#GYMTW: On Black Women And The Capitalist System

Critiques of black women and capitalism without first properly locating their position with the capitalist system are incomplete, disingenuous and pointless. Discussions about capitalism and who benefits from the existing social structure cannot be flat. They must be intersectional and take into account the varied ways in which capitalism affects people at different levels of society. Everyone is against capitalism when black women demand payment of the money that they worked for, but is happy to support from the ground up, policies and legislation that would funnel wealth back into the hands of the most wealthy.

The backlash to both Beyoncé's Formation and Rihanna's Bitch Better Have My Money indicate a racial bent in the opposition to the fair valuation of labour. In the video for BBHMM, Rihanna and her women of colour #goonsquad kidnap and torture the wealthy white female wife of a white man who is later revealed to be an accountant who stole Rihanna's money. At the end of the video, it is heavily implied that Rihanna dismembers and kills "The Bitch," as he is styled. Opposition to the imagery largely centered on violence enacted on the white woman as a means to harm the "true" culprit, the white man. What these critiques did not acknowledge was their implicit assumption that the white female character was not also complicit in the theft of Rihanna's wealth. But as Lauren Chief Elk points out in her work with Yeoshin Lourdes and Bardot Smith surrounding GYMTW:

"White women are the biggest beneficiaries of white men's historical wealth. When we begin to really dissect what pay inequality means we have to look at it intersectionally. When thinking about wealth redistribution it's important for white women to look at their position to women of color, and examine how for generations they have also exploited us and gained huge advantages off us."

Many people took issue with the line "I just might be the next Bill Gates in the making" in Beyoncé's Formation, citing it as a reflection of Beyoncé's desire to simply replicate systems of oppression through capitalism pioneered by white men. But a black woman possessing the kind of capital that Bill Gates does is so far and away from what the capitalist system imagined for itself as to be a mini-revolution in its own right. As far as I am concerned, wealth transfer to black women in a capitalist system is reparations.

Meditation, Anointing and Anger in Beyoncé's #Lemonade

There's very little that I can add to the conversation about Beyoncé's latest visual masterpiece, Lemonade. The pros, cons, dos and don'ts have already been talked to death, and all the best things have been said. But truthfully I'm more interested in how Lemonade makes me feel. I want to interrogate the reactions I had to what I consider to be one of the most profound pieces of work ever created by a black woman, both artistically and economically.

I watched Lemonade, end to end, on my own. I turned my phone off, silenced my notifications, and paid attention to the journey that Beyoncé had decided to take me on. I watched in awe as black women congregated and communed with each other as Beyoncé lay bear her own feelings and tapped into universal truths about existing both black and female. I cried as a Mardi Gras Indian blessed a dinner table full of empty chairs; places set for people who could never join the offering.

Much has been made of Becky with the good hair; an attempt by white women to find something recognizable to latch onto in a sea of womanhood both public and commercial, that for the first time, deliberately excludes them. But Becky is beside the point. Because the point is that Beyoncé sees us. Beyoncé sees and acknowledges black women and our struggles, and she centered her art around affirming our hurt, our pain, our suspicion and our betrayal. Beyoncé made an (another) album about being a black woman, and the pain and joy that it can entail.


Guiding us through the stages of grief, Beyoncé weaves a story of pain, heartbreak and most of all anger, that is all too familiar to black women. Routinely, we are labelled as crazy or unpredictable without acknowledgement of the abuse that warranted that reaction. We are betrayed and told his infidelity is our sin to bear, we're mocked for our attempts to become the women the world holds in high esteem. Lemonade explores the blatant lies and half-truths that black women are forced to swallow and the pathology we are cursed to bear. But most importantly it justifies the delicious destruction born of righteous and justified anger. It allows our anger, ever stymied, always dismissed, to bubble over, froth and foment, and acknowledges it as a valid reaction to repeated abuse. As Ijeoma Oluo writes in the Guardian:

This expectation of black women to suffer in silence is passed from generation to generation. Beyoncé explores this inheritance unflinchingly: "You remind me of my father - a magician, able to exist in two places at once/In the tradition of men in my blood you come home at 3am and lie to me."

And it is this inheritance that Beyoncé rejects throughout Lemonade. She refuses to suffer in silence, and instead delves deep into the hurt and betrayal that has rended her life and her love apart, and encourages us all to do the same. She rips our generational burden to shreds and sets herself and us, on a path to redemption through shared communion. The hurt she explores here is real and familiar; an old prophecy passed from mother to daughter and back again, repeated ad infinitum until it fulfills itself. It is a battle we prepare for from the moment we are old enough to distinguish our blackness.

In The Corner Of A Dark Room Under A Thick Fog of Smoke: Declarations Of Agency In Rihanna's #ANTI

Over the last decade, Rihanna has cultivated a very specific image of herself. Shifting ceaselessly from cheeky to coy to naked sexuality and back again, Rihanna is the consummate chameleon, changing for the times and evolving when she feels the need to shed her latest skin. Largely, as an audience, we have projected our perceptions onto her. Each new iteration of music, hair and fashion has left just enough room for our own desires to rush in and fill the void. But on ANTI we see exactly what powers the Rihanna machine and she lets us into her head; here is a full body of work that examines every facet of her being and lays it bare on her own terms.

ANTI is peak Rihanna. Endlessly delayed, it's no coincidence that this is Rihanna's most daring and truthful work to date. She waited until it was right; until it reflected her the way she wanted to be seen, and then gave it away for free, ensuring that no one could mistake it for sheer arrogance or braggadocio. ANTI shows a side of badgalriri we've only speculated about before, and untangles the complicated issues of her place in pop culture and how it relates to her sexuality, her blackness and her feminism.

The thing about ANTI is that it almost doesn't work. As a singular entity it makes sense: it is a declaration of her personhood on all fronts. But take it apart and it becomes mush in your hands, exploring disparate ideas all at once with through-lines that are tenuous at best. And yet, the ideas themselves are crystal clear: there is no beating around the bush. Rihanna is here now and she knows exactly why and on what terms she expects for that to happen. Gone are the pulsing club bangers she's built her career on. Instead we're treated to raw, brooding melodies that conjure images of solitary contemplation. The music exists under an eternal thick fog of smoke traced back to a blunt; truths emerging as inhibitions come down.

The opening track, Consideration, (which she co-wrote) is the brash declaration of a new direction. The heavy bass drops deep as Rihanna's voice, higher and clearer than ever before, laments. If it wasn't clear before, it is now. Rihanna is over it, and she's ready to move onto something fresh and new. She's ready to grow and make music that can evolve with her, and she's demanding the space to do so. With that, she sets the tone for the complex delicacy she's about to serve us, combining styles and sounds until she achieves that magic cocktail that hits exactly the right spot.

On Kiss It Better, she taunts an ex, making him admit that he'll take her back no matter what. As guitar riffs sing in the background, Rihanna asserts herself both to him and to us as the audience: "You're always going to come back to me so why fight it?"

Work, the first official single, is a moody dancehall inspired track full of lust and longing. The messaging persists, though here she has convincing to do. The negotiation between disregard and sentiment is delicate, and Rihanna handles it expertly. She wants us to stay, but she doesn't plan to work for it. Slurring through the lyrics, the light disdain is palpable. Should you stay? Rihanna answers "Sure I guess..." She's far more concerned with her own pleasure than she ever will be with you.

On Woo, she's back to taunting, but it's on the deliciously dark and cutting Needed Me where she turns savage. Rihanna may long for company when the sun sets, but she doesn't need it and never did. Here she pointedly cuts her man down, reminding him that she's the one doing all the giving here. She asserts her sexual agency as someone who likes to fuck and is perfectly happy getting it elsewhere should the need arise. Here is the reminder: she's not the one tied to you and she never intends to be. The rejection is unambiguous and swift: "Don't get it twisted. Everything about you is replaceable."

But on Higher, Rihanna is lit and pouring her feelings out. On the all too brief track, her voice strains high and raw as she fights to ensure she gets the words out. She's independent yes, but the moments of loneliness and need still come. She's a savage, but not a loner or a recluse. She too longs for comfort and company, and she'll take it where it comes. The Rihanna amalgam to Adele's Hello, Higher breaks open the shell of the untouchable black woman and exposes the pain too many assume she never feels.

Pose is a return to the Rihanna we know and love. While the sound is new, the lyrics recall the swagger and surety we saw in Pour It Up. Hate if you like, but have a seat while she gets loaded and works it. On Sex With Me she brags about hitting it better than anyone else. On both, she's little concerned with outside validation. Feel free to come along for the ride, but don't expect to be missed if you don't.

*****

Taken together, the disparate parts of ANTI form a cohesive whole. Here is a woman a decade older and wiser, sure of herself and the direction she intends to take her life in. These tracks open her up and lay her bare as a whole person, showing the ways in which conflict can exist in harmony. The music is daring and intimate. She lets us see the strings in a way we never have before, perhaps an effort to undo the "bad bitch" label she has inhabited for so long. It's not that she won't cut you down with a sharply chosen emoji or gif on instagram, it's that there are levels to being Rihanna, and under the surface, there exists more than the "sexy Bajan pop princess" we've come to know and love.

This is the album Rihanna wanted to make rather than the one that we expected from her, but that too shows growth. Her declarations of sexual freedom serve as metaphor for very real freedom: from commercial constraints or a continued need to prove her staying power. She's established herself as a powerhouse and her legacy is set. Now she seeks out experimentation and nuance.

ANTI may be less radio friendly and traditional, but that is the point. This is not establishment. This is her truest self in music form and it's anti-everything. There are none of her usual themes and no pop hits. Rihanna has set herself firmly in opposition to not only to her own past musical ethos, but to the very music industry itself.

Best of BattyMamzelle: Top 5 Essays of 2015

Third time's a charm! As I'm stepping into 2016, I want to take some time to look back at what I produced last year, and to take stock of the issues that matter to me. I didn't do nearly as much writing as I would have liked last year because I was back on a 9-5 schedule, but I still manage to produce essays that I'm proud of, two of which helped me get that Bitch Media Fellowship! So here they are in descending order: the 5 essays I'm most proud of writing this year.

5. #ShameOnShonda Is Bullshit: On Black Women, Mental Health And Intersectionality

"In this episode, Shonda presents these two women, these two mothers and contrasts the way their mental well-being and mental health is approached. The black mother, who had been exhibiting signs that something might be medically wrong for some time, was treated to scorn, disdain and judgement, even by the doctors who were supposed to be treating her. The white mother, who had just received devastating news about her unborn child, was immediately coddled to the point of condescension in the rush to ensure that she was okay."

4. Rape, Consent and Race in Marvel's #JessicaJones

"On the other hand, the treatment of people of colour in Jessica Jones is often anti-intersectional and openly anti-black. Vulture's year end "Best of Television" list cites the show as demonstrating "a racially diverse cast, heavy on women," a construction that belies that for many people, diversity means "add black men and stir." To me, it is borderline disrespectful to call the show racially diverse when the only significant, named woman of colour character is dead before the narrative begins and never speaks a word, while the black male characters are all subjected to incredible violence in service of the white female protagonist. This force frames feminist representation as the representation of white women and yet again, erases women of colour from our popular narratives."

3. Viola Davis, Cultivation Theory and the 2015 #Emmy Awards

"And these women? These beautiful dark-skinned women with broad noses and big lips and kinky hair? It wasn't them. It was strategically not meant to be them. They were purposefully removed from the definition of womanhood much less anything else. So these wins? These statues? This acknowledgement of talent? It matters. It shows that when you even the playing field just a little bit; when you actually allow people of colour to compete with whiteness by creating opportunities for them to show what they can do? They win."

2. How To Be A Bad Bitch Who Recognizes The Intersections Of Amber Rose's Feminism

"Why is it so hard for us to imagine that this book may not be for us? That is speaks to an experience than many of us may never have? We who are lucky enough to be safe and warm with access to education and employment we enjoy? Why doesn't it occur to us that all those women that we look down on need someone to look to, to help them navigate the realities that many of us refuse to even acknowledge exist? Is it really still this difficult to understand that different women are empowered by different things and that everyone's feminism is different? Why are we so determined to find ways to create a hierarchy within the movement that values some women over others?"

1. I'm Sick To Death Of Talking About Rape Tropes In Fiction

"What did that scene add that we didn't already know? Did the writers think that cutting Theon's penis off was too subtle to indicate Ramsay's sadism? Did they think the brutal murder of her mother and brother were not strong enough motivators for Sansa to want revenge against the Boltons? Could they not conceive of a single other way in which Theon might be able to mentally recenter himself? What about this particular rape scene added such probative narrative value that it had to be transposed from one character to another even as the original victim is excised from the story? All it was is more rape on a show already replete with rape, for the sake of having rape. None of this is new information."

***** ***** *****

Last year, I hoped to spend time getting my voice heard online and I think I succeed. I was quoted in the LA Times, I was a guest on the Black Girl Dangerous Podcast, I was republished at Bitch Flicks, and by some miracle I  received the Bitch Media Writer's Fellowship. For 2016, I hope to finish up grad school, write amazing things under the tutelage of the Bitch Media editors, and to get to New York to meet all the amazing writers I've learned so much from online. Here's to a productive new year.

How To Be A Bad Bitch Who Recognizes The Intersections Of Amber Rose's Feminism

Amber Rose's new book How To Be A Bad Bitch dropped yesterday and already the white girls are circling, having taken issue with some of the advice Amber gives in the book. While I do think that some of the excerpts from the book are troubling (or at least, don't speak to me), it bothers me that mainstream feminism (read: white feminism) always seems to reserve this kind of intense scrutiny for women of colour. It took conservative media outlets to call Lena Dunham out for the problematic passages in her recent memoir (while feminist publications defended them) and white feminists are still passing around the deeply racist quote from Tina Fey's 2011 outing, Bossypants as a self-empowerment mantra.

Now I'm not saying that Amber shouldn't be criticized. She should. Feminism has never meant that women shouldn't be held accountable when they fuck up. Sometimes we as women make mistakes and I consider it our duty as fellow women in the feminist struggle to help course correct each other when we stray. But we need to be consistent about holding each other's hands to the fire. It's just another unfortunate side-effect of the racial divide in feminism that sees us demonize women of colour when they fuck up, but grasp at every straw imaginable to give white women a pass.

At the very least, we should try not to condescend to each other and try to give criticism in good faith. Refinery29's review of Amber's book took an incredibly nasty approach, upbraiding Rose for what they saw as feminist failings. The intro to the piece discloses that Amber abruptly cancelled a scheduled interview with the publication, and it's hard to see the harsh language as anything more than retaliation for the inconvenience.

Viola Davis, Cultivation Theory and the 2015 #Emmy Awards

Viola Davis accepts her Emmy Award for Outstanding Actress in a Drama at the 2015 Emmy Awards.

I won't pretend I didn't cry this morning. 

I didn't watch the Emmys live last night, so waking up to the news that not only did Viola Davis win herself an Emmy (as I predicted back when she de-wigged on primetime), but two other black women, (Regina King for American Crime and Uzo Aduba for Orange is the New Black) had also left with trophies, has left me floating on a cloud of #blackgirlmagic that has lasted the entire day.

But it has also left me thinking long and hard about why these victories matter on a sociopolitical level. 

I'm currently working on my dissertation for my MA in Mass Communications and I came across a theory recently that I plan to explore in depth. My dissertation focuses on portrayals of rape and sexual assault in American primetime television, but it struck me how relevant the theory is to discussions of racial diversity.

The theory is "cultivation theory" and in layman's terms, it means that over time, people begin to believe that the television universe reflects real life. Essentially, people who watch lots of TV begin to see the social reality of fiction as an accurate account of real life. 

"The primary proposition of cultivation theory states that the more time people spend 'living' in the television world, the more likely they are to believe the social reality portrayed on television." Cultivation leaves people with a misperception of what is true in our world." -Cohen, J.; Weimann, G. (2000). "Cultivation Revisited: Some Genres Have Some Effects on Some Viewers". Communication Reports 13 (2): 99–114.

I hope you can see where I'm going with this...

#MileyWhatsGood?: Nicki Minaj Destroys The Male Gaze Via Overt Sexual Expression

Editor's Note: The author of this essay originally approached me for permission to cite one of my pieces in her college paper. After I read the final draft, I immediately asked to republish it here because it does an excellent job of distilling the very ideas about Nicki Minaj's brand of feminism that I have been espousing for some time now. In light of last night's MTV VMA's and the continued racist framing of Nicki Minaj as a "savage" and "angry" black woman threatening the purity and safety of white female celebrities like Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus, I thought it was timely to remind people that Nicki Minaj's praxis may be sexual and it may be loud and it may not be polite, but it is still a feminist expression for her to assert her right to protect herself from racism, sexism and misogynoir in the industry, even and especially when it is perpetuated by other women. It is a fantastic read, and I can't wait to read more from her.

*****

Nicki Minaj is a lot of things: the highest selling female rapper of all time, an artist in the midst of a world-tour for her latest album, The Pinkprint, and most importantly, an icon for women everywhere. On August 19, 2014, Nicki Minaj released the music video for the song “Anaconda” and soon the internet exploded. The video garnered immediate critique for being hypersexual, all while stacking up nearly 500,000,000 views on Youtube. But to women all over, the video, like many Nicki Minaj videos before it, was empowering andprofoundly feminist. Through the course of Minaj’s career, her overt sexuality has given her the perfect platform to subvert the male stares it beckons. Nicki Minaj feminism is dependent on overt sexuality as a device to subvert the male gaze and achieve ultimate sexual empowerment.

The music video for “Anaconda” is one that celebrates the same body-type Sir Mix-a-Lot praised in the rather unambiguously titled classic, “I Like Big Butts:” curvy derrieres and itty-bitty waists.  Nicki twerks on and around other women who all share with her curvy physique, but makes it clear that her sexuality is a mechanism via which she achieves empowerment, and not a device solely used for attracting the male gaze. The first way in which she does this comes in the fact that no men appear in the video (besides Drake, but we’ll get to that later). Historically (and still to this day), many male rappers have been inclined to feature women dancing on and around them in their music videos. They objectify them, and seemingly treat them as toys for pleasure, easily disposable and replaceable. In “Anaconda,” however, Nicki flips the script on that trope. While the women featured around her, next to her, under and over her, are all dancing and shaking in similar fashion to videos that are ultimately degrading, because Nicki Minaj joins in, she effectively reclaims a position used by male rappers to objectify. Nicki not only joins her dancers, she leads and encourages them in a way that can only empower them. Instead of becoming objects to a male rapper’s desires, Nicki allows herself and the women around her to take charge of their own sexualities, shaking and dancing together, autonomously for themselves. 

Even further than that, Nicki and company dance for an audience made up hugely in part, by women. The idea that women dancing (erotically) for themselves and for other women in an attempt to gain back some control of their sexuality isn’t new to feminism. ML Johnson argues that these sort of spaces can give way to “heterosexuality without heterosexism,” and that women experiencing these spaces can explore a world that enjoys “less restrictive gender roles" [3]. In the context of “Anaconda,” Nicki Minaj and her dancers seem to do just that, simply by taking control of how they express themselves sexually, and without a male present on screen. And, “while the centrality of the display of sexual attractiveness is generic, and, as such, not in itself raced or gendered, the specific ways in which sexual attractiveness is articulated in the pop music video is, however, mediated through and determined by common-sense notions of appropriate gendered and raced behavior [3].

Best of BattyMamzelle: Top 10 Essays of 2014

It's that time again! The new year is upon us, but as is tradition, I wanted to take some time to look back at some of the essays I wrote last year that I'm particularly proud of or that I thought made a significant impact, in the spirit of feigned introspection. Quite a lot happened in the feminist blogosphere last year, and while I didn't write about all of it, I'm proud of the contributions I did make. Back in November I started my Masters Program in Mass Communications, and one of the things I've learned is that media is so important to the way we perceive the world. So while some might think my focus on "pop feminism" is trivial, I know that it's one of the most important battlegrounds of diverse representation in culture. So here, in descending order are the ten essays I wrote in 2014 that I consider to be my best, even if I am a little late to publish!

10. This Year In White Feminism: Greatest Hits of 2014 (Parts One & Two)

The point of this post is simply to show that anti-intersectionality is a continued pattern of disregard for women of colour, and that when we bring this to your attention, we aren't making it up. White feminism loves to ask for receipts. It loves to gaslight and diminish us. It loves to pretend that our concerns are irrelevant or insignificant. Hopefully this list will serve as a reminder that black women, native women, poor women, trans women are feminists too, and we'd like to be allowed to be part of a movement that claims to advocate for our well-being.

9. Let's Talk About Robin Thicke's Manipulative Ploy To "Get Her Back"

It's lovely that Robin Thicke thinks his marriage is worth saving, but this is not the way to go about it. This entire album, the track names, the hashtag; if this is in fact a sincere effort to "get her back" it's basically a how-to on abuser dynamics. Rather than allowing Patton the time and space to decide whether or not to reconcile in private, with this album, Thicke has effectively enlisted the public to get on his side and pressure her into going back to him, and make her the villain if she refuses. "Oh, but he wrote a whole album about her! He's really sorry!"All while he rakes in the cash, and she loses her resolve to stay away from a man who cheated on her, publicly embarrassed her and ruined a decades long relationship.

8. In Defense of Kim Kardashian (And Her Vogue Cover)

Kim Kardashian might have become famous because of a sex tape, but she stayed famous because she parlayed that notoriety into "respectable" business ventures. She's a business woman; a fact that too many people seem far too reluctant to acknowledge. You don't have to like her, but you do have to respect her and her tactical acumen. Kim Kardashian is in the business of being a celebrity, and it's a game she and her family play very well. We created the demand for a celebrity just like her by continuing to consume what she creates. We don't get to then turn our noses up at her because she got good at getting us.

This Year In White Feminism: Greatest Hits of 2014 (Part Two)

And we're back with Part Two! This year was so awash with white feminist fuckery that I had to compile two lists! Isn't that just delightful fun? Thankfully I'm in a pretty good mood today because I finally got my copy of Roxane Gay's Bad Feminist and there's very little that can bring me down, but this post is already two days late, so let's get down to business. There's much more fuckery to mock and cry over. Don't forget to check out Part One!

*****

11. Emma Watson Thinks Feminism Should Be Nicer To Men: Back in September, real life S.P.E.W. member Emma Watson gave a speech at the UN advocating for the HeforShe "Solidarity for Gender Equality" movement. The speech was a direct appeal to men to get involved in the fight for gender equality because of the varying ways that the patriarchy hurts men too. She asked me to think of their sisters, wives and daughters, and the mainstream media ate that shit up. But as good as Emma's intentions were (and I genuinely believe they were good) her speech once again asked us to centre men in a movement meant to benefit women. It also ignored an intersectional approach that would have focused more resources to help women of colour and poor and working class women, in favour of... making sure men felt more welcome. While I don't remember who said it first, (I think I first heard it from Roxane Gay, but if you know for sure, let me know!) [EDIT: I'm told it was actually Kelly Temple!] I think it's important to remember that men shouldn't be asking us to make feminist spaces more comfortable for them. They should taking the spaces they occupy in the world, and making them feminist. Emma's speech asked us to make nice with men instead of asking men to make nice with us.

12. Feminist T-Shirts Made by Economically Depressed Women of Colour: Speaking of intersectionality, while Hermione was asking us to be nice to men and posing for pictures, women in Mauritius were being paid a dollar an hour to fabricate the feminist credentials of many of our favourite celebrities. In other words, hundreds of women were being subjected to unfit working conditions and ushered into the vicious cycle of poverty, while Cumberbatch pointed at his face. Nice. This is one of the reasons that intersectionality is so important. While in the West we might think getting people to identify as  feminists is all it takes, there are women with concerns that are far more pressing; like earning a living wage. Parading their feminism does exactly squat for them, and shaming women who are living paycheck to paycheck for not wanting to align themselves with a movement that has yet to show that it is at all concerned with their interests in bullshit.

13. Lena Dunham Doesn't Pay: During promotion for her book tour, it was revealed that Lena Dunham was not paying the people hired to perform at her appearances, despite the tour being virtually sold out. But don't worry, she changed her mind after she was publicly shamed!

14. Annie Lennox Thinks Lynching Is Universal: Expertly following up her intersectional feminist fail, earlier in the promotion cycle for her new album, Annie Lennox discussed her cover of Strange Fruit, saying:

It's a human theme that has gone on for time immemorial. It's expressed in all kinds of different ways, whether it be racism, whether it be domestic violence, whether it be warfare, or a terrorist act, or simply on person attacking another person in a separate incident.

Ms. Lennox, I'm gonna need you to stop. Strange Fruit is not a metaphor. It is not a broad song that covers all kinds of injustice. It is literally a song about black people being lynched by white people. It's right there in the lyrics. There is zero room for interpretation. For a white artist to cover this song and then try to whitewash it's meaning is active violence against the memory of the African-American people who lost their life due to the deep seated racism of white Americans. There is no generalizing that experience. It is not universal. Annie Lennox can have several seats.

This Year In White Feminism: Greatest Hits of 2014 (Part One)

In January, I wrote a monster essay defining the way I use the term "white feminism." A phenomenon that goes by many names, white feminism is essentially the practice of centering the issues that disproportionately affect white, middle-class western women, while specifically and intentionally excluding or ignoring the often more pressing issues that affect the women who do not meet this criteria, namely women of colour. "White feminism" is feminism without intersectionality. That's it. That's all it is.

And yet, white feminists still don't get it. 

Nearly a year later, the mainstream white feminist media still fiercely and disproportionately protects whiteness, causing active harm to women of colour. I got a lot of pushback on that essay because my use of the term "white feminist" was perceived as racist and exclusionary, but frankly I don't give a fuck. Watching feminist discourse unfold online over the last year has reinforced for me that white feminism is dangerous and has no place in the movement. Actively harmful and violent shit happened time after time after time, and those of us who called it out were shouted down as divisive, race-baiting, jealous and toxic.

Everyone's praxis is different, but as Flavia Dzodan once said, "My feminism will be intersectional, or it will be bullshit." So in no particular order, here's part one of the greatest hits list of all the ways that white feminism was bullshit this year.

1. Saartjie Baartman: The Original Booty Queen: In one of the more egregious examples of disregard for the painful history of sexualization that black women were subjected to, Jezebel published a guest essay which posited that Saartjie Baartman, also known as the Hottentot Venus, was actually a "diva" and "illegal immigrant" who used her body to "strike it rich." The problems with the essay are too numerous to name, and "revisionist" doesn't even cover it.

2. Amanda Marcotte Advocates Incarceration Rape Victims to Force Compliance: Because further traumatizing a rape victim by subjecting them to legal sanctions and jail is exactly the way we encourage more victims to speak up about their assaults. Marcotte's assertion is that putting the rapist in jail is more important that catering to the well-being of the victim, but considering that few rapists are ever prosecuted or even charged, is it really okay to prioritize what has proven to be an ineffective legal system over the mental and physical well-being of the victim of the crime?

3. The Art Center College Thinks Beyoncé is Hijacking Feminism: The racial divide in the feminist movement is nothing new, and the targeting of Beyoncé's feminism in particular has been a favourite white feminist past time in 2014, but ACC sunk to a new low when it published the course description for a class called "Pretty Hurts" that not only called Beyoncé's feminism into question, but implied she had no right to identify with the movement at all because her husband "is a pimp." It was yet another blow in the ongoing struggle between white and black feminists, and was rightfully recognized as an institutional attempt to separate feminism from blackness.

For Feminists Who Resort To Racism When Slut Shaming Is Not Enough

White Feminists, we need to have a chat about this unruly beast we call feminism, and the intersection of race and sexuality. I like to assume that you mean well, but you've been fucking up quite a bit in the last few months, and I think it's my duty as your presumptive sister-in-arms to do some minor course correcting for all our sakes.

Beyoncé has been Beyoncé-ing for over a year now and you're still questioning her feminist credentials because her praxis doesn't match yours. Nicki Minaj has been vocal about her feminism for years but you revoked her credentials because she made a video about her exquisitely crafted rear end and rapped about the men who want to fuck her. To me, all that debate sounded a lot like judgement of other women for the way they chose to express their sexuality. This really confuses me because I thought that sexual agency was a cornerstone of contemporary feminist thought. After all, a woman's body is her own, and what she chooses to do with it or how she chooses to exercise and experience her sexuality is up to her alone.

Except, apparently, if you're black.

I'm seeing a trend of people labeling any sexual black female as an anti-feminist sexualized object & not discussing the nuances of agency.
— Michelle Huxtable (@MichelleHux) September 16, 2014

I've spent the last few months reading piece after piece and comment after comment decrying Beyoncé and Nicki for catering to the male gaze with no acknowledgement that agency plays a significant role in how perforative sexuality becomes. I've read thinkpiece after thinkpiece about why these two women are detrimental to the feminist movement because they take pleasure in exploring and embracing their sexuality publicly. The main issue that keeps cropping is the male gaze. Supposedly, because Beyoncé and Nicki perform in ways that are traditionally sexy, they must be performing for the male gaze, and doing so is decidedly unfeminist.

Well here's where your lesson starts white ladies, because I'm about to drop a truth bomb: the fact that something appeals to the male gaze, does not mean that it exists for the male gaze. It's really as simple as that.

a feminism that centers men is not feminism at all
— Tracy Clayton (@brokeymcpoverty) September 21, 2014

anyway. you can't make feminism all about men. you cant let it revolve around how men respond or what they see/think
— Tracy Clayton (@brokeymcpoverty) September 21, 2014

I know. Totally revolutionary right?

As I've said before, framing every instance of females sexuality from the perspective of the male gaze is not only extremely heteronormative, but it strips women of their sexual agency and ignores intersectional approaches to feminism. It completely negates the possibility that a woman can be sexual for her own enjoyment or pleasure. And while feminism is explicitly about dismantling the patriarchy and allowing women to be free of sexist expectations, making choices based on what does or doesn't appeal to patriarchal presumptions makes one literally beholden to that very system. If all your choices are direct responses to the patriarchy, you are still reactive to its whims, rather than proactive to your own desires.

If you don't do femme because men like it you are still influenced by male gaze. That's the point, reclaim the gaze & center YOUR feelings
— Shaadi (@tgirlinterruptd) October 8, 2014

Until we are truly post-racial, (so never...) the racial divide will always matter in feminism. This means that our feminisms will differ depending on our intersections, and that's okay. It is perfectly acceptable to acknowledge that different women have different needs. But the constant gatekeeping of mainstream feminism reveals the deeply entrenched racism within the movement. The face of my feminism isn't going to be the face of yours because we don't have the same concerns and therefore we're looking for different things in the women we look up to. Sexual liberation isn't going to look the same for you as it does for me because we're moving forward from different historical contexts. Embracing and acknowledging this fact rather than rejecting it is key to moving forward in solidarity.

And this is where my issue lies. Being able to safely express sexuality is important for black girls because it's something that was previously out of our control. Sexual agency was legally denied. That context does not exist for white women, and that can make it harder for you to understand how sexuality can be empowering. But just because something doesn't apply to you personally doesn't mean that it is worthless or deserving of derision or ridicule. Because of differences in race, class and sexuality, not everyone's feminist praxis looks the same.

White feminists ask "How do we know she's being sexual because she wants to?" I ask "Why would you assume that isn't the case?" Nicki Minaj's participation in the music industry doesn't lobotomize her or render her incapable of making her own decisions. She has shown time and time again that she is fully capable of directing and controlling her image, so why would you negate her agency now by insisting that she no longer has that power simply because her expressions of sexuality have become more explicit?

If Loving This Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right: Reviewing @FeministaJones' "Push The Button"

If you have a free weekend and $5 to spare, then go get Feminista Jones' kinky debut novel, Push The Button. I promise it's a decision you won't regret.

At a little over 100 pages, Jones' erotic novel is an example of BDSM done right, with lots of steamy scenes and a tight narrative to keep you engaged. Without giving too much of the plot away, Push The Button is about a woman named Nicole who is in a committed submissive relationship with her boyfriend and later fiancé, David. Circumstance pits them both against an abusive former flame of hers in a situations that ramps up to a spectacular ending that will leave you literally begging for more. Push The Button  expertly strings you along like a lustful lover only to giggle with mirth as they leave you to climax on your own.

It's difficult to talk about erotica these days without mentioning the 50 Shades trilogy but according to Jones she doesn't mind. The story structure makes it very clear that Jones set out to counteract the way in which 50 Shades carelessly conflated BDSM with abusive tactics. Nicole's current flame David is meticulously contrasted with her past flame Marcus, and Jones goes to great lengths to dilligently demonstrate the line between consensual and forced submission. There is even an amazing passage in the final chapter (that I won't detail here to avoid spoilers) that deals with the different ways in which consent can be violated and the consequences that it can have.

I won't pretend that I didn't struggle with the at times. I consider myself a sex-positive feminist, and while I intellectually understand that BDSM is not abuse, I am unfamiliar with the intimacies of BDSM in practice, and there were definitely scenes in the book that left me a little uneasy because the lines of consent seemed blurred to me. But Jones, an established voice and advocate for sex positivity  clearly prepared for this effect. For every scene where I questioned whether Nicole was being taken advantage of, there was another that reminded me that her relationship was something that she entered into willingly with eyes wide open. In fact, in the story, Nicole is the one who teaches David how she prefers to be dominated, and slowly introduces him into "The Life." Jones makes sure to remind us that being sexually submissive is Nicole's choice and not something that we should pity her for. While it is easy to reactively connect some of the situations in the novel to emotional  or physical abuse, it's important for us to remember (and for Jones to remind us) that consent is key, and that voluntarily relinquishing control is entirely different from having it forced from you; a situation that Jones also deals with in detail.

Full disclosure, I was given a copy of this book for free for the purposes of writing this review, but I absolutely stand by everything I've said here. I'm not usually a fan of erotic novels, but Push The Button made me not only reconsider my stance, but also demonstrated that "erotic novel" doesn't have to be synonymous with "crappy story with some sex scenes thrown in." Jones is a great writer, and she manages to construct scenes that make you sweat and clutch your pearls while seamlessly tying them into a larger story with ever increasing stakes.

But the main thing I love about Push The Button is that it's a story about something that isn't necessarily mainstream that centers on a black woman. As with pretty much everything else in our culture, white people tend to be the face of kink, and it was refreshing to see the topic dealt with through black characters. In a way, it made my own curiosity about kink seem less strange or stigmatized, because the book allowed me to imagine people who look like me participating and enjoying themselves.

In her short debut, she makes us care about the well-being of her characters so much that the final chapter feels like a punch to the gut. Push The Button is a well crafted piece of fiction that I'm so glad I was exposed to, and you're missing out if you don't get yourself a copy.

Push The Button is available for sale from Amazon and Gumroad as an ebook download.

Mz007's "Important", Black Women, And Defiant Self Confidence

"I'm coming through, bitch I'm gorgeous!" That's the battle cry of this up and coming rapper Mz 007. Yesterday I stumbled upon the music video for her single "Important" and I couldn't be more in love.

Firstly, the song is catchy as hell. I've been bleating "I'm important!" at random inanimate objects for a solid 24 hours now and I'm just getting started. I can totally see myself jamming out to this in a club, and it's already on my "pantless dance party" playlist. But the biggest reason I love the song is Mz 007 herself.

It may seem like overkill to even mention this, but having a fat, black woman boldly declare that she's important is a huge deal. When black women are being beaten by police officers, targeted for sexual assault, and routinely assumed to be prostitutes, we need the reminder that black women are people too. Our worth is routinely under fire, so a track like this is a nice reminder that we matter, regardless of the fact that society tries to convince us otherwise.

What I also find so affirming about this song is how incredibly defiant it is. We're all subjected to the media narrative of what it means to be a desirable woman in society, and due to racist double standards, black women are almost always at the bottom of that list. To have Mz007 embody the antithesis of the exalted ideal, (white, blonde and skinny) and still dare to identify with and vocalize her own worth is revolutionary and I love her so much for it. This video makes me think of Rihanna's media portrayal in the way her attitude is so clearly unbothered:

"I told the bitch, I'm fat. You ugly. I can fix fat. You can't fix ugly."

Let's not even get into how long and loud I laughed at that. Totally my new motto!

The video is a fun track that anyone can enjoy, but I can't help having just a little more fun knowing that Mz007 is empowering other black women who might happen across her music by daring to be unapologetically herself. Representation is such an important issue and I'm glad that she is carrying the torch for women like me by bravely defying society's rigid standards. 

Nicki Minaj's #Anaconda And Reclaiming "Black Girl Sexy"

If you haven't seen Nicki Minaj's new Anaconda video yet, stop what you're doing and watch it immediately! If you have seen it, then you already know that I love it. Ass, ass, everywhere. It's a big booty black girl's dream! But deeper than that, I love the way that it's an expression of agency on Nicki's part. She is a young, gorgeous and successful woman, and she's earned the right to be just as raunchy as she wants to be. She's never shied away from that and I love that about her. 

Naturally, the criticism of the video (as with the cover art) was swift and loud, but as usual, most of it intentionally misses the point. As I've talked about before, much of the criticism of high profile black women being sexual rests on the assumption that they have no agency to make the decision to be sexy on their own. This great piece from The Rogue Feminist illustrates why there's a stark difference between the treatment of sexualization of race in Nicki's video and say, Miley Cyrus's or Lily Allen's:

In contrast, Nicki Minaj is reclaiming a song (Baby Got Back) that was made by a Black male rapper who celebrated (but also objectified) Black female bodies. Throughout her song, Nicki raps like a man would, talking about her sexual conquests with men and the size of their dicks, almost as a way of doing to men what they have done to women (objectifying their dicks as Sir Mix A Lot objectified Black women's asses and many other men objectify women's vaginas). She also brags about her sexual prowess and stays in control and aggressive in the video (she goes as far as cutting a banana representing a dick and slapping Drake's hand away—the video critiques the male gaze). The target of mockery and disparagement in Nicki's video is men and the male gaze, and the video works to reclaim agency from it. 

In what way is Nicki asserting power over her dancers? In her video, she twerks along side her back up dancers and dances with them and interacts with them on the same level. She is just as scantily clad as they are. Lily Allen, however, stays fully covered in her video, does not dance provocatively, and thus contrasts her own pure and respectable femininity with the Black women, using their twerking and scantily clad bodies as an example of "bad" female sexuality and femininity—of women "objectifying themselves." This is racist because it frames Black female sexuality as lesser than white femininity and antithetical to feminism. 

In summary: Nicki's video is very much a celebration of female Black beauty and sexuality coming from a Black woman. Conversely, Lilly Allen's is using Black women as props to frame them as a vile or bad form of sexuality or being too sexual to prop up her own feminism.

What I love about the song and video is that it isn't just Nicki being sexy. It's a flat out display of her power over men. Nicki actively disregards the male gaze in the video. Between the lyrics, the tongue in cheek mishandling of the banana and literally slapping Drake's hand away when he tries to touch her ass, it's a song and video about her enjoying her own body and sexuality, and inviting other "fat ass bitches" to do the same. The assertion that because she looks traditionally "sexy" she is "desperate for male attention" doesn't hold any water when you approach it critically. Just because something happens to be appealing to straight men doesn't mean that straight men are the intended audience. It's an incredibly heteronormative assumption. Would we assume that femme lesbians are vying for male attention because they prefer to present as traditionally feminine?

At the end of the video, Nicki crawls away smiling as Drake is left visibly frustrated. This is a clear instance of her exerting sexual control over him. What she's doing here and in the rest of the video is reversing the male gaze entirely, something she does often. Instead of flaunting for men, she's taking on the role of those same men, and standing in as a female substitute, purporting to be bigger and better than they could ever be. This song doesn't "appeal" to men, it literally taunts them for not being good enough to match up to her. She spends a good portion of the song actively cackling in their faces!

Nicki has a long track record of tackling issues of sexism in the industry head on and it's silly to think that those issues weren't at the back of her mind when she created this video. Nicki Minaj is savvy and her feminist politics are on point. She just isn't here for your respectability, and I'm perfectly okay with that.

On The Semantic Inaccuracy Of The Term "Slut Shaming"

via A Lofty Existence

Today, ​@FeministaJones published a great essay that explains why she takes issue with the term "slut shaming." In it, she describes the way we use language to imply specific connotations, and how that language applies when we coin terms about behaviour.

When I realized what the essay was about, I was apprehensive at first. After all, what we understand to be slut shaming within feminist discourse (ie. shaming women for their sexual choices) is definitely something that happens, and is quite obviously a practice that needs to be eradicated. I was unsure of why anyone would take issue with a term that seeks to identify and name that behaviour. 

But since I've been following @FeministaJones for almost a year now and I very much respect her voice and opinion, specifically as a sex positive black woman who writes openly about her sex life, her interest in kink, and the difficulties of confronting that in a society rife with respectability when it comes to black female bodies, I knew that I should do myself a favour and read it before drawing conclusions. 

I'm really glad I did.

Jones's argument is essentially this: When we "defend" women from being shamed for "being sluts", we are implicitly agreeing that they are sluts.

How? Well she breaks it down wonderfully by examining the ways in which we talk about female sexuality, and the words we use to describe female sexual behaviour within the patriarchal system.

"By definition, a “slut” is a woman, described as slovenly and promiscuous. Slovenly is by no means a compliment and promiscuous certainly has negative connotations. Think of what comes to mind when you think of that particular adjective. Be honest—isn’t your first thought about a woman? How often are men described as promiscuous?"

She also juxtaposes this with the terms "victim blaming" and "fat shaming" to underscore that when we use those terms, we are defending people from being shamed for who they are.

So why do we use “slut-shaming” in the same way? Following the usage of “victim blaming” and “fat shaming”, are we not basically calling women sluts when we talk about them being “slut shamed”? Are we not calling upon the prevalence and relevance of abusive terms and labeling women accordingly, while attempting to empathize with the shame they experience?

Following that thinking, when we frame the phenomenon of women being shamed for their sexual choices as "slut-shaming", we are implying that we are also defending them from being who they are, and stating that who they are is a "slut". The term effectively says "It's totally fine women are sluts. There's nothing wrong with that."

What Jones essentially says in her essays is that there shouldn't be derogatory terms to describe women's sexual behaviour (she also examines the usage of "whore", "promiscuous" and "prostitute"), and that by invoking those terms to defend ourselves we are inadvertently validating them. As we all know, a woman does not have to engage in sexual activity of any kind to be slut shamed, as the shaming stems from the desire to control women's sexual behaviour.

We are not “sluts”. We are WOMEN and we are being shamed because we are women (who have sex). It is important to keep this at the forefront of the discussion and not rely on catchy buzzwords to make points that, quite honestly, are counterproductive. If we uphold this idea of “slut shaming”, we agree that the word for a woman who enjoys sex is a slut. We become complicit with upholding the standards of sexual morality that generated these words. We are actively accepting and sustaining the limitations placed on sexual enjoyment. We are operating within the parameters of respectability when it comes to sexual pleasure and expression and we’re essentially agreeing that it’s OK to call women sluts. It is never OK to call a woman a slut, even if you’re fighting against so-called “slut shaming”.

FJ was kind enough to engage with me on twitter about her essay and I've complied the conversation so you can see my thought process if you so choose. I had never really considered the term from this perspective before and I appreciated the opportunity to critically think about something that I've taken for granted for quite some time.

I have always seen the reclamation of the term "slut" as a way to take the sting out of something that was created as a weapon against women who refuse to have their morality tied to their sexuality, but after reading this essay, I see that practice in a different light. Reclaiming slut is almost like willingly accepting blame for a crime you didn't commit, or rather for doing something that shouldn't be a crime in the first place.

While I won't go as far as calling for a moratorium on the term as FJ does, I do think it's important to constantly be questioning and critically thinking about the terms we use to describe the influences we come up against. Jones's essay was very enlightening, and I definitely recommend giving it a complete read.

On bell hooks, Sexual Agency And Combating Sexual Stereotypes Of Black Women

bell hooks via The New School

On Tuesday afternoon, legendary author, feminist and academic, bell hooks led a panel entitled Are You Still A Slave? Liberating The Black Female Body (embedded after the jump) at The New School. Joining her were author Marci Blackman, author and activist, Janet Mock, and film director Shola Lynch. What followed was an instructive and interesting dialogue about the politics of black womanhood, sexuality, and creating anti-imperialist images within a heteropatriarchial, white supremacist society.

One point of contention that stuck out to me however, was bell hook's comments about Beyoncé, and her belief that Beyoncé's brand was harmful to young black girls. bell even went so far as to say, in response to a question about creating liberatory sex positive framework that honours the agency of black women, that she believed black women should embrace celibacy as a political means to counteract stereotypes of hypersexuality (around the 1:25:30 mark).

If you've been following this blog at all in the last few months, then you know that I vehemently disagree with this point of view, and have written on several occasions about why I believe that Beyoncé's new overtly sexual image is empowering and instructive to black women when viewed through a womanist lens. But I've been thinking about why bell's statement's bothered me so much, and I think I've finally figured out why.

Things I Love: Lupita Nyong'o Is People's Most Beautiful Woman 2014

It shouldn't have to matter, but it does. Waking up to the news that Lupita was named People's Most Beautiful Woman for 2014 was enough to put me in a good mood for most of today.

This cover means a lot to me. As I've written about before, Lupita's It Girl status is a momentous coup within a system that actively demonizes and degrades women who look like her (and me!). She is the anti-thesis of what is considered the ideal: not just black, but dark skinned, with full lips, a muscular frame and close cropped, natural hair. She is the opposite of everything we've been told we're supposed to find beautiful, and yet here she is, dazzling away on the cover, being heralded as the most beautiful woman in the world.

It matters. It really does. And I can understand the impulse to say that it's no big deal in the long run. After all, it's People Magazine. The arbitrary title of "Most Beautiful" is not so secretly bestowed upon those with best publicists. But it's a huge fucking deal because black women usually aren't even allowed to play in this sandbox. In 25 years, Lupita is only the third black woman to be named "Most Beautiful", while Julia Roberts alone, has nabbed it four times!

Yes, she's obviously gorgeous and it seems like a no-brainer, but obviously gorgeous black women have been told they were hideously ugly for FOREVER, simply because of their blackness. And while Lupita certainly can't change everything, and shouldn't have to, she does seem to be unintentionally spearheading a seismic shift in beauty standards, and it's wondrous to behold.

What I love so much about Lupita however, is that she is completely aware of the socio-cultural impact that her visibility has on our culture, and isn't afraid to speak openly and honestly about it. She consistently articulates that she understands what her success as a black woman means, and how much potential for change she signifies, because she once felt the same way. She is acutely aware that she is helping to chip away at our anti-black vision of beauty, and she isn't shying away from leading the charge. Her sheer joy shines through, and it encourages the rest of us to find our own inner joy.

My only further wish for Lupita is that her star continues to rise. It's easy to call her beautiful and declare the system no longer racist, but the proof is in the pudding. It remains to be seen if Hollywood is going to allow her to follow through on the promise that they implicitly made when they gave her that statue, by giving her access to solid, meaty roles deserving of her talent.

Trudy over at  Gradient Lair wrote another great essay over that you should also check out that deals a little more deeply with the impact that Lupita's cover has, and the misogynoir and colourism that her visibility combats, and I encourage you to read it.

All in all, seeing this cover made my day, and made me tear up a little. It's officially #BlackGirlTime.