March is National Women's Month and the theme is "Weaving the Stories of Women's Lives". And, in a strange twist of fate, as we honor women like Delilah L. Beasley (1867-1934), the first African American woman to be regularly published in a major metropolitan newspaper, the rest of the world seems to be celebrating another woman who is, also, regularly featured in every major metropolitan newspaper around the globe - Kim Kardashian. Kim and her husband, Kanye, have topped the headlines almost daily since New York Fashion Week when her daughter, North West, had a meltdown front row at a fashion show while seated next to Anna Wintour. And the Ides of March have only increased the Kimye Krazy factor as they took their show across the Atlantic. And maybe it was jet lag, or too much sugar from those United Airlines ice cream sundaes they serve in business and first class (so good), but there's been even more of a frenzy: Look!! Kim's dyed her hair blond like that kid from "Harry Potter"!! Kim and Kanye are at the center of a photographer scrum at the Louis Vuitton show during Paris Fashion Week!! OMG, Kanye's written a song called, "Awesome" that's dedicated to Kim which includes lines such as these:
You look too good to be at work/ You feel too good to ever hurt/I hope you ready for tonight/I'm gon cook, you'll be dessert.
And let's not forget the visuals to accompany this love story, including video footage of Kanye casing his wife's scantily clad form as she stepped out to greet her public in a sheer bodysuit and plunging bra, as well as a photo of Kanye with a death grip on his wife's posterior while they walked.
I get it, Kimye - you're a married couple with a young child and you're feeling frisky and trying for a second one. That's your business. But, what's troubling is that the family business also involves your wife's body,or, specifically, one piece of her anatomy, and there's a name for that and it rhymes with "flooring" or "ostitution" (OK, that second word isn't even a word, sorry). Every piece of video footage, every rap lyric, every photograph - these become part of a larger story, of our larger story as women. I'm troubled that Kim doesn't see that her individual choices have a larger impact, and not just because she is a public figure. She has the financial means to dress herself in a way that highlights her beauty, but she chooses, instead, to squeeze into latex dresses that hug her bottom, see-through body-stockings, and visible G-strings to keep the cameras flashing and keep the money flowing. There are young girls in this world being savagely beaten just because they dare to learn to read and seek an education while Kim brags on-camera about sneaking off-set at a fashion shoot (where she's clad in ridiculously expensive designer duds) to have a quickie with her husband!
Look, I don't want to slut-shame Kim K. She can wear what she wants - it's her body, after all. But, I think we should dumb-shame her. That's right - dumb-shaming, because she should know better. She was raised in privilege and given an education that most of us are still paying off, and yet she refuses to engage in higher-level thought. To put it simply, she should not only know better, but she should act better. As women, if the stories of our individual lives are truly woven together, then as little North West grows into her womanhood, how will her mom's story affect her?
Showing posts with label women's issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women's issues. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Friday, November 7, 2014
Lena Dunham Needs a Hug
Since I'm much too lazy to join the Netflix cult, my down times usually involve a marathon viewing session of whatever's on cable, which often means reruns of Sex & The City. And while I loved this show so much in my twenties when the episodes first aired, now, in my 40s and married for almost 13 years, I can honestly call out Carrie & Company for being drama-seeking jerks. You make yourself available sexually for a man who refuses to commit to you? Guess what? You've lost the right to be angry at him. You want to agonize over every little detail of your boyfriend, then guess what? You're definitely going to find something wrong with him. At a certain point you have to wonder if the original working title for Sex & The City was I Love Drama!
So why bash a show that's been dead and buried for a decade? Because in the wake of Carrie Bradshaw, another over-sharing young woman hitting the sheets and the streets of NYC has emerged and is in the process of enraging, or engaging depending on your point of view, a new generation of viewers. Her name is Lena Dunham - and if simply seeing her name in print here is making you see red, then you've heard of her, and you might also hate her. People have been trash-talking Miss Lena for the past few years as her HBO series, Girls has become the media's poster child for the privileged, majority white, millennials who currently hold the title for Most Vilified. Poor Lena! Sure, she undresses, a lot, on her show, and in a way that can make viewers squeamish, but it's her body and it's her thing. I don't think she does it to titillate, in fact the act is more like that of a toddler innocently shedding their clothes and streaking through the house, you know, because toddlers are craycray that way.
Lena's latest controversy is unfolding now while she's on tour promoting her book, "Not That Kind of Girl." One passage, in particular, has set off red flags as it seems to describe an act of pedophilia possibly performed by Miss Lena on her baby sister. Reading the passage, I wondered several things, including: did this really happen, where were their parents, why write about this, and WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS GIRL? Seriously, what's wrong with this child? As it happens, I wasn't the only one curious about her motivation - both to do this miserable thing and to write about it. A Twitter war was declared, leading Miss Lena to take a break from her book tour and her nearly 2 million Twitter followers.
It's the oddest thing, until you realize that this child grew up in the afterglow of Sex & The City and in the emergence of reality TV and celebrity culture. Somehow, Miss Lena, became confused. Look, I never, ever thought that Sarah Jessica Parker the actress was the character Carrie Bradshaw, but clearly, the fashion designers and stylists working with the actress encouraged her to embody the Carrie mystique every time she graced a red carpet. Soon, Sarah Jessica Parker BECAME Carrie, I mean she even has her own trendy shoe line, something that's so Carrie! So is Lena Dunham really her Girls character, Hannah Horvath? Or is Hannah actually Lena hiding in plain sight? Who knows, who will ever know? At some point, though, who will care? Let's not disparage Miss Lena, instead, hug her because, like those who've gone before her on those NYC streets, her genius and promise will air on a basic cable channel on a weekday afternoon.
So why bash a show that's been dead and buried for a decade? Because in the wake of Carrie Bradshaw, another over-sharing young woman hitting the sheets and the streets of NYC has emerged and is in the process of enraging, or engaging depending on your point of view, a new generation of viewers. Her name is Lena Dunham - and if simply seeing her name in print here is making you see red, then you've heard of her, and you might also hate her. People have been trash-talking Miss Lena for the past few years as her HBO series, Girls has become the media's poster child for the privileged, majority white, millennials who currently hold the title for Most Vilified. Poor Lena! Sure, she undresses, a lot, on her show, and in a way that can make viewers squeamish, but it's her body and it's her thing. I don't think she does it to titillate, in fact the act is more like that of a toddler innocently shedding their clothes and streaking through the house, you know, because toddlers are craycray that way.
Lena's latest controversy is unfolding now while she's on tour promoting her book, "Not That Kind of Girl." One passage, in particular, has set off red flags as it seems to describe an act of pedophilia possibly performed by Miss Lena on her baby sister. Reading the passage, I wondered several things, including: did this really happen, where were their parents, why write about this, and WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS GIRL? Seriously, what's wrong with this child? As it happens, I wasn't the only one curious about her motivation - both to do this miserable thing and to write about it. A Twitter war was declared, leading Miss Lena to take a break from her book tour and her nearly 2 million Twitter followers.
It's the oddest thing, until you realize that this child grew up in the afterglow of Sex & The City and in the emergence of reality TV and celebrity culture. Somehow, Miss Lena, became confused. Look, I never, ever thought that Sarah Jessica Parker the actress was the character Carrie Bradshaw, but clearly, the fashion designers and stylists working with the actress encouraged her to embody the Carrie mystique every time she graced a red carpet. Soon, Sarah Jessica Parker BECAME Carrie, I mean she even has her own trendy shoe line, something that's so Carrie! So is Lena Dunham really her Girls character, Hannah Horvath? Or is Hannah actually Lena hiding in plain sight? Who knows, who will ever know? At some point, though, who will care? Let's not disparage Miss Lena, instead, hug her because, like those who've gone before her on those NYC streets, her genius and promise will air on a basic cable channel on a weekday afternoon.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
On Race: Coming to Terms with My Kelsey Problem
Hi, my name is Kelsey! We haven't met, yet, or maybe we have. Maybe you've seen me at Starbucks ahead of you and ordering three skinny pumpkin spice lattes and two iced mocha decafs while pulling my wet hair into a messy low-pony on that day you were running late for your 8:00am conference call. Sorry about that, but I had to grab some caffeine courage for my office biotches, you know! Hey, and super sorry about the maj coffee spillage that happened when my friend texted me about her bangs emergency and I attempted to hold my iPhone to read the text and then tried to reply to the text while balancing those two coffee trays. I felt to Lena Dunham that day, you know? Oh, you don't know! Really?? She's on "Girls" on HBO! I can't believe you haven't seen it!! Well, gotta run - BYYYYYYYEEEEE!
OK, that never happened. This was a fictional conversation between a fictional character named "Kelsey" and, an unwitting player in her life's drama, a fictional character that I'll call "Shandra." It's kind've funny, but, like a "Law & Order" episode, this scene was ripped from the headlines of my life, and, perhaps the lives of others. My fictional "Kelsey" is based on the flesh and blood Kelseys I meet everyday. She is buoyant, forever smiling, chirpy, and full of pluck. She is well-coiffed, though she spends countless hours with her hands in her hair - whether pulling it back with the elastic band that she always wears on her wrist, tucking it behind her ear, or maniacally running her fingers through it and furiously scooping it all to one side or the other or straight back if she really wants to get nuts. Her nails are always buffed and polished, and when they're not, she calls attention to the fact and tells a ripping yarn about why they're not done that usually involves a weird weekend DIY project with her roommates or baking brownies. Yes, brownies - Kelseys love to bake brownies and eat brownies, though not too many. And when they are seen eating their homemade confections, the Kelsey will, undoubtedly, call attention to how massive her gut/butt is, though she's usually south of a US size 8.
Are you rolling your eyes yet? Or, are you nodding in agreement? Maybe you're doing both, like me!
Kelseys in the workplace are especially difficult to navigate. They are hardcore people-pleasers. Need someone to manage the office birthday party celebrations? Kelsey's there, with her well worn Rachel Ray cookbook and its perfect birthday brownie recipe! Need someone to work late every night for a year without asking for overtime, a raise, or a promotion? Kesley will do it, and she'll do it with a smile. She'll even come in on weekends, wearing her favorite Ann Taylor jewel tone cardi, skinny jeans, ballet flat, and plain white JCrew t-shirt, along with her faux, oversized pearl stud earrings. And don't worry, she'll stop by Starbucks on her way in for coffees for the whole team. I mean, they have to have something decent to drink with the 4 dozen brownies she managed to bake in the hours between working until 10pm on Friday night and arriving at 9am on Saturday morning.
Kelseys function best in groups where they can stand out, although they hate to call attention to themselves. After work, packs of Kelseys (or is it gaggles, or a murder, no, that's crows) go to the nearest watering hole where they drink shots and call their fellow Kelseys "biotches" at the top of their lungs while precariously balancing an overflowing pilsner glass as they navigate through the throngs of other Kelseys looking to get their drink on! Oh, and here's another note, Kelseys always like to get something "on" - get my laundry on, get my drink on, get my tan on, get my party on - maybe it's because a Kelsey is always "on", which is why after stopping at the bar, the Kelsey then heads to the gym for SoulCycle or some sort of fitness bootcamp. Kelseys like the camaraderie of group classes or team sports, although she'll run a half-marathon for a cause, so for all you trying desperately to recruit for the company kickball team look no further than the Kelsey in your own backyard.
So, what's my beef with the Kelseys? I guess I have to go back to my childhood and my first Kelsey. At the start of second grade, the parents made my sister and I switch to a school closer to home, which meant goodbye to the 35-minute morning commute and hello to a school down the street from us. The change of venue, though, also meant goodbye to the black teachers and classmates I'd grown to love and hello to a predominately white elementary school. All at once, I was a little, fat black girl with unreasonable hair (read: nappy), a shiny face (Grandma liked to Spackle Vaseline on my face EVERY morning), a strange smile (a gap between my front teeth which I proudly display now), and no fashion sense (c'mon, I was a fat kid in the 1970s!). And there were the Kelseys - with their cool Barbie dolls, strawberry lip gloss, perfect penmanship (complete with hearts over their "i"s), and Hello Kitty pencil cases. In the presence of the Kelseys, I felt lacking.
By undergrad, I knew how to deal in the Kelsey-rich environment of my small, southern, nearly 100% white college and I seemed to thrive. But, I could see some cracks beginning to form and the Kelsey-tolerance I thought I'd built up was starting to wane. The Kelseys were the ones going on dates, getting boyfriends and fraternity pins and engagement rings from the white boys on my campus. And me - well, when I wasn't being overlooked or mistaken for one of the dining hall or cleaning staff, I was the friend or the one those white boys wanted to take to bed, but not wed. I felt shame and anger,
After school, though, I learned that I was not alone. That there were others of us who've suffered the Kelsey Curse of feeling less than. In my first job after grad school, I tried to out-Kelsey the Kelseys, striving for perky and upbeat and positive. My white supervisors applauded me, but the black women in my office were divided with some giving me a lot of side-eye and others loving my can-do attitude, and hoping that we finally had a contender to fight the Kelsey scourge!! I was doing alright, and soon, I left for my dream job in radio, but, in a stunning twist, I found that what my new boss wanted me to BE a Kelsey. You see, somewhere I'd become confused, and had taken so much Kelsey into my bloodstream that people thought that I was a Kelsey. But, I'm not, and that's when I began to understand that my Kelsey problem was defining my life. I remember, at that time, going to a vocal coach who said that everyone who hosts their own radio or TV show has to find their voice - who they are, their point of view - and communicate that over the airwaves. It sounded so simple, unless you don't know who you are, and I didn't have a clue.
I had only defined myself in relation to the Kelseys of the world, and now I am able to see that I am more than I thought. All of the shame and the anger and the longing to belong had become tiresome. I hate thinking about all of the time I lost in the clutches of the Kelsey haze, and even though I have some minor twinges, like when I'm watching "Top Chef" or "Food Network Star" and see another black woman contestant knocked off of her game by some fresh-faced Kelsey, I'm aware of how good life is. Not perfect, but so very good. Too good to be consumed with the cult of Kelsey. So play with your hair, drink your pumpkin-spice beverage, bake your brownies, Zumba your little heart out - I'm over it, Kelsey!
OK, that never happened. This was a fictional conversation between a fictional character named "Kelsey" and, an unwitting player in her life's drama, a fictional character that I'll call "Shandra." It's kind've funny, but, like a "Law & Order" episode, this scene was ripped from the headlines of my life, and, perhaps the lives of others. My fictional "Kelsey" is based on the flesh and blood Kelseys I meet everyday. She is buoyant, forever smiling, chirpy, and full of pluck. She is well-coiffed, though she spends countless hours with her hands in her hair - whether pulling it back with the elastic band that she always wears on her wrist, tucking it behind her ear, or maniacally running her fingers through it and furiously scooping it all to one side or the other or straight back if she really wants to get nuts. Her nails are always buffed and polished, and when they're not, she calls attention to the fact and tells a ripping yarn about why they're not done that usually involves a weird weekend DIY project with her roommates or baking brownies. Yes, brownies - Kelseys love to bake brownies and eat brownies, though not too many. And when they are seen eating their homemade confections, the Kelsey will, undoubtedly, call attention to how massive her gut/butt is, though she's usually south of a US size 8.
Are you rolling your eyes yet? Or, are you nodding in agreement? Maybe you're doing both, like me!
Kelseys in the workplace are especially difficult to navigate. They are hardcore people-pleasers. Need someone to manage the office birthday party celebrations? Kelsey's there, with her well worn Rachel Ray cookbook and its perfect birthday brownie recipe! Need someone to work late every night for a year without asking for overtime, a raise, or a promotion? Kesley will do it, and she'll do it with a smile. She'll even come in on weekends, wearing her favorite Ann Taylor jewel tone cardi, skinny jeans, ballet flat, and plain white JCrew t-shirt, along with her faux, oversized pearl stud earrings. And don't worry, she'll stop by Starbucks on her way in for coffees for the whole team. I mean, they have to have something decent to drink with the 4 dozen brownies she managed to bake in the hours between working until 10pm on Friday night and arriving at 9am on Saturday morning.
Kelseys function best in groups where they can stand out, although they hate to call attention to themselves. After work, packs of Kelseys (or is it gaggles, or a murder, no, that's crows) go to the nearest watering hole where they drink shots and call their fellow Kelseys "biotches" at the top of their lungs while precariously balancing an overflowing pilsner glass as they navigate through the throngs of other Kelseys looking to get their drink on! Oh, and here's another note, Kelseys always like to get something "on" - get my laundry on, get my drink on, get my tan on, get my party on - maybe it's because a Kelsey is always "on", which is why after stopping at the bar, the Kelsey then heads to the gym for SoulCycle or some sort of fitness bootcamp. Kelseys like the camaraderie of group classes or team sports, although she'll run a half-marathon for a cause, so for all you trying desperately to recruit for the company kickball team look no further than the Kelsey in your own backyard.
So, what's my beef with the Kelseys? I guess I have to go back to my childhood and my first Kelsey. At the start of second grade, the parents made my sister and I switch to a school closer to home, which meant goodbye to the 35-minute morning commute and hello to a school down the street from us. The change of venue, though, also meant goodbye to the black teachers and classmates I'd grown to love and hello to a predominately white elementary school. All at once, I was a little, fat black girl with unreasonable hair (read: nappy), a shiny face (Grandma liked to Spackle Vaseline on my face EVERY morning), a strange smile (a gap between my front teeth which I proudly display now), and no fashion sense (c'mon, I was a fat kid in the 1970s!). And there were the Kelseys - with their cool Barbie dolls, strawberry lip gloss, perfect penmanship (complete with hearts over their "i"s), and Hello Kitty pencil cases. In the presence of the Kelseys, I felt lacking.
By undergrad, I knew how to deal in the Kelsey-rich environment of my small, southern, nearly 100% white college and I seemed to thrive. But, I could see some cracks beginning to form and the Kelsey-tolerance I thought I'd built up was starting to wane. The Kelseys were the ones going on dates, getting boyfriends and fraternity pins and engagement rings from the white boys on my campus. And me - well, when I wasn't being overlooked or mistaken for one of the dining hall or cleaning staff, I was the friend or the one those white boys wanted to take to bed, but not wed. I felt shame and anger,
After school, though, I learned that I was not alone. That there were others of us who've suffered the Kelsey Curse of feeling less than. In my first job after grad school, I tried to out-Kelsey the Kelseys, striving for perky and upbeat and positive. My white supervisors applauded me, but the black women in my office were divided with some giving me a lot of side-eye and others loving my can-do attitude, and hoping that we finally had a contender to fight the Kelsey scourge!! I was doing alright, and soon, I left for my dream job in radio, but, in a stunning twist, I found that what my new boss wanted me to BE a Kelsey. You see, somewhere I'd become confused, and had taken so much Kelsey into my bloodstream that people thought that I was a Kelsey. But, I'm not, and that's when I began to understand that my Kelsey problem was defining my life. I remember, at that time, going to a vocal coach who said that everyone who hosts their own radio or TV show has to find their voice - who they are, their point of view - and communicate that over the airwaves. It sounded so simple, unless you don't know who you are, and I didn't have a clue.
I had only defined myself in relation to the Kelseys of the world, and now I am able to see that I am more than I thought. All of the shame and the anger and the longing to belong had become tiresome. I hate thinking about all of the time I lost in the clutches of the Kelsey haze, and even though I have some minor twinges, like when I'm watching "Top Chef" or "Food Network Star" and see another black woman contestant knocked off of her game by some fresh-faced Kelsey, I'm aware of how good life is. Not perfect, but so very good. Too good to be consumed with the cult of Kelsey. So play with your hair, drink your pumpkin-spice beverage, bake your brownies, Zumba your little heart out - I'm over it, Kelsey!
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