitterly argue that a woman without a relaxer is attractive because she is confident in herself, in my experience, those men are in the minority. Yeah, everyone’s fine with the curly headed girls – the ones who have loose ringlets, or cute little crimps hanging down. But dealing with kinks? Or naps? Oh no, that wasn’t the natural they were thinking of. Is it any wonder that some women with naturals actually start using things like silkeners to achieve the “right” natural look?

In addition, the way we present our hair often “compensates” for other, perceived flaws. Some of us use our hair to hide other flaws (like a strong jawline, or broad features) or to try to balance out a chubby figure by using extensions to create volume. Switching up your style can cause all kinds of issues of both confidence and wardrobe.

Parent Issues

When I called my Mom and told her I was transitioning, she rolled her eyes at me over the phone. (She does this often.)

“Latoya, why do you want to go back to dealing with that?”

That, she says. I replied as honestly as I could.

“Because I want an Afro, mom.”

And I really did too. Spiffany’s transition produced lush layers that were easily coaxed into a full, luscious ‘fro. Visions of Afrodite danced in my head, and I even bought a tee-shirt for ‘fro inspiration.

My mother laughed, and said “Your hair won’t give you an Afro, Latoya. All you’ll get is a pile of frizz. You better buy a wig if you want that.”

I didn’t believe her. After all, as long as I could remember, my mother has been forcing weaves on me. She is a fake hair devotee, who has recently started selling lace front wigs as a side business. Mom’s shoulder length weaves are her trademark, and when the relaxers damaged my hair while I was in middle school and high school, she would often force me to sit down while she glued tracks in my head to cover the damage. She did a good job – as a former beautician, that was her trade – but it never felt like me, and I resented all the upkeep. When I was about fifteen, I rebelled against the tyranny of fake hair, forcibly pulling out the tracks (and damaging my hair even more in the process) and ignoring all edicts to sit still and start looking civilized.

To this day, I still don’t go within five feet of weaves or foundation (something else that was also forced on me.)

So, while I was transitioning, I didn’t see my mother unless my hair was pressed out.**

This past Thanksgiving, I was finally ready to show her my hair in its true form. I was comfortable with it, confident in my ability to style it, and pleased with the result. My mom opened the door and was shocked.

“Oooh, that’s cute,” she said.

However, I should mention that she was correct in her initial assessment. I do not have Afro hair. That fact, to me, was the hardest thing for me to take during the transition. For some reason, I had equated black hair to ‘fro in my mind, and found myself disappointed at the waves and curls that naturally sprouted from my head. Oh, I can pay someone to blow my hair out and to shape it so it approximates a ‘fro. But if the wind hits it, the jig is up.

So, after a few months of preparation, I met my mom with my hair – mostly curly, in parts wavy, and kinky one small part at the very back of my head.

She patted it for a second as if trying to figure out what it was.

Then, she said “I got some new lace fronts – come try them on!”

Sigh.

Style Issues

One of the things I wished people had told me before the transition was that if you are a style chameleon, like I am, your hair will take over your life. Some people love the freedom of not having to worry about their hair every day and are happy to wear their hair as it grows or in a once-every-few-months style like braids.

Not me. I like to change my hair all the time. And I generally have two style settings: (1) conservative hair + vivid color or (2) conservative color + styled hair.

One of my great vices is hair dye. My mane has been every color under the sun except for green and blond. (I don’t go blond for a lot of different reasons, and having green show up in my hair would require me to bleach large chunks for the color to hold.) When I first figured out what my hair can do, I was thrilled. I hate doing things like wrapping my hair at night and now, I don’t have to. I literally have four steps: take a shower, conditioner wash it, blot with a towel, work in product. My hair takes five minutes of prep, ten to fifteen minutes to air dry, and I am out the door.

Loved it.

Then I realized my curls might look a little different with pink streaks running randomly through them. Or blue chunks.

Suddenly, I found myself trying to figure out how to style my hair. (And I dyed it an all over brown color.) Learning the various up-dos, bantu knots, twists and rolls has been a pain in the ass to this hair challenged blogger. Natural hair salons (and my stylist) are happy to do whatever style I want to achieve – for a hefty fee. I thought getting relaxed hair done and styled was expensive at about $60 a salon trip, plus tip. Natural salons in my area charge the upwards of $80-150 per style and my stylist (who does both relaxed and natural) clocks in around $70 ever couple of weeks. Ouch. While I may make the investment to learn how to do flat twists, having a quick change hair personality is proving to be costly.

I also realized that having natural hair freed me up from a lot of styling constraints. There was a stint over the summer where I wore it curly so long, I actually forgot how long it takes to style straight hair. Curling iron? Pssh…pass me a misting bottle, I’m good.

But the heat styling and associated accessories gave way to a new hair holy grail: The perfect product. Here’s the issue with my hair: My hair loves a good, creamy styling product. A couple dabs and I am good to go. The problem is that the perfect product changes based on season, humidity level, and geographic location. Walking around Manhattan last Friday, I drove Andrea crazy by setting up shop in a Ricky’s. Unlike the stores where I live, where finding products for natural hair requires a trip to the salon, Ricky’s had a whole aisle dedicated to product. With testers.

And, it should go without saying that the products my hair loves (Ojon!) are the products my wallet hates ($50 a tub, are you serious?!?)

Work Issues

A few months ago, one of my friends was applying for a job, and noticed something strange in their employee policy book.

“It says, ‘No ethnic hair styles’ in the professional dress section,” she read to me.

Uh-oh. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Ethnic” can mean anything from wavy hair to cornrows to Afros to braids. We were both puzzled at this description, particularly as there were apparently no models from which to see what hair qualified as “appropriate.” Many of us remember the big to-do back at Glamour last summer when a staffer mentioned that Afros were political styles, inappropriate for the workplace. That particular instance made the rounds of the blogosphere and magazine trades, but there are actually millions of microaggressions that play out in offices every single day on what kind of hair is considered professional.

One would think professional would sway toward neatly groomed and clean, but apparently, different people have different interpretation of what “neatly groomed and clean” means. To some prejudiced eyes, braided, twisted, and locked hair will never look clean, regardless of what the actual upkeep of the style is. And while I have been fortunate enough to work in more web based/creative industries that allow me a lot of flexibility in wardrobe and styling, I still feel quite a bit of pressure to start out pressed and ease people into my curly reality.

No, I shouldn’t have to straighten my hair before I go on a job interview or on an appearance or what have you. But it’s easier if I do. I remove one less variable from the equation, one less thing I have to try to work around. I already have enough race baggage from my given name. So while I stand by my choice to use my first name, and not default to my more race neutral middle name, adding natural hair into the equation gives me a headache.

Even thinking about simple things, like headshots for my website, brings up a whole host of issues tied into racism and perception. I have already decided I am going to need pics of both straight and curly hair – but which one will be the dominant pic? Which picture will I post here, on Racialicious, so people can start sending me anti-Black hate mail instead of anti-Asian hate mail? (Obviously, those sending said hate mail have issues with reading comprehension.) If a magazine wants me to write for them, will rocking natural hair and a black face get me bounced off the contributor page?

Once again, should I have to ask myself these questions?

No.

Do I?

Yes.

Color Struck Considerations

This small section could be a whole post in itself, but I’ll keep it light for the purposes of this piece. When I wrote the original piece, Hair Apparently, I only got one negative reaction. It was from a woman who felt like my piece indicated I had issues with natural hair and felt that I should learn to embrace my natural self.

I went over to her site and checked out her picture.

Light skin.

Keen features.

Long hair.

I remember thinking We move through the world differently, we will be perceived differently, and we have two totally different considerations when it comes to the social cost of “embracing” your natural hair.

Now, I do not believe in perpetuating the black color wars because it is a foolish division.

But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention having that thought (among a few others) pre-transition.

Can We End the Hair Wars Now? Or at Least call a Truce?

When I got Tami’s piece as a submission to the Things We Do to Ourselves piece, I laughed. Things had sure come full circle. Here was a piece I had read pre-transition when I had one opinion, and now I read it post transition after having gone through the process myself. I must say I do love my hair now. I am glad I found out that my hair had habitual breakage in the back because that is where my kinks are fragile, not just “because [I] have hair that doesn’t grow” as one misguided stylist told me. I’m glad I know what my natural hair looks like. I’m glad that my hair is so easy to manage now, I’m going to finally learn how to swim.

But after I transitioned, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how shitty it felt to have other blacks use my hair as a litmus test for my personal politics or beliefs, or how annoyed I got with the preaching of the newly converted. I hated hearing about black women having an ingrained slave mentality when for many of us, we just adapted to the way the world views beauty. It was hard enough finding a stylist I liked doing relaxed hair – you say natural stylist and it’s like you’re trying to find the password to a members only club.

And I absolutely hated the implication that everyone, without exception, will find their hair to be fabulous and flawless and will never want to straighten their hair again. I talked to a great many people while going through the various stages of the transition and spoke to women who had been natural their whole lives, who had transitioned like I had, who kept a close crop, who went from wigs to natural and back again, those who decided to stop twisting and just lock it up, and women who had done the natural thing but realized that they preferred the relaxer.

And the only thing that remained constant was that these women were happiest doing what they wanted to do.

I often say that the kinds of conversations we have on Racialicious happen on two levels – the societal level, where we look at the big picture impact of all of our choices and the individual level, where people are just living their lives, doing what they do.

On a societal level, the discussions around black hair do dovetail into politics. The ideas of assimilation, Eurocentric beauty standards, having hair investments with no financial investment, and actively embracing a nappy reality in a straight focused world are all important things to deal with and discuss.

But it is on the individual level where we deal the most immediate damage. And grasping with a decision that is so fraught with personal politics is challenging enough without dealing with everyone else’s projected value on what amounts to a bunch of keratin.

So, how about we shift this conversation? How about we stop placing value judgments based on how we choose to style our manes, and instead work on building confidence in making the choices we make?

Of all the stories I heard from the women I spoke to, it is the incident at the wedding that stands out to me most. Two women expressed the desire to have natural hair and yet would not do it because of the perceived social cost. And that saddened me, because two women subverted what they wanted to do to please others.

We don’t need to start critiquing each other’s choices.

We need to figure out what would inspire enough confidence in ourselves so that each woman would be able to choose to do whatever she wished with her hair – with pride, and without apology.

—-
*I actually remember that day well. My mother had meticulously pressed my hair for picture day, and put a pretty little white ribbon at the top, that hung straight down my back when I left the house. The picture taken at about 2pm that same day shows that same ribbon holding on for dear life atop a frizzy dandelion-like poof of brown waves. C’est la vie.

**Sidenote: For those of y’all who have researched the transition, you will know that one of the things sites tell you time and time again is that you should not continue to press your hair while you are growing it out because you are damaging your hair. For your hair type, this may be true. However, something else you will find is that no one’s advice will work for you all the time. I grew my hair out under the supervision of a stylist who has a hair texture very similar to mine. She pressed it out once a week, and told me to just bump the ends under using low heat while I was at home. She also showed me how to style my short natural and my lengthening natural. I highly suggest that if you are transitioning your hair out, you consult with a few different stylists – that way they can guide you through the process and you will not be as frustrated.

My hair is nappy. It is coarse and thick. It grows in pencil-sized spirals and tiny crinkles. My hair grows out, not down. It springs from my head like a corona. My hair is like wool. You can’t run your fingers through it, nor a comb. It is impenetrable. My hair is rebellious. It resists being smoothed into a neat bun or pony tail. It puffs. Strands escape; they won’t be tamed. My hair is nappy. And I love it.

Growing up, I learned to covet silky, straight hair; “bouncing and behaving” hair; Cheryl Tiegs and Christie Brinkley hair. But as a young black girl, my appearance was far from the American ideal. Making my hair behave meant hours wriggling between my grandmother’s knees as she manipulated a hot comb through my thick, kinky mane. The process stretched my tight curls into hair I could toss and run my fingers through, something closer to the “white girl hair” that so many black girls admired and longed to possess.

My beautiful, straightened hair came at a price. It meant ears burned by slipped hot combs and scars from harsh chemicals. It meant avoiding active play and swimming pools, lest dreaded moisture make my hair “go back.” It meant having a relaxer eat away at the back of my long hair until barely an inch was left. It meant subtly learning that my natural physical attributes were unacceptable.

I was not alone in my pathology. Pressing combs, relaxers, weaves and the quest to hide the naps are part of the fabric of black beauty culture. It is estimated that more than 75 percent of black women straighten their hair. In the book “Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America,” Ayanna Byrd and Lori Tharps write: “Before a black child is even born, relatives speculate over the texture of hair that will cover the baby’s head, and the loaded adjectives “good” and “bad” are already in the air.” In the same book, a New York City dancer named Joicelyn explains: “Good hair is that silky black shit that them Indian girls be havin’…Good hair is anything that’s not crazy-ass woolly, lookin’ like some pickaninny out the bush.” Too often, black women find their hair hatred supported by media, men and the rest of the mainstream.

Cultural and professional pressures kept me relaxing my curls for 20 years. In the late 90s, the neo-soul movement caught fire in R&B. Young, bohemian singers like Jill Scott, Erykah Badu and India Arie were rocking stylish natural looks, and I began seeing more natural heads strutting down Michigan Ave. in Chicago, where I lived. Two of my close friends took the plunge, shearing their permed hair to start anew. Suddenly natural black hair was fashionable—at least for a small group of people.

Seeing more women, however few, freed from the tyranny of constant straightening, inspired me. I began poring over books about the care and politics of black hair. I became a member of a popular Web site devoted to championing natural hair. I learned about the toxic ingredients in chemical relaxers and the lasting damage they do. I discovered the origins of negative myths about black hair. I learned how to properly care for natural locks and discovered the myriad styles that can be achieved. I met women of all ages who embraced “nappy” as a positive description. And I slowly came to realize the inherent foolishness of believing black women’s hair, apart from that of all other races, needs to be fixed—pressed, weaved and manipulated into something it isn’t.

In August 2006, after years spent admiring the growing number of nappy heads around me; fretting whether my husband would still find me attractive; worrying whether my unruly ‘fro would frighten my co-workers; I chopped my near shoulder-length hair off, leaving barely an inch of kinky curls. I was free!

Going natural was one of the best things I have done. And while I respect the right for all women to make decisions about their appearance and personal care, no one proselytizes like the converted. Now that I have had my follicular epiphany, It dismays me that most black women choose to obsessively hide their true nature from the cradle to the grave. Earlier this year, a fellow blogger very smartly observed that black women may be the only race of women who live their whole lives never knowing what their real hair looks and feels like. Think about that.

And think about the many things that some black women deny themselves to keep their hair fried, dyed and laid to the side. We will avoid working out, vigorous sex and a good night’s sleep. We will devote entire Saturdays to the hair salon and spend our last dime to ensure roots are touched up every six weeks. We will weave “better” hair from women of other races into our hair. Few of us can even successfully care for our natural hair, as much of what we’ve been taught involves minimizing our hair’s natural qualities, not working with them.

You may say “it’s just hair” or merely “preference.” But surely it means something when the vast majority of women of a certain race “prefer” to mask physical characteristics associated with their ethnicity. The doll test, oft-mentioned in anti-racist circles, revealed black children’s preference for white dolls with European features. There is a clue here. Societal norms don’t stop influencing us just because we’re too old to play with dolls. It pays to examine your preferences.

Today, my preference is for a natural me.

My hair is nappy. It is soft and cottony, a mass of varying textures. My hair is fun to play with. I like to pull at the spiral curls and feel them snap back into place. My hair defies the laws of gravity. It reaches energetically toward the sky. My hair is unique. In a fashion culture that genuflects to relaxed, flat-ironed tresses and stick-straight weaves, my fluffy, puffy, kinky mane stands out. It is revolutionary. My hair is natural. It is the way God made it. My hair is nappy. And it is beautiful.

*Please note, the essay presented here is an updated version of what originally appeared.