Showing posts with label Awkward Black Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Awkward Black Girl. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The first season of Akward Black Girl is over

and rather than lay in bed mourning, I decided to rewatch the entire season and write a paper about two of my favorite projects surrounding Black identity that exist right now: The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl and Toure's Who's Afraid of Post-Blackness? What It Means to be Black Now. I feel so validated by the versatility of the fields of Sociology and African-American studies, both of which consistently remind me that that which is interesting to me personally is worthy of legitimate academic exploration and discussion. 

Anyway, I thought you all might be interested in my thoughts on combining the two works. But don't go stealin my shit, okay?





"Through directly addressing the themes of race, gender, sexuality, class, beauty, love, power, social acceptance, and of course, awkwardness, through the particular lens of one individual Black female’s experiences working at an average job and leading an average life, Awkward Black Girl shatters cultural expectations of Black femininity by honestly exploring the way individual Blackness is lived in contemporary society. Though the normative cultural gazes, stereotypes, tropes, and racist incidents that plague marginalized populations manifest themselves within every webisode and affect J’s daily life in small but not insignificant ways, viewers never lose the perception that they are witnessing J’s Blackness as a deeply individualized personal characteristic, rather than solely as an imposed social category. J’s character is thoroughly ordinary in a way that has not existed in television or film in years, since what some would call the death of the Black family sitcom in the late 90s and early 2000s, and thus Awkward Black Girl’s most profound points may lie simply in having re-carved a social space for such ordinary conceptualizations of Black American characters and presenting such characters as shared cultural objects, persons in whom everyone can be interested in, knowledgeable about, and can draw from in the future.[1] Drawing from many well-known images of Black femininity but fully representing no established trope, J demonstrates a deep cultural knowledge of many variations of Blackness in conjunction with a wealth of cross-cultural capital, and never seems to struggle with her racial identity. She does not view her awkwardness, her penchant for sushi, or her appreciation for both “hoodrat love songs” and 90s pop-rock as antithetical to Blackness, and the specific way in which J narrates her experiences, rather than simply letting viewers follow them, demands that the public share this viewpoint at least temporarily.
            Touré quotes the artist William Pope.L as saying that “Blackness is limited only by the courage to imagine it differently,”[2] and by engendering a fanbase dedicated enough to create an “Awkward Nation” hashtag on Twitter, Issa Rae has given social validity to a different understanding of Blackness. The series’ tagline, “I’m awkward…and Black” suggests that Blackness is not the primary lens through which J understands her life, which Hollywood again does not discuss often; like post-Black visual artists, her work is “‘steeped, in fact deeply interested, in redefining complex notions of Blackness’”[3] while it works very actively to not limit her to depicting Blackness and Blackness alone. Having come of age in an era where slices of Black culture have become mainstream, J’s character seems secure enough in her Black identity to experiment with it, to recognize as Roland Martin has recognized that “what is real and authentic Blackness is solely based on your experience. How you grew up, how you were raised, what you saw, and what you went through,”[4] and to not concern herself with bending to fit pre-made societal molds of Black femininity. But in disregarding the limitations society attempts to place on Black femininity as constricting her existence, she continues to have those limited understandings thrown her way throughout the course of her daily life, demonstrating the fact that ever-expanding definitions and understandings of Blackness do not negate the effects of racism and white supremacy. By letting viewers experience her world entirely from her point of view, the character of J demands that the rest of America grant her the same freedom of identity she gives herself and recognize the ways in which race and gender still profoundly shape daily existence for marginalized populations; one cannot watch Awkward Black Girl without being forced to dismiss the idea that race no longer matters in America, and experiencing Blackness as J demands a recognition of Blackness as multifaceted and enormously inclusive, placing ABG in the category of post-Black art."


[1] Touré, Who’s Afraid of Post-Blackness? What It Means to Be Black Now. 49.
[2] Touré, Who’s Afraid of Post-Blackness? What It Means to Be Black Now. 7.
[3] Thelma Golden. Cited in Touré, Who’s Afraid of Post-Blackness? What It Means to Be Black Now. 32.
[4] Roland Martin. Cited in Touré, Who’s Afraid of Post-Blackness? What It Means to Be Black Now. 154.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Major cosign-age:


We, not just as black women, but as women, and as human beings, should have BEEN DONE with this narrative quite some time ago. But by discussing it, even when we're talking about how stupid/inaccurate/detrimental it is, we're giving it credibility and encouraging the media to keep bringing it up. We need to let this DIE and come up with better, more productive narratives to talk about.

And my shout out to someone who is telling the truth about us will go to The Crunk Feminists, with honorable mentions to playwright Lydia Diamond, who wrote Stick Fly, and Issa Rae and her whole team over at The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl.


Thursday, August 11, 2011

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHY

Tyler Perry is getting his own television station. WHO THINKS THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?! WHO?!?! I would like to know so I can go personally slap them, on behalf of advocates of social change everywhere. Because tell me, please, I beg you, tell me one good thing Tyler Perry has done for a Black person anywhere (his-worth-$350-million-self not included)?

Some of you are going to say he's funny. Some of you are going to say he's funny because he exaggerates the truth. Some of you are going to say he's funny because he tells the truth. I say he tells stories that he wants y'all to think are funny because y'all think they're true. Because okay, sure, I'm sure people like pistol-in-one-hand-Bible-in-the-other Madea exist out there in the world somewhere. I know that there are cracked out mothers and histories of abuse and family members who will tell you to sit there and take it. I have experienced black churches like the ones he depicts. Scenes that have taken place in the living room on House of Payne have taken place in real people's living rooms, I know. I KNOW.

But what I know more than any of those things is that there are MILLIONS of Black peoples who are nothing like this, and I am SICK AND FUCKING TIRED of this same monolithic image of the Black community being shoved down our throats and the community responding by placing the shover on a pedestal! He's like the new millenium's version of shucking and jiving, and I'll be damned if I sit back while we let him portray this slice of Blackness as THE truth rather than A truth. I'm going to try to list all the vicious stereotypes that I think he's perpetrating and, even worse, getting Black folks to identify with and internalize.
  1. The class war between African-Americans is real, and middle/upper-class Blacks should be demonized. 
  2. Relatedly, all middle/upper-class Black women should realize that men of their own social/educational status aren't "real men", and should fall in love with/marry blue-collar men.
  3. A Black woman cannot be strong without being angry/violent. 
  4. Relatedly, Black women are consistently in trouble with the law. 
  5. Light-skinned Black women represent all that is good and right with the world, and dark-skinned Black women are inherently problematic. 
  6. Dark-skinned Black women are inherently unattractive and sexually undesirable.
  7. Thin, White, blonde womanhood is the ideal standard of beauty/femininity/desirability that all women must imagine themselves as exemplifying to have any sort of self-respect.
  8. Womanhood is a role that can be appropriated, belittled, and dramatically over-emphasized by men for the enjoyment of the masses.
  9. There is no such thing as a traditional family amongst Black peoples.
  10. African-Americans who are not practicing Christians should be ostracized.
  11. Known history of a criminal past or past dependence on drug abuse should have zero effect on whether you choose to let someone [back] into your or your children's lives.
  12. Dark-skinned Black men are liars, while light-skinned Black men are saviors. 
  13. Gay Black men are "on the down low," having unprotected sex, and spreading HIV to Black females.
  14. Physical, psychological, emotional, and sexual abuse are normal, standard elements of life as a Black woman. 
  15. Black men are the greatest threat to Black women's health/lives, but also our only possible saviors.
  16. Black peoples should leave all their problems to divine intervention.
That's what I came up with off the top of my head. I could probably keep going, but I have more posts to write. 

I will admit that there is most likely a grain of truth to each of these statements, but only in so far as you add "some" to every mention of Black peoples or any subset of Black peoples, and that you recognize that those same such "some _____" statements can be filled in by members of ANY SOCIAL GROUP IMAGINABLE. But no. We are presented with these ideas solely in terms of Blackness, and very specific "types" of Blackness at that, types which are marketed as being the end-all-be-alls of Blackness. There is no counter-narrative here. Awkward Black Girl ain't got a TV show. 

So let's go back to the question, what good has come out of this for Black peoples? Maybe a few more Black women got tested for HIV. Maybe someone somewhere got the courage to leave her abusive relationship. Those are good things, yes, but do they have to come at the expense of demonizing and even-further-marginalizing subsets of an already marginalized people, widening gaps and strengthening tensions that already existed within the Black community, and silencing the voices of other sections of Blackness? I think not. Are any of the SIXTEEN DAMAGING IDEAS I just listed doing any good for anybody? I think not. IS. HE. FUNNY? I think not. I think he one of the most problematic Black men in the country, and at a time when I was just bemoaning the death of the Black sitcom/Black family show...this is THE OPPOSITE of what we need. I am thoroughly unconvinced any good will come from this endeavor. Someone stop the madness, please! 

Friday, August 5, 2011

Black and Different Unite!

So y'all know that my blackness relationship to the dominant cultural narrative about what blackness is is something I struggle with. And while the Black Princetonian community definitely makes me feel less jarringly out of place than do/did most of the other interactions I've ever had with peoples of African descent--let it be known that I LOVE my fellow Black Princetonians, even when I don't feel like I mesh well with the group--I've never really totally been able to shake that puzzle-piece-that-got-wet-and-now-just-won't-fit-no-matter-how-hard-you-try feeling. (Something along the lines of I can stand strong with the group in a discussion forum like a BSU or PABW meeting, but Idgaf how popular the dance is, I will never portray any part of my body as "stanky". I can seek/give advice to fellow naturalistas on campus, but I don't believe in God. I feel like parts of me are both the thesis and the antithesis of the norms of our community, and so I've come to a happy medium with one foot in and one foot out.) So after getting internally frustrated trying to totally Black-ify my life for two years, I joined an eating club and Sustained Dialogue and have finally started to have the rainbow coalition of friends I'd always wanted. Again, nothing new here--I've talked about this before. 

What I really really love discovering, though, as I brought up yesterday in my post about Awkward Black Girl, is that out there in the interwebz world exist lots of other people who feel just as torn between their true selves and what the world wants their "Black" selves to be, people who want to change the narrative, people who get the vibe from other people, both Black and non-Black, that their racial validity is being questioned. Part of me wants to call this the rise of those who get called "Oreo," but I'm positive it's broader than that. [Side note: it wasn't until Sustained Dialogue this year that I heard the terms Banana and Apple (see definition six). Blew my mind. Also part of the reason I really don't want to limit my thesis about racial identity on campus to Black students--there are all kinds of tensions and derogatory in-group names I was entirely unaware of.] Some call us "awkward". Some call us "nerds". Some call us "bougie". Maybe we're all of those things. Maybe we're none. What we definitely are, though, is Black. And here, in large numbers. 

These two articles on the subject made me smile today:

Excerpt One (though I don't support other Black Americans trying to threaten my race card either--if anyone should recognize a broader interpretation of Blackness, it's us): 
"It's one thing when other African-Americans try to threaten my race card, but when people outside of my ethnicity have the audacity to question how "down" I am because of the bleak, stereotypical picture pop culture has painted for me, as a Black woman? Unacceptable."  -- Issa Rae (aka AWKWARD BLACK GIRL HERSELF), from The Huffington Post
Excerpt Two:
"My experience of surprising White folks has continued my whole life....the near-hostility from non-nerdy Black folks has been the most painful....So, I have tried to be Black in stereotypically recognizable ways....American people of all races have a hard time acknowledging the complicated ways that blackness exists...Some of us just want to be free to be our complicated Black selves and kick it however the wind blows." -- PhyllisRemastered
Another thing that made me smile: a black staff member here at Lewis, who I met at a Fields Center event and is leaving Princeton for Northwestern, called me "Sista" when he was saying his goodbyes. I love getting called Sista. Makes me feel like the person addressing me recognizes that I fit despite all the ways in which I am not normative.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

HOLD THE MOTHAFUCKIN PHONE

So in recent weeks I'd heard a lot of buzz about this miniseries called "The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl". Occasionally some of the blogs I read would post about it, and I would wonder whether this few minutes of my time was worth craning my neck awkwardly at work so that my headphones could reach the computer tower which is far as fuck from the monitor for no identifiable reason. The answer was always, "Eh, I'll go back to it when I get home." But then I would get caught up in other unread posts and other unwritten posts and Scrabble on Facebook and talking to my mom and forget all about Awkward Black Girl. 

I decided to remedy that this morning. BEST DECISION OF MY WEEK. This shit is FANTASTIC. The episodes keep getting longer and her life keeps getting more and more awkward and I LOVE IT. I don't always agree with her (for instance I love spoken word...but not that wack shit they were forced to sit through) and have no qualms about actually eating on a date, but I see a lot of myself in her. 

And I know from all the blogs that I've been reading that the creator of the show is having some funding issues, so I'm thinking about donating ten bucks or so. Every little bit helps, right? On the funding page she has a little description about why she created ABG, which starts off like this: 
"Why ABG exists:
Television today has a very limited scope and range in its depictions of people of color. As a black woman, I don’t identify with and relate to most of the non-black characters I see on TV, much less characters of my own race. When I flip through the channels, it's disheartening. I don’t see myself or women like me being represented. I’m not a smooth, sexy, long-haired vixen; I’m not a large, sassy black woman; an angry Post Office employee. I’m an awkward black girl.
And I’m not alone."
I had two very clear and very interesting reactions to this little introductory snippet to the reason for the show. Reaction number one: I, Maya Reid, of sound mind and body, must confess to you all right now that I have NO PROBLEM identifying with and relating to non-black characters I see on TV. Characters of my own race can be a little more touchy, because I don't see very many black characters--I see "real" black people on reality shows I refuse to watch, but as far as characters...as a kid, Sister Sister was my SHIT, I wanted to be the girl the Famous Jett Jackson liked, and it is still my dream to one day be as bougie as the Huxtables (without any of Bill Cosby's egregious classism in real life). As an adult, I was ALL OVER Girlfriends (like a black Sex in the City, for those who don't know) and still watch reruns regularly, and I can see bits of myself in The Game's Melanie and Nurse Hawthorne and her daughter. I liked the ambition and double-life led by the main characters in last fall's quickly-canceled Undercovers. Huh, that actually seems like a decent number of black characters I can relate to/identify with. But that wasn't my point here.
My point was that I see just as many bits of myself in some White women on television (Bones, Annie from Community) and even in men (House, Reid on Criminal Minds ). Until I came to Princeton, I spent my whole life relating more to White people than to other Black people, and I was okay with that. But the second biggest gift Princeton has given me (the first being a free $200,000 education) is the knowledge of and camaraderie with Black people who are LIKE ME. Because honestly, I'm pretty sure I didn't think that was possible growing up. I had stopped looking for it. 
But they're out there. I've found them at Princeton, and I've found them hailing from all over the country at Yale's Black Solidarity Conference, and I have to say, it is comforting, I suppose. Reaction number two: Based solely upon the legions of women responding to the series, and the fact that it was all over my blogosphere and even my friend C was talking about how much she loves it, THERE'S AN ARMY OF US. And that...seems like it would feel validating if I was still looking for validation. And it is refreshing to have another character to add to the people-who-look-and-think-like-me category. I think my favorite thing about this webseries, though, is the fact that race is often confronted openly in a way that doesn't ever happen on television. And THAT is something I can identify with.