On The Fairest of Them All
Dissecting Why Black Girls at PWIs Dread the Question: “Do you have a boyfriend?”
This piece was written in May, 2016. I edited nothing except to correct minor missed words and add additional punctuation and paragraph breaks. The prompt for this paper was simply ‘Why?’ and the task was to unpack a question of interest to you. I wrote this piece at 15 years old, after 2 years of attending a predominantly white New England boarding school. The overall argument is not very complex, the language itself simple, and I’m not entirely aligned with the concluding point that “getting used to” Black girls in a romantic context just means white boys reaching out when they aren’t comfortable. Nevertheless, I publish this piece now to highlight how even without tackling large sweeping intersectionality, or having the vocabulary to discuss intersectionality, Black girls are thinking about themselves, how they are perceived, and judging themselves accordingly from very young ages. Nothing traumatic has to happen for you to feel that something is off in the way you are being treated, and that something often hurts, a lot. To that end, I do urge every reader to do their part in not adding to the smaller traumas that I speak to in this essay. Do your part in being courageous.
*All names have been changed.
I am an A Better Chance scholar. A Better Chance** is a program that helps minority students find, apply to, and adjust in prestigious day and boarding prep schools successfully. Every summer, A Better Chance holds a weekend long retreat for incoming scholars. During my orientation weekend, we discussed how to take notes and how to communicate with superiors, how to tell the difference between genuinely curious questioning (about race) and comments meant to be belittling. We also split up by gender, and in the girls’ case, discussed being a minority female in majority white schools. The hot topic was how it’s easier for black boys to enter prep schools, based on their reputation of athleticism, than for black girls who have to be careful about coming off as loud and brash. One girl recounted her asking one of her black peers why the white boys, and black boys for that matter, are never interested in black girls. He said, “They just don’t know how to ‘deal’ with you.”
Coming to Groton, I knew I wouldn’t be considered the ‘fairest of them all.’ Literally, of course, I wouldn’t be; however, does that have to translate to figuratively as well? Being 15, I receive this question all the time: “Do you have a boyfriend?” I’m not one to feel uncomfortable with this question, but the answer angers me: “No, I don’t.” I don’t think I’m crazy for going to my room after school, flopping on the bed, and exclaiming, “I just want a boyfriend!” I know I’m not because that sentiment is echoed largely throughout the dorm. However, I can’t help but feel that most of those people will acquire boyfriends during high school or at least have a juicy hookup. My doctor is Roman Catholic and always reminds me abstinence is the way to go and that I need to be careful because I’m such a pretty girl. “Do I have a boyfriend?” she asks me frequently. “No, Dr. Dean I don’t.” The reason why is still largely unclear to me. Closing out my second year of school, I have the same question that girl had 3 summers ago. Why won’t anyone take a chance on black girls?
I know that looks don’t make a person, but they do make the first impression. I know that if I was being judged by a group of white boys, I wouldn’t be the one that makes them go “Damn.” However, I am pretty. This winter, while doing the musical, I looked over during a rehearsal to find Ariel Sydney giggling at me with Becca Davis. I threw them a questioning glance, and Ariel burst out, “I just think you’re so pretty!” I was taken aback. Ariel Sydney, one of the most talented girls on campus who exudes confidence and grace found me pretty? I embarrassedly muttered a thank you. Just a few weeks ago, Cathy Foster offered similar remarks, saying that I wear clothing that compliments me (and outfit compliments are always welcome), and that I have really nice cheekbones (I do). I could be a model, she said.
I can’t say I disagree with those statements, and I was interested in modeling as a young girl (but have since given up that dream as Dr. Dean has informed me that I’ll probably be 5’5” for the rest of my life). However, it’s not the compliments that get me. It’s who offers them—primarily girls and close friends. Also, the compliments are usually expressed with an air of realization around them like the complimentor themselves just realized how gorgeous I actually am, or that they’re doing me a favor by letting me know. My senior advisor in second form,¹ Laila Gregory, was another strong black female whom I was happy to have as a role model. In the spring, she was heading a Standards of Beauty workshop with her friends and asked me to give a quote. I said, “I don’t think of myself as less beautiful, but I feel like I am perceived as less beautiful here.” There is, however, a time when people consistently notice my natural beauty (and coincidentally this was when Ariel complimented me): when I wear a twist out.
One of the most tangible distinctions between black girls and their counterparts is their hair. A twist out is when one wears her hair in the natural curl pattern that forms after taking out twists, my usual hair style. Our hair is naturally coarse, thick, and tangled—nappy. It is naturally dry, which is why we oil it, and because it doesn’t acquire oil quickly, we don’t have to wash it frequently. At home, I got my hair redone in twists every two weeks, but at Groton, because it takes me a long time to do, I’ll go up to a month without washing my hair. It also takes a long time to style. I’m proud to have cut my hair washing time to 40 minutes and my blow drying time to 50 minutes. Our hair is not naturally long, luscious, and glowing. I really like my twist outs because they’re manageable and prettier than my 3 week old twists. To others, I’m sure it’s also easier to look at—it makes sense. My hair is no longer in weird loc-like strands that get shorter over time but flows down my back in waves. Society, however, likes straight hair, and in the 2000s, relaxers were in style amongst black women. They still are because they make your hair dry straight, therefore making your hair more manageable.
However, when young black girls ask their moms if they can get a relaxer, it’s not because they want more manageable hair; it’s because they want to look like their white peers or celebrities. I used to be obsessed with Hannah Montana and loved Miley’s long brown hair; however, thankfully my mom never permed (another term for relaxed) my hair. In 7th grade, I was getting my hair done every 2 weeks, and my hair was very healthy and growing quickly. By this time, it was popular for black women to embrace their natural hair. All the time, women were growing out their relaxers or, like my mom, getting the “big chop” in order to go natural. I have an intense pride in my hair. It’s why I was appalled and frightened when my mom suggested I get a relaxer before going to Groton to make things easier, and why I refuse to ever get a weave or wear my hair in box braids while at school. It’s my quiet way of saying to everybody: ‘This is me. Deal with it.’ However, the rare occasion when I get my hair straightened is still exciting to me. I’d like people at school to see my hair that way and to see that my hair is quite long. My fear of the compliments I know I’d receive prevents me from straightening my hair before returning to school, however. Besides, it wouldn’t last long.
Why does something (like my hair) have to go ‘white’ to achieve praise? Even though the standard of beauty is thin and white, in this majority white environment, I see girls trying to look more like me. One of the most celebrated things amongst white girls? Being tan. It’s like a luxury. The worst is when someone is too pale, and she just burns. In second form, there was an uncomfortableness in the air (around me) when we talking about tans. It was as if people were embarrassed to let me in on a secret everyone else had discovered ages ago. However, I do in fact tan! I love my skin when it resembles a dark, smooth chocolate. However, society never celebrated me for being tan, so I never considered it a novelty. Another kicker, which has recently come to a head, is full lips. With Kylie Jenner’s lip kits selling out in hours, it’s cooler than ever to have full lips. This example is what I think of when I think of cultural appropriation. I think of the time of Jim Crow laws when African Americans were pictured as über-dark with humongous, bright, red lips carrying watermelons. We were shamed for our lips, but now I have a memory of a group of second formers complementing my lips, telling me they love how naturally full they are and how I have a gorgeous lip line. If beauty is dictated by white mainstream culture will something ever be beautiful simply because it is found on people who look like me? Furthermore, how come despite the hoopla surrounding big lips, for example, it’s most notable when found on white girls?
Is hair the real issue then? Maybe I’m embarrassing myself by writing this essay, and it’s actually my personality. There are black girls who are so gorgeous they dismiss any standards of beauty non-sense. It was during the Standards of Beauty workshop, led by Laila and company last spring, when I finally received a concrete answer to this burning question. The dreaded question of ‘why do you think there aren’t many interracial couples’ at Groton came up. The group had consisted mostly of girls who had dominated the conversation, but the leaders finally looked to the Caucasian senior boys to hear their thoughts. Stewart Russell, form² of 2015, answered the question with: “I’m just not used to them.” I felt like I had been slapped in the face, and my eyes started to water in the same way they do when a teacher embarrasses me in front of the class. His answer hurt but more than that, someone had finally said it. Stewart explained that he grew up in a predominantly white area and had been surrounded by white girls all his life, which naturally made him feel more comfortable around them. I felt hot all over. It wasn’t fair. I went to an all-black school, and I didn’t narrow my options down because of that. I was angry and hurt and, I admit, I low-key started hating Stewart immediately after he said that. But still I was glad: I had an answer. If what Stewart said is true then the student body at Groton has a hard time walking-the-walk, no matter how much we talk about inclusion. There remains a close-mindedness on the Circle³ when choosing our mates that is fueled in part by the media, but also by an unwillingness to try something new. Black girls are not something to “deal” with. We are simply girls. We deserve the same display of courage it takes for anyone to approach the girl they like. All you have to do is say, “Hi.”
¹ Eighth grade.
² Class, or grade.
³ How Grotonians refer to Groton, due to the grass circle in the middle of campus, around which all campus buildings sit.
**A Better Chance is a phenomenal program that while still active today, has been badly hurt by the pandemic. If you would like to learn more about the nationwide program, look no further than here. If you are able, please consider donating to the organization here.
