Today for Clutch I poked a wee bit of fun at Nivea and Rihanna's expense but mostly talked about how all women have to tow a line of be sexy, don't be sexy, be smart, but not too smart and to have perfect hair the whole time. All in an effort to keep trying to hit this constantly moving target of "expectations."
Here's a snippet:
Often, being a black woman often means either:
- Spending an inordinate amount of your life exhibiting an insane degree of self-control and emotional-detachment so that you can chase an ever-moving narrow target that there is no guarantee you will ever hit. Or …
- Screw this. I’m grown. I do what I want.
I often fall in the “B” column, typically because that narrow, ever-moving target is also known as the “Impossible Standard,” that thing that tells women — and is a double-whammy if you’re a minority — that you can’t just be smart or pretty, you need to be a drop dead gorgeous rocket scientist billionaire with a Wilhelmina modeling contract married to Barack Obama, baking the perfect peach cobbler, then eating that cobbler, but never gaining weight because you don’t exist, but if you did, OMG, everyone would love you.
Until they just found some pointless flaw and flogged you for it anyway.