Subjects of Desire (2021) Movie Script

You are you
Beautiful
Yeah, yeah
You are you
You are you
Beautiful
We're Black
Ooh, yeah
I've never had a perm.
My mom always gave me braids.
Always washed and conditioned
my hair and braided it.
I like running my hair
through the shower.
I like being able to go
outside when it's raining
and not have to fret,
because I know my hair
is going to get messed up.
I just like frizz.
[giggling]
I like being Black.
[laughing]
Malcolm X: Who taught you to
hate the texture of your hair?
Who taught you to hate
the colour of your skin
to such extent that you bleach
to get like the white man?
[crowd laughing]
Who taught you to hate
the shape of your nose
and the shape of your lips?
Who taught you to hate yourself
from the top of your head
to the soles of your feet?
I remember watching
Sex and the City.
There was a scene where
Miranda got called out
for having a fat butt,
and she was mortified,
absolutely mortified.
She cried.
She got on Weight Watchers.
And it's funny to me, now,
because if you go on Instagram
and you go on the search page,
every single girl you see,
slim waist, big booty,
fuller breasts with fuller lips.
Every single Instagram model,
you see it.
You see the shifts
in North American
beauty standards,
but on the backs of Black women.
The most disrespected
person in America
is the Black woman.
The most unprotected person
in America is the Black woman.
[applauding]
The most neglected person
in America is the Black woman.
I think any woman's road
is easier if she's beautiful.
Beauty is power.
The way I look is a benefit.
It helps me.
It has helped me in my life.
It has helped me in my career,
and it will continue
to benefit me.
But even my beauty
doesn't change that I'm Black.
Black women, historically, have
been denied the power of beauty.
Uh, and it's--
I think it was intentional.
So, it's ironic that today,
the winners of the five most
prestigious beauty pageants
in the world are Black women.

Narrator:
2019 was a watershed moment,
as Black women across
the globe took a pause,
acknowledging
the unprecedented occurrence
when the winners of
the Miss Universe, Miss World,
Miss USA, Miss Teen USA
and Miss America pageants
were all Black women.
Why was this important?
Should beauty matter when 56%
of all college graduates
in the US are women,
and the most educated group
in America are Black women?
[people chattering indistinctly]
[indistinct chatter continues]
Narrator: The Miss Black America
beauty pageant argues that
it is still as relevant today
as it was when
it was created in 1968.
Brittany Lewis:
Well, good morning, everyone.
It is such a pleasure
to stand before you.
We have some amazing contestants
that are competing for
the title of Miss Black America
during this historic
50th anniversary.
In 2014, I did compete
for the Miss America pageant.
And although I am grateful
for the opportunities,
what I love about this pageant
and why I returned home to
the Miss Black America pageant
is because it creates a space
for us to continue to celebrate
Black beauty, Black excellence
and the Black experience
unapologetically.
Newscaster:
Beauty is on parade
in Convention Hall,
Atlantic City,
during the oldest contest
of its kind
and the one with
the most prestige,
the search for Miss America.
Narrator: Historically,
the Miss America pageant
adhered to Rule #7.
Established in the '30s,
the rule stated that
in order to compete,
you had to be "in good health
and of the white race."
And although the rule
was repealed in the 1950s,
by 1968, there were still
no women of colour
on the Miss America stage.
Black female beauty was deemed
unworthy of celebration,
and three stereotypes had seeped
into the dominant culture.
Borne out of slavery,
the stereotypes typically
presented Black women
as Mammies, Jezebel,
or the angry Black Sapphire.
It's in this environment
that businessman
J. Morris Anderson,
working with NAACP,
created
the Miss Black America pageant
in 1968.
The event was set
in Atlantic City,
across the street from
and on the same night as
the 44th Miss America pageant,
and it was in part
a protest against
the prevailing beauty norms.
But Miss America
was experiencing
a crisis of its own.
400 predominantly white,
middle-class women
descended on the pageant,
protesting its
objectification of women
through beauty contests.
The irony is
these two protest events
were wildly contradictory,
and placed Black
and white women
on opposite sides of
the beauty paradigm.
To understand why,
we have to look to the past.
Brittany: Some of
the most disturbing things
in regards to the history
of Black women
go back all the way to
the 16th and 17th century,
when you're looking at journals
from British
or European explorers
and their descriptions
of when they encounter
Caribbean or African women,
and they describe them as
monstrous bodies with, you know,
long breasts and big,
um, bigger nipples.
And you know, again,
to make it counter to
what they've seen
from white women, right?
We're constantly
being identified as "beast,"
and as less than and sub-human.
And we continue to
see those images
just recast in different ways
as the centuries move forward.
[shutters clicking]
Cheryl Thompson: I like to
start in the 19th century.
Yes, there was a lot of things
before then, obviously.
But it's in the 19th century
where you have this
real need, again, to preserve
the sanctity
of white womanhood.
That's why I say
the Victorian era--
We're talking
about post-1850--
Suddenly, there's this idea
of let's define what's pure.
Let's define purity.
Let's also define domesticity.
So, white womanhood gets
attached to the domestic realm.
That means real women
are in the home.
Black women
always worked in the fields.
So, right there,
suddenly, we're not women,
because we've never
been in the home.
So, the idea of womanhood
then gets extended
into the 20th century.
Women stay home.
Women get married.
They stay home,
they have children,
but wait a second.
Black women never stay home.
Black women are having kids,
sometimes with different people,
because us marrying was also
kind of a difficult thing
during slavery.
So, we're already
seen as immoral
and not upholding
the sanctity of womanhood.
And then what happens is
you get into the 1940s.
World War II was a moment
all women went out to work.
Everyone working in the factory,
doing all the jobs
you said you'd never do.
Then what happens?
It's the 1950s.
"Oh, get back into the house."
But what is the 1950s?
That's the heyday
of domestic help.
So, where white women
went back into the house,
Black women went into
their house to serve them
and to clean up
after them once again.
So, the history of Black
womanhood and white womanhood,
it is so overlaid with labour
and these issues of
purity and domesticity.
I definitely think
that historically,
there's been a sort of
binary that's been set up
when it comes to beauty.
This idea of beautiful and ugly.
This idea of pure and dirty.
And because of racism,
a lot of times
that binary also included
the binary of Black and white.
Um, and that led to
Black women being on one end
and white women
being on the other.
Ryann Richardson:
My life in pageantry started
in the most
nonsensical way possible.
No one would've
ever expected it.
I was a jock.
I played football and ran track.
And when I started
competing in pageants,
I won a lot.
I earned a lot of scholarship.
I paid for the majority of
my undergraduate education.
I'm a product of
what Miss Black America
inspired in 1968.
So, it's really interesting
and really cool to think
50 years later, having gained
all that I've gained
from pageantry
and from the culture
that Miss Black America created,
I could be part of that
Miss Black America legacy.
Woman:
The two eight-count walk,
y'all going to switch, okay?
You have enough time to switch.
You hear me?
And don't forget:
in the beginning, smile.
This is the opening number.
And one. Do it again.
Just the walk...
Okay.
Woman: Five, six, seven.
And one, two, three.
Do it again.
Okay. Turn.
Go back. Try it again.
Just you two.
Oh, yeah. Show me.
Show me the way.
Woman:
Five, six, seven. And--
What's wrong with being,
what's wrong with being
What's wrong with
being confident?
Bah-bah-bah
Hey, hey, hey. That last move
should be like snatch.
Da-da-da
Down. Y'all hear that pause.
Like, snatch...
Alex Germain:
I could go on and on about
why I wanted to be a part of
the Miss Black America pageant,
but to keep it
short and sweet,
I needed something
that represented me.
I needed to feel as though
I mattered
and my voice mattered,
and I could be a reflection
to other girls who-
I was once in their position,
and I can say,
"I'm going to do that
one day."
Growing up, there's no one who
looked like me in my classes.
Not my teachers
or the administration
or my best friends.
I remember vividly.
I believe it was sixth grade.
I would walk into
the playground after lunch,
and all the boys line up
and they start making
monkey noises at me.
It affected me in ways
that I didn't know
would carry on into
my adulthood.
Hi, Mommy.
So, it wasn't until college,
where I had to
let that go.
I had to be strong
in myself
and let those voices go.
Even now that I'm 22
and I'm Miss Black New Mexico--
The first one, might I add--
There's times where
it still gets to me.
You have to be
your biggest motivator.
The eyelashes and lipstick,
that doesn't mean anything.
I literally had to tell
myself I was beautiful.
I had to tell myself every day
what I loved about myself.
Every day.
What's this?
I think when you
see a pretty girl,
you don't really think
that they have issues,
but when you
don't love yourself,
you don't love anything.
So, getting to the place
where I could even compete
to be Miss Black New Mexico,
and then winning,
it kind of feels like
I can't stop now.
What else can I do?
What else can I conquer?
[cheering and applause]
[cheering continues]
I'm just laid back, chill,
wear some sweat pants
and some sneakers.
I walk out the door,
I still get cute.
But you know, chilling.
I've always been chilling.
I was scared.
I did not like the plane.
The plane is moving.
It's shaking.
This is not
what I signed up for.
Let's turn around.
Let's go back.
I was expecting the girls
to be really mean.
Like, I was, like, "Oh, my God."
Like, they're so serious.
Like, oh, my gosh.
But then,
when I walked in the hotel,
they embraced me with open arms.
They were, like,
"Oh, my God, girl.
You in the pageant?"
It was so hard
to not be a tomboy,
considering the fact
that I don't know how
to walk in heels.
'Cause they said, "Oh, no.
You can't walk
around like that."
Like, doo-doo-doo. No.
You need to walk around
like you know what you're doing.
So, I practised and practised,
and apparently,
they say I'm doing a good job.
Thank you.
Do you mind if I recite a poem?
I look at my eyes
and I see beauty.
I have my mother's eyes,
and they shimmer like jewellery.
I had to upchuck the critique
that I needed to
better my physique.
And I learned to love myself,
not in vain and in conceit.
'Cause I am me
You are you
I am Black
I am beautiful
I am me
You are you
I am Black, oh-oh-oh
I'm beautiful
I'm beautiful
I am Black
I am beautiful
I am me
You are you
I am Black
I am beautiful
India Arie: My first song
"Video",
that song taught me a lot
about people.
Because literally,
the whole time I was writing it,
I just thought,
this is how I want people
to understand who I am.
And then it came out,
and people were telling me
that that's how they felt,
and I was, like,
"Oh. Oh, right."
We all feel insecure
about something.
We all have, like, a part,
a place inside of us
that we're insecure
about something.
I don't have
better words than that.
And we wonder if
that makes us flawed,
and if that flaw makes us
unworthy of being loved,
and if that unworthiness
means that we'll never--
You know, like,
there's a place that we--
It's like an unravelling
that can happen
just from one little thing.
Just because we live in
this world that tells us
somebody's perfect,
but you're not.
Cheryl:
Black has always been cool.
Beauty is different.
In the realm of beauty,
Black is not cool.
In beauty culture,
Black has to be minimized
as much as possible,
or exoticized in a certain way
where you really
see the difference.
I always go back to
Olympia's maid.
Well, they call it "Olympia,"
the Edouard Monet "Olympia."
Well, Olympia's maid is
standing right behind her.
And for nearly over a century,
white art historians had talked
about Monet's "Olympia,"
and they never mentioned
the Black woman
standing behind her.
They just don't see us.
It took a Black woman in,
like, 1992
to suddenly say,
"What about Olympia's maid?
Have you noticed?"
And they were like,
"Oh. We never noticed her."
How could you not notice her?
Heather Widdows: I don't think
I ever made a decision
to study beauty. I gradually
found myself doing it.
And I just followed
the arguments.
So, I've worked on issues
of reproductive rights,
of women's rights,
of global justice.
And gradually, I began to see
that appearance and beauty was
becoming more and more dominant
in young women's lives,
and that this was
an issue of justice, too.
Beauty is becoming
an ethical ideal.
And by this,
I mean it's the value framework
that we build our lives around.
That we judge
ourselves and others
on how much we
conform to the ideal.
That the more we make
the appearance grade,
the better we
believe ourselves to be.
The less we make
the appearance grade,
the more we fail.

When I was younger,
I think I had an idea
that there was only
one type of beautiful.
Mm-hm.
And in terms of my, like,
definition of beauty changing,
it's been trying to,
like, teach myself
that there are so many
different types of beautiful.
When I was younger,
I used to think that, like,
the only way you could be
pretty was if you were white
and if you had
more straight hair,
and if you, like, only had
a certain type of body.
And if you were anything
different from that, then you--
Maybe you could be,
like, pretty,
but you could never be,
like, truly beautiful.
My whole life
I've been, like, battling.
Sort of, like,
apologizing for who I was
or what I looked like.
Even, like, as a kid,
wearing braids to school
and wanting to take them out
because I knew they
were a Black thing,
and I didn't want to
be associated with that.
Sometimes I also feel,
like, guilt as well.
Like, sometimes I just
see my Blackness as, like,
something weighing me down.
When, like...
it just should be
something to celebrate.
I remember last summer,
there's this guy that
I was, like, think--
I kind of liked him,
and I told my friend,
who's another guy,
and they were friends.
Kind of a bad mistake,
but he was, like,
"Oh, yeah, like,
he thinks you're hot."
He said, "You're the hottest
Black girl I've ever seen."
And I was, like, oh, okay. Yeah.
I'm the hottest Black girl.
Like that had to be said.
And that's always a thing.
Like, my Blackness
will be put
in front of everything.
I'm not just going to be pretty
because I'm pretty.
I always heard, "You're very
pretty for a Black girl."
And it wasn't until I got
older that I realized--
I unpacked that sentence,
that it's literally saying,
"Despite being Black,
you're very pretty."
And it's such a back-handed--
It's not even a compliment.
You're saying that
I'm really lucky that I'm pretty
because I'm Black, and I have
that fighting against me.
Pageantry made me aware
of this concept of beauty
that was being applied to me,
but a greater society dictated
what exactly
the standard would be.
The pageant would
release the head shots
of all the girls competing
a few weeks before
the competition,
and all of
the pageant commentators
in the community would get
on this message board forum
and start to chatter about,
uh, their predictions
for what was going to happen.
Who was going to be the cream
that would rise to the top?
And I was so
confident in myself,
because I'd done so well
for the last several years,
that I knew I had
to be the frontrunner.
And the first comment
that I saw was,
"No. Her features
are too ethnic."
I knew exactly what that meant.
My nose was too broad.
Lips, too full.
I looked too Black.
And it shook me.
And it shocked me,
and it pissed me off.
I actually came to a point where
I appreciated that comment,
because for the first time,
I felt like somebody was honest
about what their
feedback really was.
Why I had been so successful,
racked up all the awards
you can imagine,
but still couldn't quite win.
Why I had gotten
the feedback that
"We just want to
soften your look."
And I thought,
what does "soften" mean?
I'll wear lilac. I'll wear pink.
I don't know if it
goes well with my skin.
But I can soften.
I can do highlights.
And ultimately,
it wasn't about softening.
It wasn't about styling.
It was about somebody
who was finally nasty enough
or ballsy enough
to say what it was.
I was too damn ethnic.
And that stuck with me
for a long time.
I never internalized
that feedback, right?
Because I never took it
as a statement on my worth,
but I did take it
as a real recommendation,
a valid recommendation,
for what had to happen
if I wanted to be
successful in this space.
I had to change
the ways in which
I looked too ethnic to people
who are uncomfortable
with my Blackness.
I had to learn
to contour my face
and style myself
to draw away from features
that are so distinctly Black.
And I got really good at it.
I am really good at it,
but it was a means to an end.
I never believed I needed
to look that way
to be beautiful, to be Ryann,
to be great, to be excellent,
but I did to win.
Little white kids would
always comment on your hair.
"Oh, it's so big.
You look like a lion."
You know? Like,
"You look like an animal."
You know? It'd just be, like--
No one else says
that to anybody else.
It took me a while to realize,
like, no.
This is just how it is,
you know?
It's going to be easier
for them. It just is.
I was, like, bullied a lot
when I was younger.
Like, the very, like,
overtly racist things
from a very young age
that obviously skewed
my perception of beauty
and, like, Blackness and myself.
Most of was just kind of,
like, little stuff
that I've internalized.
The bigger stuff
is kind of, like,
the unspoken things
that people say.
'Cause they're going to be,
like, "You look like poo.
You look like a monkey."
Like, "Is your hair real?
Can I touch it?
Can I play with it?"
Like, my least favourite
thing is when, like,
people play with my hair
and I tell them to stop,
and they're like,
"I'm not going to stop."
I'm, like, "What?"
Like, "What are you doing?"
As a consequence
of trivializing beauty,
a number of things happen.
The first is that
we don't take seriously
beauty as a topic for research.
So, we are not looking
at what it means
for our young people
and, in fact,
our older people, too,
when they value beauty most.
The second thing that happens
is we largely treat it as
a matter of individual choice.
That means that we don't
take account of just how much
the demands of
beauty are rising.
We leave it up to
individuals to resist.
So, one of the very
few things that we do
when it comes to
the harms of body image
is talk about resilience.
And by "resilience,"
we mean that individual,
they should be resilient.
How is an individual
going to be resilient
against the dominant
beauty ideal?
Right? That's a ridiculous
thing to ask.
We need to think much more
about how we change the culture.
I think when
I discuss my childhood,
with growing up with white kids,
I think that subconsciously,
I try to water it down.
There's a lot of trauma
that we all go through.
We just don't
recognize it as trauma,
and we don't get
the help for it.
And I think that
with Black women,
before we're even born
people have an idea
of how we should act,
when we should act
a certain way
and how we go about things.
So, if I already
am born into a box,
you're not giving me any freedom
to self-identify who I am.
You're not giving me
any freedom to evolve.
You're just keeping me
in that box.
Narrator:
Then, in 2013,
a new movement emerged
that celebrated Black women
for persevering
through adversity.
Black Girl Magic became.
Popularized by CaShawn Thompson
and inspired by
Michelle Obama's speech
at the Black Girls Rock Awards,
Black Girl Magic ushered in
an era of Black women
embracing themselves
in all their glory.
It's in the midst of this
that a shocking revelation
unfolded in the media,
one that no one anticipated.
Rachel Dolezal:
So, my name is Rachel Dolezal,
and I have, for my entire life,
felt a connection to Africa
and to, um, the original woman,
which is a Black woman.
But my very first memory is,
at four, drawing a picture.
You know, 'cause there was,
like, you know,
"Draw a picture of yourself."
And I drew a picture
of myself, smiling,
and I had brown skin
and I had curly braids
and lipstick.
[laughing]
And I was smiling, and it was,
like, the happy picture.
And I just remember
the reaction to that.
They're, like,
"What is wrong with you?
"That's not you.
You don't have brown skin.
You don't have--
That's not--"
And feeling like I was--
Like there was
something wrong with me.
We are her birth parents.
And we do not understand
why she feels it's necessary
to misrepresent her ethnicity.
Rachel:
In 2015,
my biological parents
went on national television
and told the world that
my life was a lie
and that I am really white,
and that I was conning
and defrauding people.
I've gotten a lot of hatred from
many different groups,
I would say, since then,
and especially just
shaming and ridicule.
I've been called
an insult to white women
and an insult to Black women.
White women are angry,
because I did what they
never would do,
and went further.
Like, I put 100 on 10.
Like, I didn't just
be a white ally
and do a little bit.
I cancelled my white privilege,
I cancelled my hair.
For Black women, I feel like
it's a reaction to pain.
It's like a trigger.
Like, I'm a trigger, um,
to Post-Traumatic Stress.
When it comes to white men,
that's the group
that I am
the most scared of on
a level of threat,
because that's mostly
the white supremacy folks.


That's why I'm singing
[singing indistinctly]
My peace and happiness
Ooh
This pageant is
a beautiful thing,
because it's still needed
in the Black society.

The reason why I feel that
I still had that
insecurity growing up was
because it really didn't
matter how much my parents
influenced it,
at the end of the day,
the media is still out there.
- The media.
- The media.
- The media.
- The media.
In media,
when I saw Black women appear,
how they
were represented, right?
They were, um, somebody's
caretaker or maid, right?
They were the help
or, uh, they were this
over-sexualized, exoticized,
frankly piece of meat.
Somebody's video girl,
or they're the angry
Black woman,
and those were
the three options
for the type of Black woman
I was going to see.
The Mammy, Sapphire,
and Jezebel stereotypes,
they're deeply
rooted in history.
They haven't gone away,
they've just changed
and morphed into different kinds
of stereotypes and images,
but the essence
remains the same.
You were a deadbeat
the day my sister married you,
and you still a deadbeat today.
Don't get smart with me, girl,
my pressure's already up.
Dr. West: Sapphire was
a character on the old
Amos 'n' Andy radio shows.
I think now we
know her more as this
Angry Black Woman stereotype.
Who drank my apple juice?
Chris! Get in the bathroom
and wipe the pee
off the toilet seat.
If she looks at me
one more time cross-eyed,
I'm going to
gut her like a fish.
Dr. West: Sapphire was married
to another character,
Kingfish, and she was always
berating him,
very negative,
very critical of him.
He was sort of
always looking
for a way to make
a quick buck.
She would always
berate him about
just being lazy and shiftless.
Now, wait a minute here.
I think the delegation should
vote on
who's going
to carry the money.
Alright, vote!
I vote for Sapphire.
I vote for Sapphire.
I vote for Sapphire.
That settles that.
Dr. West: That image
served several purposes.
One, it made Black women's
anger seem not justifiable,
um, but almost a comedy,
and it made it easy to assume
that this is why Black women
are sexually undesirable,
because they are
so mean and nasty,
and perpetually angry,
and can fly off
the handle at any moment.
You know, the reason why
it was created is to justify
the lived reality of Black women
in the Black community,
whether that be,
um, economic realities,
employment realities,
the family structure,
the reason why we're--
we can't get married.
It's due to the Sapphires.
We continue to see the Sapphire
moving into the 21st century.
We can look at the way in which
Michelle Obama was characterized
as this kind of
militant angry Black woman.
Well, you know, I think one
way people are going to try
to defeat Obama is to somehow
prove he's other,
he's not one of us.
If they can't
prove he's a Muslim,
then let's prove his wife
is an angry Black woman.
And who are the Black women you
see on the local news at night
in cities all over the country?
They're usually
angry about something.
They've had a son who's been
shot in a drive-by shooting,
they are-- they are angry
at Bush or something...
So, you don't really
have a profile
of non-angry Black women...
You just sort of think,
"Dang, you don't even know me."
But then you sort of think,
"Well, this isn't about me."
This is about the person
or the people who write it.
Like, how does this woman,
who we would think is, like,
the quintessential
definition of respectability,
having Ivy League degrees,
become the Sapphire?
And more importantly, why aren't
we allowed to be angry?
If something tragic happens
in my life, as Black people,
we should be allowed
to cry, to scream, to yell,
to have the same
exact responses,
especially to the systematic
racism that we experience
on a day-to-day basis.
That's okay. We're human.
Are they going to see us?
I've got the exposure down.
- Okay.
- Hold on, hold on, hold on.
Want you to get
my good side. Come on.
Photographer:
I'm going to get you...
- Turn around.
- I was going to say...
Give me a couple pictures.
Ryann: I've worked with
colleagues whose exposure
to women of colour has
been limited largely
to what they've seen on TV.
[laughing]
And if all they've ever ingested
are three stereotypes
of what a Black woman is,
then to encounter something
that is distinctly different
or doesn't fit one of those
is... mind-blowing,
it's confusing, it's upsetting,
it's discombobulating.
They have to make sense
of what they're encountering,
and there are only three models
for what a Black woman can be,
and this, this sort of
competent, confident, outspoken
Black woman just must
be the Angry Black Woman.
Whoo.
Well, I was cast to be
one of five panellists on a...
Kind of like
the Survivor of novels.
It was a battle show.
You read a book,
you defend your book,
you make it to the end,
the winner,
the author gets to be crowned,
you know,
the book of the year.
It's important for us to really
look at what book is going to
have Canada open their eyes
to what is happening on today,
and yes, we celebrate
and we heal and we Kumbaya
and we light--
But, Jully, what about what's
happening with ourselves?
- I mean--
- That's good, that's amazing.
We got to change the world,
but people are really,
there are a lot of, like,
screwed up people in the world.
There's a lot of colonial
privilege happening.
Jeanne Beker, you know,
interjected as I was speaking,
it had nothing to do with her,
like, zero, but she's going
into the finals now.
She totally spoke over me
and, basically,
as I went to respond,
not react, I was exactly
where my feet were.
What are we doing to change
the current circumstances?
We just had a Pope say
he's not saying "I'm sorry"
to Indigenous Canadians
when he said that in 2015.
It is happening right now.
It's got to change.
Yes, we forgive,
I believe in Jesus.
Jeanne Beker: But why are you
attacking me, Jully?
Why are you attacking me?
"But Jully,
why are you attacking me?"
[laughing]
I actually did that same thing.
I was like,
"Did anybody, like..."
And it's as if
my mom, grandmother,
my nieces, my sisters,
every Black woman, girl, child
that I've ever known,
experienced,
directly or indirectly,
it's like they were all sitting
on my shoulders,
every last one of them,
and I was able to respond.
Oh, the truth hurts. I didn't
say anything to attack you,
Jeanne Beker.
I said nothing
about Jeanne Beker.
No, no. I'm just saying--
Did I say anything
about Jeanne Beker?
I just feel that you're speaking
to me like I don't believe that.
I totally get
what you're saying.
So, let me tell you
what you just said.
"I feel like."
So, whatever you're feeling,
take it to the altar,
'cause I'm not the one that's
responsible for your feelings.
Everybody who had some
pigment on their skin
came to me with a story saying,
"Wow, thank you for speaking up,
because I have been
labelled aggressive and angry
and attacking,
when really I'm educated
and I have an opinion,
and it was my right
to speak at that moment.

I'm constantly thinking
about what it means to be
the Sapphire,
and the angry stereotype.
So, instead of being able to
react the way that I want to
in any capacity, in any space
where it's not all Black,
I need to readjust, rethink,
and then act accordingly,
because I don't
want to be labelled
as the Angry Black Woman,
because if I am,
you know, I could be
considered unemployable.
"She can't work here,
she's too rash,
she doesn't know how to
talk to people, she's too loud,"
and that has very
material consequences.
Dr. Thompson: Black women have
always had to make claims
of we're women, too,
and so, what is that claim?
What does that really mean?
It means that
we are vulnerable,
it means that
we have feelings.
The public image of
Black womanhood is that,
man, we've got it together,
we're strong,
or strong and we're angry,
we're always aggressive.
You know, I think about it.
Like, a couple years ago
I gave a TED Talk, and they
took a series of pictures
in promotion of the TED Talk,
many pictures.
Me smiling, me, like, animated,
and then they asked for one
shot with my arms crossed,
looking, like, mean-grill,
and what picture did
they use in promotion?
I was the only person.
Arms crossed, mean grill.
Every other speaker was smiling,
and I thought to myself,
"Whoever chose this doesn't
even realize that in their head,
that's what
Black women look like."
So many times I have
been kind of cut down
to the Angry Black Woman.
I take up space,
my hair takes up space,
my whole self takes up space,
and there are lots of...
There are many times that people
have been threatened by that.
And, so, yeah, that title
of the Angry Black Woman,
has definitely been put
on me to delegitimize things
that I'm saying, to, um...
to silence me. To silence me.

[chattering]

[vocalizing]
[warming up]

[vocalizing]

[singing operatically]
And what Mr. Johnny
going to do when he come home
and find a coloured
woman in his house?
It's not like I'd be fibbing.
Dr. West: The Mammy is
a really interesting image.
I really need a maid.
It wasn't really
common or popular
during the enslavement period.
It came about
after the Civil War,
when the South had lost,
and it was this notion
of a benevolent South,
where everybody was happy,
where she was plump and well-fed
and Mammy sat on the porch
and she rocked the children.
Come here and sit on
Mammy's lap like you used to.
[chuckling]
Oh, my baby.
Narrator: From slavery through
to the reconstruction era
until today, the Mammy image
has served the interests
of mainstream white America.
During that time, the image
of the Mammy spread
through minstrel shows,
in literature,
in popular songs, radio shows,
as dolls, as household items,
and in numerous
marketing campaigns.
It also gave birth to one
of the most recognizable
trade names
in North America.
Aunt Jemima pancakes
The pancake mix of Aunt Jemima,
a slave in a box,
as one historian put it,
was a national sensation,
and by 1910,
more than 120 million
Aunt Jemima breakfasts
were being served annually,
but the company understood that
they weren't
just selling pancakes,
they were selling
the Mammy fantasy.
Brittany: I was called
Aunt Jemima while I was
in Miss America by
one of the volunteers.
She was, like,
an older white woman
and she'd been volunteering
for Miss America for years.
'Cause I had curlers in my hair,
and, mind you,
my other white roommates
and Miss America contestants
had curlers in their hair, too,
but because I had a scarf
around it, because I wanted
to keep it tight,
she said, "Well, don't you
just look like Aunt Jemima."
I wasn't going to
complain about it,
because I didn't want
to ruffle any feathers,
and I just told
the Black security.
He's like, "We don't tolerate
things like that in this system.
That's not okay." So, he ended
up telling the higher ups
for the Miss America board,
and when she found out that,
I guess, something was said
or got to the board
and potentially her volunteer
position was going to be revoked
she came to me
and instead of apologizing said,
"Well, I'm sorry.
It wasn't personal.
I'm from a different era.
Can you tell them
I didn't mean it?"
[laughing]
I mean, this is the reality,
and that was in, what, 2015?
And of course, you know,
the Miss America organization
took a stance on it and said,
"We don't tolerate
those things."
I do think she was released,
but I saw photos
where she was back just
two years later.

[applauding]
Narrator: So entrenched
and beloved was Mammy
that the first Black woman
to win an Academy Award
for Best Supporting Actress
was Hattie McDaniel in 1939.
This is one of
the happiest moments of my life,
and I want to thank each
one of you who had a part
in selecting me
for one of the awards.
Narrator: McDaniel played
Scarlet O'Hara's sassy
but loyal servant.
This was such an achievement,
it took 51 years before
a second Black actress,
Whoopi Goldberg,
would win an Oscar.
McDaniel's fame was so great,
that when she died
she received not one,
but two stars on
Hollywood's Walk of Fame,
and she was honoured
with a US postage stamp.
Why was McDaniel's so popular?
Few people realize that
she appeared in over 300 films,
but it was almost exclusively
playing sassy,
opinionated Mammies and maids
and house servants.

Dr. West: The internalization
of those images tell you,
"I don't need to
take care of myself,
I just need to take
care of other people
at the expense of taking
care of my own health."
So, I think that is something
I worry for Black women with.
Dr. Thompson: I actually
wrote an article about it.
"I'm Not Your Nice Mammy"
or something like that.
They called it that,
because I was sick and tired
of white women that I knew
in my life acting as if
I needed to nurture them.
I'm not here to nurture you,
make you feel good,
feel good on your own.
I got my own problems.
Who's going to help me out?
So, emotional labour
is a real thing,
and a lot of white women
don't realize it,
but they, too,
have drank the juice
of their own victimhood.
Something happens at work,
they're like,
"You see how they treat women?"
It's like,
"Honey, aren't you CEO?"
[laughing]
You know? Like, what are
you complaining about?
I'm in the mailroom.
Like, perspective.
So, their perspective is off,
and why is it off?
Because it's been a century
of film and television
sending that same message.
You are victims,
you need to be saved.
Narrator: No image of a Black
woman has been more adored
than the Mammy for over
a century.
Historian Catherine Clinton
outlines that Mammy was created
as unattractive to sell the idea
that no reasonable white man
would choose a fat,
elderly Black woman
over his wife,
the idealized white woman.
So, the de-eroticization of
Mammy meant that the white wife
and by extension,
the white family was safe.
But in truth, the Mammy
was re-imagined to hide
an extensive history of
sexual violence and rape
against Black women.
You see Mammies were
often young and very slim,
or even children,
like Harriet Tubman
who was seven when she
had to care for a baby.
But to make a history
of rape palatable,
another stereotype was created,
that of the Jezebel.
Are you gonna hurt me?
The Jezebel stereotype is
a stereotype that came out
of slavery that said that Black
women who were enslaved
were hyper-sexual.
So, it's the complete
opposite of the Mammy.
I'm so afraid right now.
[hissing]
They have no control
over their urges,
they want sex all the time.
And so, rape could not be
considered a criminal act,
if you are doing it
to someone who is
constantly hungering for sex.
It's almost like you
can't rape the un-rapeable.
So, it made it easier
certainly to believe
that rape couldn't exist
against African American
or Black women.
So, it made it seem that
rape wasn't an issue.
[Narrator reading]
Narrator: But the awful truth
was that the image
of the seductive,
alluring, lude Black woman
was created to
negate the systemic
and violent sexual
exploitation of Black women.
Patsey's experience in 12 Years
A Slave exemplifies this,
whereby Epps, freely and legally
rapes her with no consequences.
Some sources estimate that 58
percent of all enslaved women
aged 15 to 30 were sexually
assaulted by slave owners
and other white men,
and the legal system
allowed for this.
Black women have
never been protected
when it comes to their bodies,
but I think,
even after slavery
had officially ended,
the reality is Black women
were still being raped
on a massive scale.
And it couldn't be prosecuted
in the correct way.
We see our activists such as
Ida B. Wells, Rosa Parks,
who were working
on behalf of Black women
that were being raped.
Rape was used as
a form of control.
It was a way to say,
"Hey, you know,
this is what I'm going
to do to your family,
"this is what I'm going to do to
the women in your community.
"You need to get
out of my community.
"You need to behave in
the way that I'm telling you
that you need to behave,
and if not,
these are going to be
the consequences."
Narrator: 1959, the year a white
man was first convicted
of raping a Black woman
in America.
It was the case of
Betty Jean Owens
who was discovered by
the police bound, gagged,
and lying on the backseat
floorboards of a car
where her four white assailants
had just raped her seven times.
They confessed to the rape,
there were
eye-witness testimonies,
and significant
physical evidence,
but the prosecutor's tactic to
characterize Owens as a Jezebel
who therefore could
not have been raped.
The judge sentenced
the men to life imprisonment.
Six years later, however,
David Beagles was paroled.
He then tracked down a woman
he believed was Betty Jean Owens
and murdered her.
With an estimated 1 to
1.5 million Black women
being raped during slavery,
followed by a reign of
sexual violence terror
during the Jim Crow era,
even today,
Black women remain unprotected.
Malcolm X:
The most disrespected person
in America is the Black woman.
The most unprotected person
in America is the Black woman.
The most neglected person in
America is the Black woman...

There is a legacy of Black women
experiencing some type
of sexual violence
or sexual harassment
and it being thrown
under the rug
and not fully
and adequately addressed.

Seraiah: I am the girl
who survives depression
on the daily,
but as I grew older,
things got intense.
My innocence was
lost in this city.
I was raped and molested,
the men weren't tested.
The days went by but
the stain multiplied.
I stopped speaking out,
'cause no one believed me,
living as a Black woman
sure ain't easy.
I was 14, so...
And it happened a couple times.
When that happened,
instead of it making me become
a stronger person...
I mean, I was stronger,
but my high school experience,
like, I didn't feel strong.
I didn't feel like
I could even speak out.
Ain't nobody going
to believe me anyway,
'cause when I did,
people wasn't even believing me.
I was... They're like,
"Oh, you're just being a child."
"No, I'm being a teenager,
letting you all know, like,
this happened to me
by my own people."
It's just so much that
goes in with it and I feel like
Black women are raped a lot,
or molested a lot,
and it's like,
there's so many untold stories,
and we just
keep it to ourselves.
It's like, even if we tell them,
it's like,
"Well, will you receive it?"
"Are you really
gonna hear us out?
You know,
are you gonna do anything?"
You know,
so it's just really hard,
and when you don't get that,
it's like,
"Well, then there's no point,"
you know?
Sometimes you don't even
feel like speaking out.
At parties, people will be like,
"Can you twerk?
"Like, can you twerk for us?
Like, teach us how to twerk."
And I'll be like,
I don't know how to do that.
Like, and I'm just not
going to do that for you,
just because you think
I have the butt for it,
or you think that
because I'm Black
I should be able to do that.
People also assume that
I'm like, a lot more,
like, promiscuous.
Like, I don't really
know how to say this,
but I'm just not.
[giggling]
Like, I don't have-- I think
like, being very comfortable
in your sexuality is
very, very important,
but I just am not at
this stage in my life,
where, like,
I am enjoying that
as much as people think I am.
Brittany:
We live in a society
where sexuality has been
absolutely commodified.
But I think in regards to
the Black community,
and whether or not
we have bought into that,
again,
it comes down to the money.
And I think we certainly see
that in the Hip Hop culture.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely
want to give our rappers,
our video vixens agency.
I certainly want to be
able to say that they can
own their sexuality and they can
do it in front of camera,
and they can do it for money.
And that's their agency,
and that's their choice,
and they may feel
empowered by that.
But I also think we
need to look at it again
under this umbrella of
oppression and commodity
and the fact that
our bodies are sellable.
So, I think, yes,
there are elements of,
not only
the mainstream community,
but our own personal community
buying into this capitalist
notion that sex sells
and Black women's bodies sell.
That's my theory,
that they feel as though,
in order to be
attractive to all masses,
I have to show
less and less and less.
I also have to be
kinkier about my sexuality.
Sex sells,
but sex sells differently
when it comes to Black women.
And we are in a time to be like,
"Yeah, this is my sex life
and you can't shame me for it.
But I feel like,
we've now crossed the line,
and that's the only
way to be successful.
I think this image gives--
It's a false illusion
that they're really
controlling their sexuality.
But are they really controlling
it by creating these images,
or are they just mimicking
who and what they're told
they should be,
because that's who Black women
have depicted as for centuries?
He's got that magic
The way he touches me,
so spiritual
He's so everything,
he's a miracle

India Arie:
In the music industry,
99.9 percent of
female artists of any race
are having to play
the Jezebel role.
Matter of fact,
let me rephrase that.
99.9 of Black female artists
have to play the Jezebel role.
In my mind,
85 percent of other races
of female artists
have to play the role.
You know, like, diversity in
the Black community,
the biggest artists, you can
look at the Billboard right now
and they all fit into
the Jezebel stereotype,
because that's what they need
you to be to make them money.
When I think about myself,
you know, of course I've
questioned it like, before,
and I was like, "Do I really
like, have to do that?
Like, do I really have to...
you know, be sexy?"
Sex is always gonna sell,
I believe.
But can we get some diversity?
Like, and when can we
get it again?
And can it be diversity
where you don't have to be
a once in a lifetime great,
like Aretha Franklin
for people to allow
you to be heavier,
or darker, or different?
Like, can't you just be
a nice artist who is good?

Dr. West:
I think you have to understand
with all of these images,
it's much like going
through life,
looking at yourself
in a cracked mirror.
The mirror is cracked
and it's warped,
and it's distorted
like when you go
to a fun house.
And you're saying,
"That's not who I am.
That's not who
I know myself to be."
But every media
image you see,
that's what's getting
reflected back to you.
You're saying no,
that's not how I am.
And then,
when you get angry about it
and you try to assert
your own individuality,
people say, "Well, see?
That's actually who you are."
We are Black, beautiful
I'm Black, y'all,
I'm Black
[lyrics overlapping]
I'm Black, y'all
I'm Black, y'all
Stay Black, y'all,
beautiful
[cheering, applause]
Please, listen to the words,
and I hope that it
resonates with you.
This song is titled "Melanin".

Softly tan, got to be that
Cinnamon in a Black eye
[singing indistinctly]
Make the sisters and brothers
love one another
When we loving
like a mother
Loco lingo is super,
dish nothing
It's that exquisite magically
delicious, blending...
This goes on
with your flavour
Go forever
Go, go, go!
I was always compared to my
sister growing up.
My sister's lighter than me,
so it was a compliment at first,
but then I'm like,
"Mm. Well I want to be
beautiful in my own way too."
India Arie: I came from
a family, from a culture,
from a social circle
that loved being Black.
I was taught being Black was
a wonderful thing.
Nobody ever said anything about
having to change my hair,
or anything about being what
shade of brown I was.
I didn't know anything about
that really.
So in 2013, I released an album
called "Songversation".
The first single from
"Songversation" was a song
called "Cocoa Butter".
We had an image
that was
the cover of that song,
and it's funny, like, I'm making
this face right now
'cause I'm like,
"We just did a photoshoot."
I had on a cute dress, the light
was blown out real bright,
the dress had gold reflection,
the background was gold,
I just looked, to me, gold.
You know, like, how you look--
different light does
different things to your skin.
Science. That's what I saw.
And then one person said,
"India Arie meant
so much to my daughter,
and to see her lighten
her skin like this is..."
Blah, blah, blah,
they just went on and on about
how they were mad about it.
I literally was like,
"What are they talking about?"
And then, I was said,
"We're still doing this?"
I said,
"We're still doing this?"
The Black community we're
still doing colourism?
That's literally what I thought.
Brittany: In our community,
we're propelling
light-skinned individuals
as the standard of beauty.
We can date it all the way
back to our entrance
as enslaved beings
into uh, this country,
and into the Caribbean
and other surrounding areas.
You know,
if you were light-skinned
you were afforded
certain privileges,
that dark-skinned
individuals were not.
And then we see that once
slavery is outlawed,
that the Black
community was actually
some of the first people
to create particular tests
around colourism,
namely the comb test.
If this comb cannot
go through your hair,
you cannot join this church
or this organization.
The brown paper bag test.
If you're darker
than the brown paper bag,
you cannot join
this organization.
The blue vein test.
If we can't see your
veins through your arms,
you cannot join
this organization.
So this is something that
has manifested historically
in our community,
but not to be separated
from the overarching
frame of white supremacy
that has created this reality
and has created
the standard of beauty
and all that is important
and dominant as whites.
I remember when I was
in grade 9 or 10
and men starting to, you know,
show interest in me,
and that happening
in not a very nice way.
It was like catcalls.
Like, that was how it started.
And one of those
catcalls was something like,
"Look at her with her long
thick hair and her light skin,
I'd like to breed that."
And I was just like...
"What does that mean?" You know?
And that started this really
long and problematic journey
with understanding
light-skinned privilege.
[whirring]
I thought that this was
just a New Mexico problem,
but it's worldwide.
I see no other culture,
ethnicity, background
degrade their own women,
except for the Black community.
I don't see
Hispanic men ever say,
"I don't date Hispanic women."
I don't hear white men say,
"I don't date white women."
But I've heard it time
and time again that Black women
are not enough for Black men.
But when it comes
to police brutality,
when it comes to protesting,
when it comes to
standing up for Black people,
it's always the Black women
who have the Black men's back,
and it's always
the Black women who initiate.
Why is it that we're okay
to love behind closed doors,
but once you get big and famous,
we're no longer what you want.
Oftentimes, when I have
conversations with Black men,
they will say, "Oh,
it's just my preference."
And it's like, "Well,
that's not how this works."
Preferences are created by
some type of external stimuli.
There's a reason why
you have a preference.
There's a reason why you
like one colour over the other
whether you know it or not.
Some of the most difficult
and heart wrenching
and challenging conversations
that I've had with homegirls
have been around
colourism and shadeism,
and what it means
to roll as a crew
and who gets, you know,
picked up when we go out,
and who doesn't.
Come in! Well, hello, hello!
Come right in.
[chattering]
- How you doing?
- Hello, hello, hello.
How you been, my friend?
Grab a glass, grab a glass.
I missed you too.
To us.
All: Cheers.
Okay, we have to clink.
People ask me, like,
"What are you?"
And I'm like, "Oh,
I'm half Black, half Spanish."
- That's what I identify as.
- Right.
I grew up in a predominantly
white neighbourhood,
where like, I was--
- One of the few.
--of a handful of like,
kids that were mixed or Black.
My dad is Black,
my mom is Spanish.
But I feel like when you
have a drop of Black in you,
people look at you as Black,
and I consider myself Black.
Yeah. And so,
my question to you guys,
'cause I hear this a lot, of...
"I don't date Black girls."
But I've been around you guys
and I know boys who are like,
"I'm trying to holler
at your friend."
And they always say to me,
"I don't date Black girls,
- but she's light-skinned."
- What?
- I hear that a lot.
- They say that?
A lot of the athletes
that I used to hang out with
they would say that. They'd be
like, "I don't date Black girls,
but she's light-skinned--
You should say, "Well,
she's still a Black girl."
Well, she's still a Black girl!
When my mom
was pregnant with me,
had nightmares
and she would cry because my mom
was having a baby
with a Black man.
And she would cry and like,
I came out light
and she was okay.
She... yeah.
I have Black friends,
but I don't have
a lot of Black friends
that are Black in
the same way that I am.
Because a lot of my friends,
you know,
people think that they're
Spanish or something.
Like, there's no
mistaking that I'm Black.
And being a lighter
version of Black
has always been
way more celebrated.
I mean, people put it in their
user names for God's sake.
Light-skinned Princess.
Like, it's like what?
You know, you never see any
dark-skinned girls doing that,
because it's never been
a good thing to be dark-skinned.
I even still remember thinking,
"Oh, at least I'm like,
not too dark," you know,
"at least I'm like,
at least a little bit lighter."
Which is so problematic.
But I think even in terms of how
we were talking about colourism
and how like, maybe like,
certain dark-skinned women
are accepted versus others,
I think every kind of like,
I guess category of Blackness
has its specific standards
that you need to meet.
Being a dark-skinned Black girl,
I definitely have
noticed differences,
and even from my sister.
Like, we're pretty
close in complexion,
but I'm clearly darker.
I think mainly, the thing is,
like, with guys,
and how-- what they
think is attractive.
You're always categorized.
You're not just a Black girl,
they'll be like,
"Oh, is she dark-skinned?"
"Oh, is she light-skinned?"
Like, if she's dark-skinned,
"Oh, she's not that pretty,"
or, like, things like that.
And I just think,
it's definitely there.
I'm Rayne's sister,
so I obviously like,
have some firsthand
experience with her boy drama.
I've like, seen her friends,
like a good 90 percent of them
fit the stereotypes of
like the blonde, blue-eyed,
like, skinny, like,
princess, rich whatever.
And like,
I don't really know that
much about their love lives,
but I know a lot about yours,
and like, I know,
like, your confidence,
and like, your personality
is, like, something that just
draws people towards you.
But obviously without saying,
like,
you're an extremely,
exceptionally beautiful person.
I will not tell you this again,
but you are.
[all laughing]
India Arie: You know how many
people are never gonna be heard
just based on them not
being the right shade of brown?
Or not having
the right hair texture,
not having the right combination
of brown facial features
and hair texture? Just "You
don't have the right combination
"it don't matter
how good you are."
Do you know how many people
are not gonna be heard?
I just thought
that we were better.


[singing]

Black hair is so versatile.
Black hair is so natural.
You can do any hairstyle
with Black hair,
from a weave to a wig
to a colour to a relaxer,
you can just be
extremely creative.
Black hair, to me,
embodies all textures.
You can have silk, you can
have cotton, you can have wool,
and all of that is allowing us
to have a canvas
to create from.
So many times people have
tried to diminish our value
and they have used
our hair against us,
and one of the reasons
I think other people recognize
the strength and the power
that's in our hair.
Like, our hair grows up,
and out.
And it's in your face,
and it's gorgeous,
and it's fabulous.
I believe they see us as--
as "exotic,"
as glamazons, as eclectic,
as untouchable, almost.
Unreachable.
"Oh, she can change her hair
every day if she wants to."
We have permission
to choose a look.
But what I think many
of them don't realize
is oftentimes,
when we're choosing a look
or choosing a character,
or choosing a persona,
there are other things
going on inside of us
that we have had to hide
in order to get
through certain doors.
It could be that you
took your dreads out
or you took your twists out,
or you permed your hair,
or you put on a weave, but why?
Outside of just
because you feel like doing it.
There's that aspect as well.
Sometimes we just feel
like flipping our look up.
But there are those
times where it's like,
"Am I accepted if
I walk through this door?"

In Africa, Black women
had ornate hairstyles, right?
'Cause those hairstyles signaled
whether you were married
or you were dating, you had
just lost-- your husband died.
That's what hair was,
it had meaning.
Suddenly you're in a slave ship
and then you come over here,
and there's no combs,
there's no products,
there's no one in the
neighbourhood that does hair.
You're literally
an enslaved person,
and your hair is all--
you know,
my mother would say,
"It all 'out a do," right?
What are you gonna do?
So that is actually the
beginning of also the head wrap.
Because they couldn't
care for their hair,
they had to cover it.
[humming]
So what happens is that,
you know, you have the masters
who want you to
work inside the house,
but they want you
to look like them.
They don't want
you to look like you.
So then, they start requiring
that if you're gonna work
in the house,
you have to wear a wig.

And so after a while,
think about it, in the psyche,
you start to see
your hair as a problem.
You can't care for it,
you have to cover it up,
when you enter
the plantation home,
you have to wear
their kind of hair.
Generation after generation,
you are going to start to think
your hair is a problem,
and that's what happens.
So then when we get into
the Reconstruction era,
post-slavery, so we're in
the 1880s and 1890s now.
Suddenly African-American
women are like,
"Well, we're not
enslaved anymore,
and we want to be beautiful."
And what is beauty?
Straightened hair.
And so now let's flash forward,
and enter Madam C. J. Walker.
Now Madam C.J. Walker says,
"You have a chance
to be beautiful.
"And not just that, you can
also be a business owner.
"Because you can learn
the Madam C.J. Walker system,
"learn how to shampoo, press,
and curl your own hair,
"to make it straight,
"and then you can help other
Black women do the same thing."
And straightened hair
is also now about progress.
Straightened hair is about
a new-- they used to say,
"A new century, a new Negro,"
right?
So now, straightened hair
is actually this thing
that is empowering.
So, for a long period of time,
straightened hair meant
that you were somebody.
That you had
dignity for yourself,
that you were no longer a slave,
you were--
you were disassociating
from that past.
This negative stigma that's now
attached to straightened hair
is really post the 1960s,
and the back-to-Africa,
Black is beautiful,
natural movement.
To where now they would say
"You're straightening your hair,
"somehow you don't
love yourself."
Meanwhile,
if we were to go back to 1920,
"You have straightened hair?
You love yourself!
"That's why you're
straightening."
I used to get bullied a lot for
wearing my hair like this.
A lot of Black men, especially,
did not view me as beautiful,
um, because of that...
so that's something that
really hurt me the most.
Black women, of course,
were encouraging,
but of course you get
people telling you,
"All right, when you
gonna straighten your hair?
"When you gonna do
something to your hair?
Your hair, your hair,
your hair," and it's like,
"All right, y'all, like,
this is my hair, though
at the end of the day."
Why do Black men
love straight hair?
If I could tap into that
consciousness as a Black woman,
that would have spared me
so many years of heartache.
I don't know. I mean, I think--
I think we have to think of it,
Black men are of this culture.
I used to teach a lot
of visual culture courses
and there is a quote by
Peggy Phelan, where she says
"If representation
equalled power,
"then white women should
be the most powerful women--
"people in the world,"
because that is actually
the image that you see the most.
I challenge everyone to
just start paying attention
to the images that you
see on a day-to-day basis,
you're gonna be like, "Oh my
God, Becky is everywhere!"
You're just
gonna start noticing!
White women are everywhere,
so think about that.
Now you're a man,
forget being Black.
You're just a man.
Everywhere you go,
you see a beautiful blonde,
typically white woman
in your face.
After a while, why wouldn't
you think that that's beauty?
And why wouldn't you--
even if you fall in love
with a Black woman,
want her to kinda start to mimic
that thing that you
probably secretly desire.
Rachel: So when I met Kevin,
I think he saw me as white,
but he also would have dated me
if I was light-skinned Black.
After we were married,
he never wanted me
to wear braids.
never wanted me to wear any kind
of textured hair, anything.
Wanted me to get my hair
straight and platinum blonde.
Then I thought, "You know what?"
"Like, he will be--
it will be better,
"'cause now we don't have
to do all that other stuff,
"and we're married, and like,
"I can help him love
himself as a Black man."
I-- you know, "I see beauty
and inspiration in Blackness.
"And he...
like, he'll get there."
He, on the other hand, wanted me
to be more European and whiter.
Because the whiter I was,
the more I was a trophy for him.
Blonde, straight hair,
as skinny as possible.
He would make comments about,
like, you know,
like... "No white woman
has that kind of a butt."
You know, like, "You need to
get a respectable white butt,"
you know, or whatever.
Just like...
[laughing]
I'm just, like, I just...
I don't know, like how do I...
And I constantly, like,
at the end of the marriage,
five year marriage, um,
my spirit was so repressed.
I don't even see myself as
special or beautiful or anything
'cause I've been so, like,
crushed into this, like,
white mould that
he wanted me to be.
And when I got divorced,
the first thing I did
was braid my hair.
[laughing]
The history of Black women
and the legal aspects
of our hair goes back to
Rogers V. American Airlines.
Like, that was a pivotal case.
So Rogers, her name was Rogers,
she was an airline stewardess
for American Airlines who was
fired for wearing cornrows.
That case actually
went through the courts,
and the decision was made
that yes, you can discriminate
against a Black woman
for her hairstyle,
because a hairstyle is mutable,
meaning it can be changed.
The judge said it has
nothing to do with culture,
it has nothing to do with--
with-- with, like, genetics,
"She can choose not to wear her
hair that way, she's choosing."
But what the caveat
is to that case
is that the judge actually cited
the movie Ten, with Bo Derek,
and said,
"Well, look at Bo Derek.
"She is blonde,
blue eyes, and look,
"she did a movie where
she cornrowed her hair,
"and now it's not cornrowed."
He literally said,
in his judgement,
"We can't understand
why the plaintiff
"is trying to be like Bo Derek."
I.e., Bo Derek-- Bo braids,
so she invented braids
'cause she was in a movie,
"Why would you want to be like
her? You should be yourself."
And so that case was a landmark
case because it also signified
to Black community that again,
the outer world
seems to think that we
are taking our cues from them,
meanwhile braiding
goes back to Africa.
It has nothing
to do with Bo Derek.
It has nothing to do
with a film. It's historical.
After that movie,
suddenly Bo braids
becomes a thing.
So all the top hair salons
in New York and LA,
they start doing braids!
Like, white women start
going into the hair salon
to get their hair
braided like Bo Derek,
and it's like, this thing,
like this craze,
the craze of '81,
it just takes over, right?
'Cause everybody
is getting braids.
And so it becomes
this amazing thing,
and then just like that,
it goes away.
Just like that, they said,
"Oh, braids are out.
"Why would you do that?
Black women do that."
So Rogers V. American Airlines
set a precedent.
In 2018, there was another
case of hair discrimination
that went against the precedent,
and it actually went up
to the Supreme Court.
That case hasn't
been decided on yet.

It's still legal
to fire a Black woman
because she cornrows her hair
or she has dreadlocks.
Everything we do
is cool on them,
but it's not cool on us.
That's why you see this
abundant amount of boxer braids
being the new trend,
or cornrows being the new trend.
Or laying your edges.
But that's what it is to them,
it's a trend,
and to us, it's our lifestyle.
And so when I see Kim K do it
and when I see other celebrities
doing things like that,
it's disheartening
because there are so many women
who get discriminated for it.
There are so many women
who go in for an interview,
and they won't get
the job based on their hair.
It's seen as "ghetto."
It's only ghetto 'til
a Kardashian does it.
The moment where we really
went into a total frenzy
talking about appropriation
of our culture, we're like,
Khloe Kardashian wore two
cornrows straight back,
and some women's
magazine ran a story
on "Khloe Kardashian's
daring new boxer braids."
And every Black woman
in the world
rolled their eyes in unison,
like, "Girl,
that is nothing
but the same cornrows that your
mother sent you to school in."
What's considered "ghetto"
is now popular. Okay?
Big lips all of
a sudden is the trend,
when all along,
we've always had full lips.
Why does my culture
have to be like a costume?
Like, I can just--
"Oh, I can just try this on,
"and look cute for this day,
and then just throw it away."
Amanda: Today it's not just
that big butts are celebrated,
it's like, massive butts
that have been,
you know, given "help"...
[laughing]
are what's celebrated.
There's the famous story
of Saartjie Baartman,
AKA Hottentot Venus.
You know, this tragic story
of a woman who was put into a--
who was stolen from her home,
and was put into a cage
to be on display, so that
people could gawk and point
at a woman who had features
that were considered so strange,
so out of their norm,
so animalistic...
[crowds shouting]
...that it was considered
worthy to put in a zoo,
to put in a cage as
spectacle for entertainment
during a night on the town.
And that same feature that was
the reason she was dissected
and was used as
a science experiment,
and that her body, to this day,
is still not completely
returned to her homeland,
is now on
the cover of magazines.
15 years ago,
we would not have imagined
a global ideal that required,
um, white women
to be doing lip fillers
and bum lifts.
I think the current ideal,
um, is a slightly new moment.
Now that doesn't in any
way mean that all those old
colonial hierarchies
aren't still really important
and influencing, you know,
so there are still very many
places in the world where fair
is still best, right?
And that's still true.
The area that I think is
changing dramatically
is the thinness with curves.
And that's partly because
we now can do buttock implants
and things, right?
So, there are ways in which
you can make a body bigger
in the right places, right?
That wasn't true before.
So, you can make a body thinner
by dieting.
Everybody can diet,
but it doesn't result
in the same bodies, right?
But you know, um, but um...
to make a body bigger
only in some places,
that's a really new possibility.
But the ideal
that we're ending up with
is one where it's not European,
either.
It really is global,
and I think that's something
that we probably couldn't have
imagined 15 years ago.
You know what, I think
white people don't know how
to not be the centre of
the universe, quite frankly,
and now we see, like, this
shifting global pop culture
that is American culture,
that is really just diluted
Black culture,
and that's got to be really
foreign to folks
who have always been
the star of the show,
always been the centre
of the party.
And I imagine it's got to be
uncomfortable
to try to navigate
through this world
where you now share a spotlight
that was always yours.
This is a really new moment
because, you know,
in a global world,
we are moving towards a very
different mixed ideal
where nobody's good enough
without help.
So, if you wanted to be
really cynical,
you might think part of what
happens in a mixed ideal
is that virtually no one
makes the appearance grade,
irrespective of race or class,
without help.
Jully: Typically, it's European
women that are doing it,
and they have all these legions
of followers,
and beauty brands send them
stuff and send them money,
and they pretend
and they wash it off!
And to them, they're doing
nothing wrong.
For some reason, greater
American culture
has a fascination with taking,
whatever has been done
by Black people
for years and years and years,
and putting it on a white girl
and calling it the new trend.
You just kind of have to sigh
and roll your eyes.
"Okay, sure, girl. Whatever.
Let me show you what
your next trend's gonna be."
Black-fishing, yeah,
you're pretending to be what
you're not.
People, it happens.
It's been happening!
It's been happening,
but you see,
the thing is now that there's
the means again to see it,
we're living in
the influencer generation,
which means
cha-ching-ching-ching.
There's money to be made.
It's all about the dollars
and the cents.
So, when certain models could
look like that look,
what they perceive
as the look of beauty,
whether it's the mulatto look
or that is-- exemplifies beauty,
it's interesting,
because not all of us
are walking around
with our natural hair
and chilling.
I find it extremely offensive!
Deeply, profoundly offensive,
because every time
somebody does that,
they're basically reducing
Blackness to aesthetics.
"Oh, I just need the lips,
I just darken my skin.
I just get the thing."
We're more than that.
That is not what it means
to be Black.
Those are just
aesthetics, right?
I don't understand how someone
willingly, and like,
spends money and time to, like,
try to blend themself into
a community that has just like,
been enduring, like,
everlasting oppression.
It's like the extremist
of appropriation.
Like, you're not even just
appropriating my culture
at this point.
You're genuinely just
trying to be me.
Growing up,
you want to be white.
Like, it's just like how it be.
Like, every Black girl
goes through it.
- Yeah.
- Like, you want to be white.
It ruins you! It's awful!
Like, it's a terrible
experience.
So, then to grow up
and to finally, like,
get into this stage of like,
"Yes, I love myself.
Blackness, beautiful, yum."
And then, like, the people
who you wanted to be
now want to be you.
- They deny it.
- Yeah.
They say like, "I didn't know
people thought I was Black."
Girl: Yeah.
It's like, "Yes, you did.
You know."
You can look in the mirror,
only Black people look
like that.
Brittany: There's
an entire spectrum
of appropriating
Blackness, from Rachel Dolezal,
who, you know,
was appropriating it
for perhaps different reasons
than what we see with the Ariana
Grandes or the Kim Kardashians
or the Instagram models
or video vixens.
But to me, the entire spectrum
is problematic
because it's again
appropriating culture.
It can be washed off,
and again, that is not the
experience of Black people,
and anyone that wants to support
the Black community
should be doing so as an ally,
rather than centring themselves
and their voices.
Hmm!
I think the problem with...
cultural appropriation
with regards to Black and white
women in America,
I think the problem with that
is that the history of race
is such a painful one,
that then, to be just be like,
"I like the way this looks!"
It's so, um...
it's dismissive of something
that's too profound to dismiss.
It's hard to expect
a 21-year-old
who just thinks that Black
people are pretty,
it's hard to expect them to
understand what they're doing
and how it is offensive.
And so, I understand why
they do it,
because it's beautiful.
Black and brown people,
brown skin, textured hair,
it's beautiful.
They wouldn't be doing it
if it weren't.
But the fact that
it's causing us so much pain,
or that it causes so much anger,
which pain, it's all pain.
The fact that it causes us
pain...
...my mind is going
back and forth
because how do you hold someone
responsible for something
that they just don't know?
They don't know,
and since they don't know,
it's flattery.
When I was wearing braids
in the '90s,
Black women around me
were saying like,
"Imitation is the most sincere
form of flattery.
To copy is to compliment."
Now, it's like nobody is saying
to copy is to compliment.
I'm a documentary addict,
basically.
And so, I literally was like,
"It came out today!
I got to watch this Rachel
Dolezal documentary on Netflix!"
Like, the day it came out.
And I had, um...
compassion for her.
She wants to be Black
from a place of love,
and it's sad, actually,
because...
I didn't feel like for her
it was coming from a place
of trying to gain something.
'Cause she lost everything and
she's still not living as white.
My only issue with
Rachel Dolezal
is just as we can't deny
the fact of our birth,
nor should you.
You have a fact of two
white parents.
It's facts!
You have to start to,
the cognitive dissonance
that you've created,
you have to un-dissonance it!
[laughing]
Okay, you have to come together.
You are a white person.
You can choose to live as Black.
I don't have an issue, honestly,
I really don't have an issue
if she wants to choose,
but stop denying your lineage.
That's where I have an issue
with her,
because I can never get
afforded --
I am never afforded the right
to deny that I'm Black.
I can't just decide one day
and show up and start
telling people,
"No, guys, I'm really white.
Believe me.
No, no, I know my hair's kinky,
but no, no, no, I am."
They would think I was crazy,
and yet, here is this person
doing the same thing.
Blonde one day,
then come in with her little
two-strand twists the next day.
I can't go back to whiteness.
Literally, like I would...
that to me, that is suicide
of me, of me.
Um, so I don't know
where to go
'cause I don't want to
offend people, right?
I'm not like living my life
in order to try and, like,
make people upset.
Are there days when I wish
that I just solidly fit
into a goddamn box?
Yes.
[laughing]
I think that might be
kind of nice,
like in some way just being
like, not having that conf--
you know, that constant
chaos and confusion
around the colour line.
But, this is my journey,
you know, and I'm in between,
in whatever way.
I think the anger
in seeing things
that we've been shamed for
celebrated on women
who are not Black is natural.
For me, to be angry about it,
would frankly, hurl me into
a state of constant rage
that I just can't afford.
I, for my own mental health,
have to roll my eyes at it.
There are a lot of things
that Black people,
Black women face that are
directed at us
that no one else has to endure.
I have to pick my battles,
and tackle the...
the most damaging
of those first.
And one day, I think I'll have
the luxury of, you know,
righteous indignation about a
Kardashian wearing box braids.
But for now, I just,
"Okay, girl."
I'll laugh it off,
I'll laugh it off.
[blowing]
[indistinct chatter, singing]
Woman:
You, no, you didn't!
Reciprocity
See no one loves you
more than me
Woman:
Yes, girl!
And no one ever will
No matter how I think
we grow
You always seem
to let me know
It ain't working
[harmonizing]
You said you'd cry for me,
cry for me
You said you'd die for me
Give to me, give to me
Why won't you live for me
Care for me, care for me
Why won't you live for me
There for me, there for me
I say you're there for me
Give to me, give to me
Why won't you live for me
Give to me, give to me
Why won't you live for me
Yeah
Cry
Give
Oh!
There
Cry
Give
[cheering]
[instructor talking, indistinct]
I see a lot of growth,
embracing your melanin,
the skin that you're in.
Embracing your natural hair,
and I like that that's a trend.
You know, I know some people
are like,
"Oh, my God, it's a trend."
Girl, isn't this what y'all
been wanting?
To be a trend.
I'd rather self-love be a trend
then anything negative,
'cause now we are stepping
back into our power.
Let's keep embracing that beauty
because it's always been here
and it ain't going away!
Nope! [laughing]
Alexandra:
The world's different,
but the prejudices that are
there 50 years ago,
they're still here today.
It really hasn't changed.
I'd like to say we've come
a long way,
but when you look at
the underlying principles
that we've fought,
they're still there
and they're still permanent.
I am here today, and I feel
beautiful in my skin
and who I am,
and how I walk into a room,
I feel that way because
I made myself that way.
I don't need your recognition,
but I do need you to understand
that when you take
something from us,
give us credit where it's due.
All: Hi!
Hi, how are you?
It's good to see you.
- Hey, y'all!
- Students: Hi!
Give me one second,
I'm just going to set some stuff
up for you guys.
I know, this is what everybody
comes to see, anyway.
Students: Oh!
All right, y'all.
How's it going?
I am an entrepreneur,
a tech entrepreneur, actually.
And I guess you guys
probably guessed
that I'm Miss Black America,
and I became the 50th
anniversary Miss Black America
about a year ago.
And now, I get the privilege
of representing a historic
organization
that was at the forefront
of making strides
for Black women in America,
ensuring that we have positive
representation in media
and that we could be a part
of the discussion
about what it meant
to be beautiful
and exceptional and intelligent.
Thank you, guys, so much for
having me here at BELA.
It was really an honour.
I believe that every young woman
that is here today
has the power and opportunity
to change our world
in a fundamental way,
and I will be back!
Thank you for having me!
50 years ago, women who were
competing for Miss Black America
just wanted to hear that they
were allowed to be beautiful.
The world, the America
in which we exist,
has certainly changed and
evolved for Black women,
but oddly enough,
I find that in 2019,
we're still fighting
just to be human.
It almost seems as though
in many regards
we have taken steps back
as a culture.
You know, I, on some level,
wish that we were
just fighting
to be allowed to be beautiful,
to be told that we were
beautiful
and desirable and attractive.
I find that the fights
that I'm having now
are fights for survival.
Fighting to know that our
government doesn't believe
that I could be shot dead
in the street,
and that the person who did it
could walk away scot-free
if they wore a badge.
I wish I were concerned solely
about whether or not people
thought I was beautiful.
I am Black
I am beautiful
I am me
[I am me]
You are you
[And you are you]
We are Black [we are]
Beautiful
I am me
[I am me]
You are you
[And you are you]
We are Black [We are Black]
Beautiful
Now turn up the sound because
it's testimony time
I used to be the girl
who despised the colour
of her eyes
Dread to wear my kinky hair
I straighten for disguise
Did you hear that?
I said I straightened
for disguise
So boys notice me more
with silky hair
Wanted to be considered
light-skinned and all fair
I used to hide from the sun
'Cause I believed it used
to chase me
And as you see, I soak in and
let it embrace me
My crown is brown
I'm happy to be nappy
These kinks profound
I live a love that's all
around me
Look at my eyes
I see beauty
I got my mother's eyes
And they shimmer
like jewellery
Head up to the critique
to better my physique
I learned to love myself
not in vain and in conceit
I'm complete, I'm whole
When you view me,
see my soul
Wrote a scroll of my life
Here's the beauty in
the strife I am me
You are you
I am Black
I am beautiful
I am me
You are you
I am Black
I am beautiful
I am me
You are you
We are Black
Beautiful
I am me
You are you
[And you are you]
And we are Black
[And we are Black]
Beautiful
Oh