Miss Universe and Unspeakable Blackness
September 23, 2011 § 3 Comments
Miss Universe 2011
On September 12, Leila Lopes was crowned Miss Universe in São Paulo, Brazil. The 25 year-old made history in 2011 as the first Miss Angola, the second Black African, and the fourth African to win Miss Universe. With good cause, her win has sparked conversation regarding race and beauty. However, her success has played a role in the ways that this year’s Miss Universe has carefully talked about race throughout this week.
For Angolans, Lopes’ win inspired national pride. For many Black girls throughout the world, this Miss Universe represented a notion of beauty that is not exclusively tied to Whiteness. Undoubtedly, many of us can identify many examples of beautiful Black women. However, mainstream recognition at the world’s most viewed pageant places Black beauty beyond cultural “niches” where African American women have been embraced most often.
Because mainstream aesthetics of beauty are tied to Whiteness, cultural ideals of femininity associated with these forms of beauty frequently exclude Black women. This bias has worked to defeminize and blemish Black women in popular culture and even science. The rejection of Blackness is especially visible in popular events such as beauty competitions—even the ones with winners who we might call Black. In fact, it stirred controversy in 2010, as light-skinned Sarodj Bertin was named Miss Haiti. According to some critics, Bertin’s selection over darker competitors raised questions regarding race and beauty within the mostly Black nation. Most might consider Bertin beautiful, but what about other women who were considered “Blacker” (and even more-Haitian) contestants?
Although competitions such as Miss Universe do little to meet many of women’s needs, the cultural consequences of expanding the racial limits of beauty influence the daily experiences of women everywhere. The 2011 Miss Universe pageant was a small victory for diversifying beauty. Lopes—who is quite tall and thin—may not resemble the women she represents, but she is Black like me.
While most will likely remember Miss Angola for her physical presence in São Paulo, her discourse on beauty and race were perhaps the most significant element of her performance. In a sense, she made herself into a wonderful example of the “post-racial” candidate (sound familiar?). For example, during the competition she was asked what physical change she would make if given the chance. Her response, “I wouldn’t change a thing. I was endowed with inner beauty,” allowed Lopes to shift discussion away from her body. In doing so, she avoided directly confronting the audience with racial difference.
Although race is absent in her answer, its omission made her Blackness quite obvious. Some spectators hoped that she would speak about race. Others prayed that she would leave it alone. As a result, plenty of viewers were left focusing on Miss Angola’s race during her game of “I won’t say it if you don’t.”
It seemed apparent that Leila Lopes knew that the illusion of the post-racial society was safe as long as no one testified to the contrary. Her chance of success also depended on preserving the appearance of a post-racial present. She showed how well she understood this in a response to questions about racism following the pageant. She responded, “racism does not affect me,” and “any racist should seek help. It’s not normal in the 21st Century to think in that way.”
Here, Lopes couldn’t avoid speaking about racism, but she managed to relegate it to the past. Her answer acknowledged that racism is pathological, and perhaps it was normal in another time. However, if racism does exist today, it is out of context.
Ultimately, mainstream beauty, even if it can include racial difference, is frequently exclusive. Cultures and economies of beauty frequently embrace and create inequalities that need critique. Without a doubt, Leila Lopes’ crown is a victory for women throughout the African Diaspora. However, should we expect successful Black men and women to become silenced by virtue of the rules of mainstream acceptability? More importantly, how can we—the cultural beneficiaries of milestones like this—push harder against inequalities of the present?
The Hair Hustle
May 19, 2011 § 1 Comment
We all know that hair is big business. Barbershops, salons, peluquerías, or a парикма́херская can make a lot of money. Part of the reason why barbers and stylists can do this is that we tend to bestow so much meaning to our mops. Despite the fact that hair may tell a lot about an individual, it’s really just junk. No, seriously! It’s as much junk as your fingernails are. It’s a bunch of protein filaments growing out of our skin. Like a lot of other animals, humans produce quite a bit of it. In fact, we have more than our chimpanzee cousins, but it grows funny on us.
Like our fellow primates, we tend to spend a great deal of time grooming. A lot of the conversations that anthropologists tend to have regarding hair covers a few important areas. We tend to think about hair’s relationship to notions of beauty. We talk a lot about the social nature of these popular practices. Plenty of us know that countless professionals earn incomes in the hair industry, but how often do we think about the political economy of the natural resource that is hair? Timothy Williams’ NYT piece deals with some of these questions.
That’s right, I’m talking about the social and economic relationships linked to extensions.
When we talk about the human hair trade in 2011, we’re talking about a system of production and consumption in which embodied labor (growing hair) influences economic, social, and cultural life in local spaces throughout the world. We’re not talking about something as major as sugar’s role in the development of Europe here, but it’s fair to say that hair is of economic importance.
Williams’ article offers a glance at some the related phenomena taking place in US cities (he focuses on theft, violence, and the black market in what appears to be Black communities). In my opinion, the most interesting thing about this hair trade is that there is a hierarchy of hair, and a limited supply of the good stuff. Remy happens to be just that. It comes straight from India (that’s what they say). And it’s not just any Indian hair. This top of the line hair apparently comes from the heads of women who “have their heads shaved as a sign of having mastered their egos” (it almost sounds like going shopping for organic produce instead of the pesticide-ridden stuff that the masses consume).
But what goes into mastering ego? I’d like to know a little about the social costs of shaving a woman’s head in India. I assume that mastering one’s ego is quite a feat, and probably one that most women don’t care to attempt without receiving payment. The sale/donation of hair grants what in exchange? Who are these women? Where are the donors from? How might a shaved head influence job prospects? What is the relationship between marriage and a shaved head? Generally, how might this supplementary income effect individuals, families, or communities? Hair means a great deal to us all, but what are some of the material and cultural results of this trade?
I assume that if the hair is expensive for customers in the US (“$200 per package, and the average head requires at least 2 packages” according to Williams), the cost is way higher for whoever produces it. At least, that’s how sugar was.
