Leilani Fu’Qua and Foluke Salami dive into all things pandemic, online schooling, relationships, employment, entertainment, and more as they wrap up 2020 in today’s episode. Listen here!
This week’s podcast features Nommo staff members, Leilani Fu’Qua and Foluke Salami, and special student guests, Jack Angel and Sarah Isen, as they dive into queer representation in television and provide juicy commentary on the “Slag Wars: The Next Destroyer” premiere. “Slag Wars” is a new reality TV style competition where internet personalities and adult film actresses Rebecca Moore and Sophie Anderson scout the British countryside for the next queer adult film sensation. This podcast episode discusses Black representation in LGBTQ+ media, the unique approach Moore and Anderson took to reality TV, and building a brand and following from viral internet content. Tune in to our podcast here!
*This content is for mature audiences only.*
**Content Warning: sex, use of profanity**
Do your friends only ever talk about what new man is in their direct messages? Are you the friend that only shares about her (straight) relationship or romantic encounters with men? You could be a victim of male identification, and you ARE entitled to financial compensation.
Male identification is the act of placing men above women, including yourself, in various aspects in your life and relationships (Rich, 1980). For Black women, tendencies of male identification are notable through the placement of romantic relationships with men above platonic relationships with women. In our social spheres, it can manifest itself in three ways:
Conversations with friends are heavily centered around romantic relationships with men
When male identifier individuals hang out with their women friends, the majority of the conversation is centered around their romantic prospects or relationships with men. They ask for advice about their relationship, speak about their romantic partner’s qualities, and over-romanticize the affection they receive from men. With Black women, gossip culture and hair salon conversations enable the male identifying woman to speak freely and openly about her relationships with men. However, less emphasis is placed on celebrating the Black women in their social sphere, while more attention is given to their life in proximity to men.
The “Cater 2 U” Complex
“Cater 2 U” by Destiny’s Child is one of the most devotional love songs in recent music history. Still, it allows the male identifying woman to exist in service to men, despite the romantic underpinnings of the relationship. The “Cater 2 U” complex runs deep and stereotypes Black women as the caregiver and subjugate of their male counterparts. While the “male protector” role is prominent in the Black community, it perpetuates a cycle of women being dependent on their romantic partners in all aspects, including financial, social, and emotional well-being. Catering to your man can be cute, but the desire to do so may be rooted in fear, internalized misogyny, and allegiance to men out of necessity/survival.
Embracing patriarchal culture under the #girlboss mentality
Independent women (unmarried, single, self-sufficient) can also be male identifiers as they adopt patriarchal culture under the guise of “leveling up,” and being a “girl boss.” In the Black community, the #girlboss mentality is outwardly harmless, but may obscure itself into self-colonization by seeking validation from male employers in order to reach success, belittling other women to achieve supremacy over them, or adopting the “think like a man” mentality when approaching success. It also allows long-running expectations for Black women to be strong, powerful, and lift themselves up by the boot-straps to persist, and masculinizes Black women disproportionately.
Male-identifiers are usually unaware of their contributions to upholding the patriarchy, and these behaviors are normal! The patriarchal structure of many global societies centers men, and women are often socialized to engage behaviors that support these socializations. Instead of normalizing these behaviors in attachment to womanhood, we should analyze our own roles and consider how our subconscious daily actions contribute to our subjugation. As Black women, liberation is not a new phenomenon, and we must be dedicated to becoming women-identifiers.
We must be committed to putting women first, analyzing the ways we participate in our own subjugation, and actively working towards being a good listener when women speak about their passions, aspirations, and struggles beyond lens of men.
(These theories are developed from Adrienne Rich’s 1980 Essay “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Experience” and adjacent feminist works, but are completely subjective. )
Let me preface this with the statement that acne is completely normal. However, European and mainstream beauty standards play a major role in how people view themselves with acne, how they see and treat others, and the impact the treatment of acne, especially in minority groups. As a multiracial Black woman, my personal experience with acne has been a less than pleasant one, and I feel that it is important to have an open discourse on issues that influence the way Black people view beauty.
First, I want to address the language surrounding acne dialogue. Most people are referred to as “sufferers of acne,” which assigns a negative connotation and implies a subconscious hierarchy to the spectrum of people with acne. Acne doesn’t make you inferior to someone with clear skin in the same way that having clear skin doesn’t make you phenotypically superior to someone with acne.
A lot of the time, the hereditary nature of acne is often disregarded, leading to the belief that acne is always completely temporary and “fixable.” The truth is, some people are more prone to get acne, and washing your face with pink grapefruit scrub isn’t a surefire pathway to clear skin. According to The Guardian, a genetic difference in hair follicle structure that makes the skin more prone to harboring bacteria could be the causative factor behind the likelihood of exhibiting acne. Without genetic testing, however, it is evident that acne runs through familial lines. As a young girl struggling to feel accepted because of my ethnicity and class, being one of the only Black girls (or girls in general) with distinctly noticeable acne played a critical role in my search for identity.
As time passed, I used various methods to attempt to hide or diminish the appearance of my acne, including picking my pimples. As most people know, except me at that point, picking your pimples leads to major scarring and allows bacteria from the extracted acne to infect surrounding areas, inherently leading to MORE ACNE. I was giving myself more acne without even knowing it. SO, I took up what is now one of my favorite art forms and modes of expression to cover this skin-tastrophe: makeup. Wearing makeup (and cheap makeup, at that) allowed excess dirt build-up in my skin, and also emphasized the skin’s bumpy texture. David Lortscher, M. D. says, “Technically, most makeup doesn’t cause acne, but certain ingredients can clog pores, which helps acne-causing bacteria grow.”. While it did make me more comfortable and confident with the consolation that at least people couldn’t see my acne, it drew more attention and commentary than expected.
I call this time the era of microaggressions: not only was I one of the only Black people in my classes, but I had acne. People knew I didn’t like having acne, and I wore makeup to cover said acne. Anyone with acne has surely experienced the phenomenon of someone simply not minding their business and feeling the need to unsolicitedly comment on others’ appearances. To this day there are people (often with clear skin) who will verbally inform me that I have a breakout (like I can’t see my own face), ask if I only wear makeup to cover my acne (which is not the case), and indirectly voice their opinions on a third party’s acne, often times expressing disgust at how someone could “let their skin look like this.” While sometimes excusable on the grounds of ignorance, these comments are rarely taken with a grain of salt. Personally, I internalized them and convinced myself that maybe I did look “sickly” if I didn’t wear makeup and that having acne meant I didn’t wash well enough, didn’t care about my appearance, or that I would be eternally subjected to being associated with “gross” acne.
I went to a high school where a large majority of students were non-Black people of color. I didn’t have anyone with similar intersectional experiences in regards to being Black, having acne, and wearing makeup to reference. The Black girls who I could merely compare myself to had moderate to highly clear skin, with the exception of a hormonal breakout. With this, I chose to struggle individually in an attempt to protect my own feelings: I failed to communicate when people’s comments hurt me, failed to reject the mainstream beauty standards presented and failed to ask for help on how to not hate my skin.
Now, I have come to a point of understanding. Having acne, having people point out your insecurities (even if you don’t initially see it as insecurity), comparing yourself to girls who have never had a breakout in their life, and going above and beyond to change the way you are perceived by society are all entirely normal things to experience. I had to relearn and redefine what I conceived as beauty, moving away from the detrimental, intrinsically European standard that having fair, clear skin, a small nose, straight hair, and 3% body fat was the only way I could feel beautiful. Today, with my acne on a wave of breakouts, I offer an open invitation to change the mindset towards acne. If you hate your acne, if you love it, if you still can’t come around to being content with it, at least make sure it is your choice to feel that way rather than an attempt to conform or resist a “traditional” beauty standard. And lastly, allow yourself to be AT LEAST satisfied, if not delighted, with the beauty you emit both inside and out.
It’s the end of Black History Month. English teachers will conclude their reading of To Kill a Mockingbird (1960), History teachers have finished their 4-week retelling of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, and Hoteps are done reminding everyone that cheating on Coretta was justifiable given MLK’s time away from home during the Civil Rights Movement. But what about the other 337 days in the year? What do we do with our blackness then?
While I am always overjoyed to see the “Black Boy Joy” and “Black Girl Magic” Snapchat filters appear on February 1st, it makes me question why Black excellence is scarcely embraced beyond the bounds of the shortest month of the year. As the calendar dates condense our expansive and diasporic history into 29* short days of remembrance, Blackness is stolen and imitated by culture vultures every day yet ridiculed when the same elements of fashion, dance, music, language, and hair are embraced by Black people themselves.
To this, I say: I do not choose to be Black every day. I am not only Black during February and the history I learn should reflect that. Black is not a trend, an act, or an accent. You cannot act Black, because Blackness comes in so many different shapes, colors, sizes, ideologies, and identities. You can’t pretend to be Black, and any imitation will be a poor attempt at doing so.
To my Black people: I love you! Embrace your identity every day of the year, learn your history for yourself, seek the truth, and continue spreading Black love, joy, and happiness to everyone you encounter, because it’s always Black History Month when you’re Black.
As February reaches an end and we enter the spring quarter, I’ve noticed that too many Black bruins struggle with cultivating healthy relationships.
Parental expectations, stereotypes pressuring black couples to have “that Jada and that Will love,” and influential traumas are all factors that contribute to the decline of hopeful, flourishing relationships. In response, I’ve compiled a list of general tips that may increase the probability of going beyond “the talking stage” with your next boo.
How to Cultivate a Healthy Relationship within the Black Community
1. Know what you want.
State your intentions with your significant other. I’ve heard my friends question their place with their “boo” too many times. I find that if both parties find themselves thinking, “What are we?” a discussion about how far you want the relationship to go is necessary.
2. Be willing to listen.
When I find myself repeating grievances or preferences without feeling that I am being listened to or validated, red flags immediately pop up. Listen to the wishes of others and be open to adjusting certain things. This does not mean compromising your core values or individuality to become something you are not.
3. Be respectful, trustworthy, and honest.
My parents used to tell me, “treat others the way you want to be treated.” I assure you, no one wants to be cheated on, humiliated, or lied to. Being truthful to yourself will benefit both parties. (And do not refer to women as “females” or “b*tches.)
4. Communicate!
If your past relationships, traumas (including race-based issues), or external circumstances are having an influence on your relationship, communicate with your partner in order to learn how to navigate those battles together (without hurting the other person).
Lastly, do not let the expectations of the media alter the way you love. It’s not all “Love and Basketball” (2000). Don’t let Twitter convince you that he’s cheating to make you a stronger woman, and do not worry about things you can’t fix. If you’re not getting reciprocated energy, take your talents elsewhere. Hopefully, these tips help you advance from buddy to boo this cuffing season.
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