There isn't a day that goes by that I don't see #blackgirlmagic hashtagged as I scroll down my Twitter timeline or Facebook news feed. Those three little words are often found attached to the selfie of a black woman with her hair laid, face beat to the makeup Gods and a physique straight out of the body issue of a magazine, all while she's in some exotic location. Of course, I like, share and occasionally even leave a comment on the picture -- something along the lines of a heart eyes emoji as I bask in their beauty and excellence. I mean, after constantly being told we're not good enough and being put against each other, it needs to be said.
However, it seems as if those pro-black "flexing my melanin" pages really only celebrate and uplift one kind of carefree black girl. You know the ones I'm talking about: the conventionally pretty by society's standards, the acceptable, black beauties -- the Zendaya's, Gabrielle Union's, Rihanna's, and Beyonce's of the world with the long weave. Well, what about the Uzo Aduba's, Viola Davis', and Gabourey Sidibe's? The black girls with the less than perfect skin – eczema, psoriasis, scars, uneven skin tones and pigmentation disorders? The black girls who aren’t slim with a fat booty but round all over with the rolls and tummy folds to match or skinny with no butt? Or the girls with the not so delicate and feminine features with the deep voices and big feet? Why do we sit here and say all black girls are pretty then only promote one type? Does being a "carefree black girl" only refer to those who fit a certain look, tax bracket or lifestyle?
While the idea of not caring about what other people may think, being happy with who you are and letting the hurt go in order for this positive, dance-like-no-one-is-watching attitude to flourish sounds great, it's not as easy as everyone makes it out to be.
Karyn Washington, the founder of the "For Brown Girls" blog, #DarkSkinRedLip project, and the one behind this entire movement, committed suicide. Now, what are the odds of a woman who's sole mission was to spread positivity and was essentially the epitome of black female power ending up taking her own life? Well, it's actually not as crazy as it seems.
As black women, we have to sit back and watch black men praise the natural hair of white or Latina women while we're told to "do something with those naps" or "the natural look ain't for everybody," get referred to as "chocolate" when we're half-naked and oiled up, but any other time, listen as people proudly rap along to the Lil Wayne lyric "I bet that b**ch look better red." Loud, outspoken, and headstrong women with Angela Davis'-style afros are called woke queens while loud, outspoken, and headstrong women like Cardi B or that chick that lives across the street from you and braids hair to support herself are "ghetto" and "ratchet." Depression and anxiety simply don't exist in our world -- we have to be strong for everyone, hold down men who mistreat us in order to prove we're "wifey" material and worthy of having a man who's a half-decent boyfriend (because honestly, why is it my responsibility to teach a supposedly, grown human being how to treat someone they claim to care about and why do people want credit for doing what they're supposed to do but that's another article for another day), yet as soon as we even mention the fact that we're hurt, we're either asking for too much, being emotional or just angry.
Well, I say screw that.
So for all of my black girls out there who don't feel as carefree as others, who aren't happy-go-lucky and have a chip on their shoulder, who don't meet the European or black standards of beauty, can't afford to travel to another state, let alone out of the country, don't keep their nails done for reasons they don't have to explain, and feel like an outcast in their own community - alienated by a movement that's supposed to be for them, you're valid. Be your own kind of magic.
I see you.
