if you think black women wearing their hair natural is unprofessional you are racist.
if a white woman worked in a store with hair she hadnt brushed and called it her “natural” hair it would still be unprofessional.
A black woman’s natural hair is of the same quality as a white woman’s unkempt hair.
I have learned over the years how essential gentleness towards oneself is. When you are having a bad moment, bad day, bad year, or a seemingly bad life you owe it to yourself to be kind, to be patient, and to be loving.
Beating yourself up over mistakes of the past or present doesn’t help you in anyway to do better. It’s an act of abuse against yourself, and it will only make you hurt more.
Don’t break apart your own soul. Don’t crush your heart into pieces. Please don’t destroy yourself from the inside out. Be gentle with yourself every single second of every moment of every single day. You are learning, you are growing — you will fumble and stumble but I know you can and will rise again.
You are worthy of your own attention, care, and forgiveness. If you’ve been treating yourself badly today I really hope that you’ll take this opportunity to no longer speak hate into your life but rather love, hope, healing, and joy.
You are not a bad person.
You are not a failure.
You are not meaningless.
You are not born to suffer.
You are not fated for misery.
You are a precious human being. Sweetheart, YOU ARE A PRECIOUS HUMAN BEING. A bad moment doesn’t change that. A mistake doesn’t undo your worth. You are a magnificent treasure, and I hope that today you would begin the process of restoring your soul.
constantly thinking “wow, i’ve really internalized some toxic shit”
My Bathroom Selfie at The W…
😂😂😂😂 @theDenyque put her in her place. A di baddest response. #jamaica #whentrollinggoeswrong
Etana’s album “I RISE” will be in stores on 10.28.14.
Disclaimer: This is not poetic, beautiful, proofread, meant to be in a magazine or book. These thoughts are as raw as the wounds I am left with.
When I made the decision to study abroad in Manchester, England I thought I knew what I was getting into. If you have been following me for some time you’re probably aware that one of the main reasons I chose to study here was in order for me to conduct research for a collection of short stories based on race relations in a foreign country ("Black Girl Abroad"). I wanted to know what it was like to be a Black woman in another country. Would I be facing the same judgments? Obstacles? Presuppositions? Racism?
I can honestly say that I was in no way, shape and or form prepared for what this experience has actually turned out to be. The scenarios I had shaped in my head, the situations I thought I would encounter, were all wrong. In order to give you some context I think it is important for you to understand some things about me. I am a 19 year old Black woman with natural hair and hazel eyes, I’m a first generation American (my parents are from Jamaica and Trinidad), I’d like to say I’m attractive, I drink, I smoke, I’m sexually active and do my fair share of partying, I have a 3.9 gpa and more extra-curricular activities than you can count, I’d like to think of myself as a socially aware and conscious human being and sometimes I’m too damn nice for my own good. Here is a random ass picture of me doing my signature pose Here is a picture of me with some friends at a club in Loughborough and one more of me and one of my best friends Abi in Manchester
Feel free to draw whatever conclusions you’d like about me, that’s what people have been doing since the second I got here anyway…
Was one of the things you thought of I own her?
How about Her body is mine?
No? How about I will do what I want with her?
Still no? Well, you are among the few, because that’s what I’ve encountered here.
My first week or two here I was shocked and amazed by the amount of attention men gave me, specifically white men. In my 19 years of living I have NEVER (to my knowledge) had a white man be interested in me, approach me, or want to engage with me romantically (even in the fleeting moments of the night). My only experience with a white man had been this guy I crushed on last semester: we made out a couple of times, but he didn’t want anything more, and I’m pretty sure he never really liked me anyway.
I can’t lie, at first I was flattered, until the flattery faded and I realized what was going on. Yes, I was getting attention, but all the wrong kinds. My white American friends were puzzled and questioned me:
"Why are you getting all the white men? I’m tall, blonde, and I’m skinny! Maybe I should grow an afro."
"English men really seem to like you Alexis… I just don’t get it…"
"Oh my God, what is it about you? Jungle fever?"
Before I could even evaluate what was going on, my white friends had drawn their own conclusions: for white men to be attracted to me, specifically the droves of white men that approached me singing my praises, something had to be wrong. They could not imagine that anyone would choose to speak to me (the short, overweight, Black girl with nappy hair) over the countless skinny, blonde, white women.
Aside from the fact that they could not fathom how someone could find me attractive, they did get one thing right: something was wrong. These people were not interested in me as a person, but the mystery surrounding my Blackness.
Every day I feel like some extra-terrestrial being on display. I have been fetishized, otherized, exoticized, sexually and physically assaulted by European people, primarily white men, who feel that they have ownership of my body. People are amazed and fascinated by me (mainly because of my hair and the fact that I am a Black woman, with hazel eyes: something which particularly puzzles people. I can count on one hand the number of natural woman I’ve seen besides myself since I’ve been here); to them I am different, exotic, something to be examined, touched, poked at, felt, played with, investigated. I cannot begin to tell you how many times people have asked me what I did to get my hair like this. The number of times people have just come up to me and touched me. Without asking. Without my permission. As if to say, “You are not human. You are no woman, you are toy, play thing, animal, dog. You are a museum, a petting zoo. You are mine.”
When I get upset about it, when I react, most people try to convince me I’m making a big deal out of nothing, try to convince me that my emotions are invalid, attempt to console me by telling me I can touch them too, if I’d like.
I have had men and women come up to me and tell me to shake my ass like the Black girls in music videos, ask me to say “What up my nigga” wanting so badly to hear it come from a Black woman’s mouth, I have had strangers grope my ass, forcibly grab my face and kiss my lips, among other more personal unmentionable things.
I have never felt so powerless in my entire life. Every day I spend here is another day I feel myself disappearing. I feel the fight dying. Every day is a reminder that there are some people you cannot fight off. There are moments when my body will not let me. My life is not a poem I can write into beautiful. These stories will not be beautiful.She was basically a walking zoo to these people.
i am bright colors and ever changing hair.
i am songs on repeat and fingers intertwined.
i am warm feelings.
i am laughter and messages just to say hello and i miss you.
i am moments of uncertainty and extreme clarity.
i am used book stores and cabinets full of tea.
i am summer nights and pretty dresses.
i am cocktails and spontaneous trips.
i am batting eyelashes and blushing cheeks.
i am poetry written down on napkins and the back of hands.
i am chuck taylors and high heels.
i am thrift stores and my grandmothers child.
i am hummingbirds in windows and questions answered after moments of refection.
i am star gazing and toes dancing on the edge of the ocean.
i am strong winds and the scent of cinnamon.
i am long kisses and touches just right there.
i am multiple projects and A.D.D.
i am a lion and a warrior and i am shy.
i am brave and afraid.
i am grateful and i worry.
i am searching for God for myself outside the walls of the church.
i am lazy and a bundle of energy.
i am peace and chaos.
i am everything.
and there is not one bit of me that is small enough to fit inside of a box.
The Black People Never Mentioned in Black History During Black History Month
Who: Ursula Burns
From: New York City, NY
Contribution: It all started with an intern job in 1980. And, since 2007, Ursula has been the CEO of the $15 billion dollar computer company Xerox. She earned a B.S. in mechanical engineering from Polytechnic Institute of New York and a master’s in engineering from Columbia. She is also appointed by President Obama, as the vice chair of his Export Council.
Dog, why come I never heard about her???
vend-etta said: Why do black people straighten their hair if non-black people can't get corn row/ box braid/ whatever you consider a "black" hairstyle
why do white people always try to make this non-point false equivalence when they know these are two completely different realities that don’t compare on any plane whatsoever
white people not only make black people hate their hair at an individual emotional level but literally at a systemic level in which black people are and have been for the last century unable to get jobs, attend colleges, enlist in the armed forces, etc. because of the treatment of their natural hair. there literally is nothing white people have to compare…
white people are not getting box braids because they feel pressured to, or out of fear that they won’t have access to a job or anything, but instead because they know it’s an “edgy black people thing” that they’re doing to be counter culture and subversive. there is literally no pressure on earth for anyone INCLUDING BLACK PEOPLE to worship or utilize Black hairstyles or Black hair in its natural state and you fucking know it. It’s literally the complete opposite for white hair. grow up
white people are not gelling down baby hairs for social mobility or financial security or comfort or assimilation.
- why do black women feel the need to wear weave?
History Lesson: History Lesson : Why Women Of Color In The 1800s Were Banned From Wearing Their Hair Out In Public
“Did you know that in late 18th century Louisiana, black and multiracial women were ordered to cover their hair in public?”
- A 7-year-old Tulsa girl was sent home form her elementary school because her dreadlocks were too much of a distraction, Fox 23 News Tulsa reports.
- visual-volume forced to cut locs
credit to black—lamb
12 year old Vanessa VanDyke is being threatened with expulsion from Faith Christian Academy in Orlando unless she cuts her natural hair.
Read the ads
"MEN WHO GO PLACES" "WAS IT HER RESUME OR HER RELAXER?" white people don’t have ads telling them "you will not be successful in life unless you have cornrows and box braids with gelled down baby hairs" because that isn’t the case. address this in the context of reality, maybe???
All of this. ALL OF THIS. READ THIS ^^^^^^
White people didn’t invent straight hair either. There are Black people with straight hair. That’s not a “White style”.
The Histoire de Curbes, Pulp Fashion Week Show(lle-de-France, France)
it’s nice to see people who look more like me on my dash.
I love to see the celebration of all women’s bodies.
This is VERY important