#mickey moulder

[alltheprettystardust]

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I...

I want to cry at night

Searching for a fight

Holding onto why

and maybe I know

It sounds crazy but,

I miss you

I miss you, baby

I..

I miss you

I..

I miss you

I...

[whatwouldmickeywear]

•Lemonade•

I expected to come home and write this post singing the praises  of this DKNY dress (which is phenomenal) and how wearing pigtail braids is an easy updo for those days when you’re having a bad hair day or are busy. I didn’t expect my decision to wear my hair in braids to be the source of straight up ignorance. I’ve debated numerous times whether I wanted to write this post because it’s drastically different from anything I’ve written on WWMW before and I could lose followers that I have worked so hard to gain. I chose to post this for two reasons : 1) I couldn’t sleep until I did and 2) I think it is important to add my own voice to the numerous stories that the show how white women are praised for things that have originated in Black culture but black women are mocked for partaking in them . This double standard will never stop if we pretend it doesn’t exist.  

Recently, I’ve started wearing my hair in two pigtail braids. I do this because it’s an easy updo and I look hella cute in them. While I’ve received many compliments on this hairstyle unfortunately this one incident stuck with me throughout the day. It came from a co-worker who is uninteresting, unchallenging and unempathetic but will never have to face or change his shortcomings because he was born a white male from an affluent family and will go on to have a good job because American history says that is his birthright. These types of people are rarely met with any sort of hardship and tend to live comfortably until the privilege they possess is called out and is held up to them like a mirror. This same white male who only moments earlier took the stance that Hitler was “a bad man” but that myself and another co-worker shouldn’t deny the fact that it was amazing a mustache was named after him, told me my braids under a backwards cap made me indistinguishable from “any other homeboy”. And in case I didn’t hear it the first time he repeated louder, no doubt waiting for a reaction I refused to give him. (I thought it would be inappropriate to act out of my name while we were at work. Unfortunately, I’ve heard many stories where these incidents happen at work and many of us have had to choose to move on because the setting is inappropriate.)

“HOMEBOY”

The Bill O’Reilys of the world like to hide behind these words because saying the words they really mean “thug”, “ghetto” or “nigger” would out the prejudice and/or racist ideals they hold. It’s the same reason why the KKK hide their identity under hoods. And since modern American culture is the perfect incubator for passive racism, he racked his brain for a word that would get his point across without being overtly racist and settled on “homeboy”. I don’t  believe that this boy hates Black people and wants to do us harm but I do believe that growing up in his homongenous community has molded him into the type of person who looks  at the world today and truly believes there is a war against white people. As a POC I find this distressing all the same.

Get the Look : dress (dkny : similar) : sandals (forever 21) 

At that moment I was transported back to jr. high & high school where such tactics were used whenever I had the audacity to bring a well thought out argument to the table, stand up for myself or any other situation where I had my opponent backed into a corner. I would see the panic and frustration in their eyes as they realized they were being bested. They delivered the only retort they had in which they could claim some sort of small victory for themselves. I had no backup when arguments over politics (especially in 2008), everyday drama or sports turned into a comments about my skin, hair or lineage- always the real meaning veiled just enough in passive racism so there was enough wiggle room to claim I was being overly sensitive and what they really meant was {insert bullshit excuses here} and evade trouble.

Being the only dark skin black girl at my school was very alienating at times. I had no other person who knew what it was like on a personal level to have their peers negate any well thought out argument, playful jab or accomplishment with a statement about features I could never erase and said with so much ease it was hard not to believe it was true at times.

I was plopped down in an area where contact with black people like me just didn’t happen. I was disconnected from any black person who raised their fist and thirsted for knowledge beyond the Civil Rights curriculum I was taught year after year; “Martin Luther King Jr. wanted blacks to practice non-violence, they did, now Blacks have their own month (eventhoughthereisnotawhitehistorymonth {cue all eyes focusing on me for an explanation}), and racism is over.” Then my white teachers would beam ear to ear, and practically pat themselves on the back because our “gracious” country allowed Blacks to exist, meanwhile refusing to acknowledge any evidence discrediting that view. I knew it was a lie because my siblings and I experienced racism regularly.

I had such a complicated relationship with my Blackness during that time. There were people in my community that praised my skin, lips, and hair often enough where I knew I held some sort of captivating power (though I wouldn’t come to appreciate them or find them beautiful until years later) but I was always so scared of being seen as “too Black”. I became a watered down version of myself to make other people comfortable and which led to many internal conflicts. So many times I had to choose whether to open my mouth in opposition knowing what would be waiting or have friends. Sometimes I chose to fight, sometimes I kept my lips shut to protect “friendships”.

When I finally went to college I discovered the beauty in my Blackness. I met so many other black people who had similar experiences but didn’t shrink who they were because of it. My first year in Columbia was difficult because it was the first time I experienced passive racism on a large scale. In my hometown, I had the luxury of distancing myself from the people who didn’t want to be around me. That wasn’t really that option in college but the difference was I had a support system who I could open up to about my experiences and know that I was not only being heard but understood. That support system allowed me to explore what being Black meant to me. I found so much beauty in my culture. It was hard not to want to shine among so many beautiful souls.

That is why Beyonce’s work, Lemonade,  is so important. It’s a visual reminder to me of that time I stopped being scared of being the “angry black girl” and let the people who loved me love me and let go of the people who didn’t. It’s a reminder of the resilience Black women possess. Seeing Black women support each other is so important. Representation is so important. Watching a black woman unapologetically take charge of her identity while using her platform to speak on the many struggles we face socially, politically and internally is powerful. It makes me want to hold my head up proudly and support women who I see do the same. Seeing women like Serena Williams, Winnie Harlow, Zendaya, Michaela DePrince and Amandla Stenberg exist in the created space that is Black Girl Magic is incredibly moving when I think about how only a few years ago I didn’t know that carefree black women existed. What is even more magical about this space is that there is not a capacity limit to it. We get more carefree and more magical when other sisters join in. Though our struggles are far from over we have overcome so much. I didn’t grow into this beautiful, capable, self loving Black woman to be belittled or mocked for taking part in something that stems from my culture. I refuse to be shrunk back into the girl in my adolescence who was afraid to exist too much in order to make people comfortable. I deserve to take up space. I deserve to love myself, my hair and my culture.