Cisters, we need to talk. (By “cis” I mean cisgender women–people who were assigned female at birth and also identify as women).
We’re living in scary times, battling multiple pandemics, and in the wake of the Supreme Court gutting abortion rights, the assault on autonomy over our bodies continues. With lives at stake, many trans and gender non-conforming people have come out to say to cis people, “Hey, please don’t forget about us in the fight for abortion rights,” as many trans men and gender non-conforming people have uteruses, are also able to give birth, and are already facing disproportionate harm when it comes to receiving healthcare. The backlash has been swift.
Many famous cis white women like Bette Midler and Pamela Paul in the New York Times have gone so far as to say that using inclusive language like “birthing people” or “people with uteruses” instead of just saying “women” when talking about abortion rights, is “erasure,” and just as violent as politicians and judges making anti–abortion laws. Unfortunately, Black cisgender women have also been attacking trans people. The latest Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist (TERF) to join the fray is singer Macy Gray who went out of her way to be a guest on noted racist and misogynoirist Piers Morgan’s show to say, “Just because you go change your parts, doesn't make you a woman, sorry."
This is straight up transphobia and just not true. Trans women are women. And “womanhood” is a social construction–which means its rules are made up by what a society decides at a point in time. It is not biological. (Even in biology, there are more than two sexes.) And looking to "parts" to make up the definition of a woman is dangerous.
Last week, a pregnant 10-year-old child, a rape victim, had to flee Ohio to get a legal abortion last week. This child has the “parts” to give birth, but is in no way a woman at 10 years old. There are women who have no reproductive organs. There are women who are unable or uninterested in giving birth. There are women who don’t want to ever be mothers. There are innumerable ways to be a woman. But when you reduce women to their “birthing parts,” you should not be surprised when your society dictates what you are and aren’t allowed to do with those parts. Motherhood is a choice and for all of our protection, it must be separate from womanhood.
Transphobia is violent and harms all Black women (that means cis and trans). To understand this, we must understand who constructed our ideas of womanhood and why.
The oppressive systems that all Black women are living under are interconnected and multi-faceted, targeting us for race, gender, sexuality, ability, class and so much more. This white supremacist, capitalist, ableist, cishetero patriarchy (to paraphrase bell hooks) has constructed our identities and assigned value on our lives based on how white we look, and how well we perform our assigned gender, heterosexuality, able-bodiedness and wealth. As a result, of course, white, straight, cis, able-bodied, wealthy men are at the top of this oppressive system and do everything in their power to oppress us so they can remain there.
When wealthy, land-owning, white men wrote in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal,” they were only talking about other wealthy, land-owning, able-bodied white males, to the exclusion of everyone else.
Similarly, all the “women” (who did not even exist in any of America’s founding documents) were white, able-bodied, and married to men. Under white supremacist patriarchy, these white women could not hold elected positions or vote. Their property ownership was limited without fathers, husbands or brothers controlling their fates. Their pedestaling of white women as the ideal of womanhood, with a delicateness that needed to be protected and cared for by men has always been oppressive and infantilizing. But white women took comfort in having power over people with less wealth and people who weren’t white. And many of these footsoldiers of the patriarchy hold onto their white power in the face of their own gender oppression to this day.
When you understand the creation of womanhood and manhood as white supremacist constructs meant to specifically exclude the Black people they enslaved, you understand that womanhood and manhood are identities based on the whims of our oppressors, that can be taken away from us whenever they feel like it.
Ask Caster Semanya. The two-time Olympian and queer Black woman from South Africa is dark-skinned, muscular, married to another woman, and naturally produces testosterone in her body, which white people have decided gives her an unfair advantage to compete in women’s sports. The international governing body of sports decided she had to take medication to chemically alter her biology in order to be “female enough” to compete as the woman she is, or she would be banned from competing. Silver medalist Francine Niyonsaba from Burundi and bronze medalist Margaret Wambui from Kenya and many more were also banned for the same reason. That’s what happens when you win too much as a Black woman: they change the rules.
Ask Megan Thee Stallion. After all the hate she got for just literally being a victim of a shooting “allegedly” committed by Tory Lanez, she knew that her race, her complexion and the build of her body all played a role in why she was not allowed to be the dainty woman who deserves protection, care and human decency.
“And I don’t know if people don’t take it seriously because I seem strong,” Megan told Rolling Stone. “I wonder if it’s because of the way I look. Is it because I’m not light enough? Is it that I’m not white enough? Am I not the shape? The height? Because I’m not petite? Do I not seem like I’m worth being treated like a woman?”
Black cisgender women like Megan face transmisogynoir too, because the root of the violence against all Black women specifically is to reinforce our devaluation as people in comparison to white women and white men. Despite the ways individual Black women can gain proximity to whiteness (through colorism/featurism; through class; through performance of gender), we will never as a group be treated equally to white people under white supremacy. The police that murder Black people with impunity, regardless of our class and gender performance, will remind us of that. But cis people don't have to play the role of police against trans people for them. We don’t have to hold as sacrosanct a white supremacist construction of gender and gender expression that was never meant to include Black people in the first place!
When cis people reject transphobia, we are actively rejecting white supremacy and all of its spawn: classism, ableism, colorism/featurism, capitalism, and cishetero patriarchy. We are actively rejecting the idea that we can quantify people’s value and grant and restrict their rights as a result. We are boldly claiming bodily autonomy and personhood as a human right and becoming one step closer to our own liberation. And we need it urgently.
Trans people are under attack. More than 300 anti-trans rights’ bills have been introduced across the country in 2022 alone. Black trans women are being murdered with impunity in record numbers. Like Black cis women, Black trans men and gender non-conforming people are at extreme risk due to these abortion bans. Our siblings are in danger. They are not “replacing” or “erasing” us; they are us. And when white supremacists start to blur these so-called fixed lines about who these bans apply to – the same way they’ve done in sports to so many Black women; the same way they've done to a 10-year-old rape victim; the same way they've done to the chronically ill whose life-saving medication may be banned under the new abortion rules - we’ll all find out the hard way.
Cis people, we have a choice to make. The scapegoating of trans women, trans people and other gender non-conforming people will not save us. Trans people are not our enemies. They are not the ones who have built the systems that oppress us. They are our sisters and siblings and our liberation is tied up together. Our collective struggle is against white supremacist, capitalist, ableist, cishetero patriarchy. We can either be the overseers for white supremacy and eventually get crushed under its boots, or we can all be free.
Which will you choose?
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Amber Riley Is In Her Element
Amber Riley has the type of laugh that sticks with you long after the raspy, rhythmic sounds have ceased. It punctuates her sentences sometimes, whether she’s giving a chuckle to denote the serious nature of something she just said or throwing her head back in rip-roarious laughter after a joke. She laughs as if she understands the fragility of each minute. She chooses laughter often with the understanding that future joy is not guaranteed.
Credit: Ally Green
The sound of her laughter is rivaled only by her singing voice, an emblem of the past and the future resilience of Black women stretched over a few octaves. On Fox’s Glee, her character Mercedes Jones was portrayed, perhaps unfairly, as the vocal duel to Rachel Berry (Lea Michele), offering rough, full-throated belts behind her co-star’s smooth, pristine vocals. Riley’s always been more than the singer who could deliver a finishing note, though.
Portraying Effie White, she displayed the dynamic emotions of a song such as “And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going” in Dreamgirls on London’s West End without buckling under the historic weight of her predecessors. With her instrument, John Mayer’s “Gravity” became a religious experience, a belted hymnal full of growls and churchy riffs. In her voice, Nicole Scherzinger once said she heard “the power of God.”
Credit: Ally Green
Riley’s voice has been a staple throughout pop culture for nearly 15 years now. Her tone has become so distinguishable that most viewers of Fox’s The Masked Singer recognized the multihyphenate even before it was revealed that she was Harp, the competition-winning, gold-masked figure with an actual harp strapped to her back.
Still, it wasn’t until recently that Riley began to feel like she’d found her voice. This sounds unbelievable. But she’s not referring to the one she uses on stage. She’s referencing the voice that speaks to who she is at her core. “Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind,” the 37-year-old says. “It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women. I got so comfortable in [doing so], and I really want other people, especially Black women, to get more comfortable in that space.”
“Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind. It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women."
If you ask Riley’s manager, Myisha Brooks, she’ll tell you the foundation of who the multihyphenate is hasn’t changed much since she was a kid growing up in Compton. “She is who she is from when I met her back when she was singing in the front of the church to back when she landed major roles in film and TV,” Brooks says. Time has allowed Riley to grow more comfortable, giving fans a more intimate glimpse into her life, including her mental health journey and the ins and outs of show business.
The actress/singer has been in therapy since 2019, although she suffered from depression and anxiety way before that. In a recent interview with Jason Lee, she recalls having suicidal ideation as a kid. By the time she started seeing a psychologist and taking antidepressants in her thirties, her body had become jittery, a physical reminder of the trauma stacked high inside her. “I was shaking in [my therapist’s] office,” she tells xoNecole. “My fight or flight was on such a high level. I was constantly in survival mode. My heart was beating fast all the time. All I did was sweat.”
There wasn’t just childhood trauma to account for. After auditioning for American Idol and being turned away by producers, Riley began working for Ikea and nearly missed her Glee audition because her car broke down on the highway while en route. Thankfully, Riley had been cast to play Mercedes Jones. American Idol had temporarily convinced her she wasn’t cut out for the entertainment industry, but this was validation that she was right where she belonged. Glee launched in 2009 with the promise of becoming Riley’s big break.
In some ways, it was. The show introduced Riley to millions of fans and catapulted her into major Hollywood circles. But in other ways, it became a reminder of the types of roles Black women, especially those who are plus-sized, are relegated to. Behind the scenes, Riley says she fought for her character "to have a voice" but eventually realized her efforts were useless. "It finally got to a point where I was like, this is not my moment. I'm not who they're choosing, and this is just going to have to be a job for me for now," she says. "And, that's okay because it pays my bills, I still get to be on television, I'm doing more than any other Black plus-sized women that I'm seeing right now on screen."
The actress can recognize now that she was navigating issues associated with trauma and low self-esteem at the time. She now knows that she's long had anxiety and depression and can recognize the ways in which she was triggered by how the cult-like following of the show conflicted with her individual, isolated experiences behind the scenes. But she was in her early '20s back then. She didn't yet have the language or the tools to process how she was feeling.
Riley says she eventually sought out medical intervention. "When you're in Hollywood, and you go to a doctor, they give you pills," she says, sharing a part of her story that she'd never revealed publicly before now. "[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that's not fixing my problem. If anything, it's making it worse."
“[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that’s not fixing my problem. If anything it’s making it worse.”
Credit: Ally Green
At one point, while in her dressing room on set, she rested her arm on a curling iron without realizing it. It wasn't until her makeup artist alerted her that she even realized her skin was burning. Once she noticed, she says she was "so zonked out on pills" that she barely reacted. Speaking today, she holds up her arm and motions towards a scar that remains from the incident. She sought help for her reliance on the pills, but it would still be years before she finally attended therapy.
This stress was only compounded by the trauma of growing up in poverty and the realities of being a "contract worker." "Imagine going from literally one week having to borrow a car to get to set to the next week being on a private jet to New York City," she says. After Glee ended, so did the rides on private planes. The fury of opportunities she expected to follow her appearance on the show failed to materialize. She wasn't even 30 yet, and she was already forced to consider if she'd hit her career peak.
. . .
We’re only four minutes into our Zoom call before Riley delivers her new adage to me. “My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway,” she says.
On this Thursday afternoon in April, the LA-based entertainer is seated inside her closet/dressing room wearing a cerulean blue tank top with matching shorts and eating hot wings. This current phase of healing hinges on balance. It’s about having discipline and consistency, but not at the risk of inflexibility. She was planning to head to the gym, for instance, but she’s still tired from the “exhausting” day before. Instead, she’s spent her day receiving a massage, eating some chicken wings, and planning to spend quality time with friends. “I’m not going to beat myself up for it. I’m not going to talk down to myself. I’m going to eat my chicken wings, and then tomorrow I’m [back] in the gym,” she says.
“My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway."
This is the balance with which she's been approaching much of her life these days. It's why she's worried less about whether or not people see her as someone who is humble. She'd rather be respected. "I think you should be a person that's easy to work with, but in the moments where I have to ruffle feathers and make waves, I'm not shying away from that anymore. You can do it in love, you don't have to be nasty about it, but I had to finally be comfortable with the fact that setting boundaries around my life – in whatever aspect, whether that's personal or business – people are not going to like it. Some people are not going to have nice things to say about you, and you gotta be okay with it," she says.
When Amber talks about the constant humbling of Black women in Hollywood, I think of the entertainers before her who have suffered from this. The brilliant, consistent, overqualified Black women who have spoken of having to fight for opportunities and fair pay. Aretha Franklin. Viola Davis. Tracee Ellis Ross. There's a long list of stars whose success hasn't mirrored their experiences behind the scenes.
Credit: Ally Green
If Black women outside of Hollywood are struggling to decrease the pay gap, so, too, are their wealthier, more famous peers.
Riley says there’s been progress in recent years, but only in small ways and for a limited group of people. “This business is exhausting. The goalpost is constantly moving, and sometimes it’s unfair,” she says. But, I have to say it’s the love that keeps you going.”
“There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman,” she continues. “We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
"There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman. We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
Last year, Riley starred alongside Raven Goodwin in the Lifetime thriller Single Black Female (a modern, diversified take on 1992’s Single White Female). It was more than a leading role for the actress, it also served as proof that someone who looks like her can front a successful project without it hinging on her identity. It showcased that the characters she portrays don’t “have to be about being a big girl. It can just be a regular story.”
Riley sees her work in music as an extension of her efforts to push past the rigid stereotypes in entertainment. Take her appearance on The Masked Singer, for instance. Riley said she decided to perform Mayer’s “Gravity” after being told she couldn’t sing it years earlier. “I wanted to do ‘Gravity’ on Glee. [I] was told no, because that’s not a song that Mercedes would do,” she says. “That was a full circle moment for me, doing that on that show and to hear what it is they had to say.”
As Scherzinger praised the “anointed” performance, a masked Riley began to cry, her chest heaving as she stood on stage, her eyes shielded from view. “You have to understand, I have really big names – casting directors, producers, show creators – that constantly tell me ‘I’m such a big fan. Your talent is unmatched.’ Hire me, then,” she says, reflecting on the moment.
Recently, she’s been in the studio working on original music, the follow-up to her independently-released debut EP, 2020’s Riley. The sequel to songs such as the anthemic “Big Girl Energy” and the reflective ballad “A Moment” on Riley, this new project hones in on the singer’s R&B roots with sensual grooves such as the tentatively titled “All Night.” “You said I wasn’t shit, turns out that I’m the shit. Then you called me a bitch, turns out that I’m that bitch. You said no one would want me, well you should call your homies,” she sings on the tentatively titled “Lately,” a cut about reflecting on a past relationship. From the forthcoming project, xoNecole received five potential tracks. Fans likely already know the strengths and contours of Riley’s vocals, but these new songs are her strongest, most confident offerings as an artist.
“I am so much more comfortable as a writer, and I know who I am as an artist now. I’m evolving as a human being, in general, so I’m way more vulnerable in my music. I’m way more willing to talk about whatever is on my mind. I don’t stop myself from saying what it is I want to say,” she says.
Credit: Ally Green
“Every era and alliteration of Amber, the baseline is ‘Big Girl Energy.’ That’s the name of her company,” her manager Brooks says, referencing the imprint through which Riley releases her music after getting out of a label deal several years ago. “It’s just what she stands for. She’s not just talking about size, it’s in all things. Whether it’s putting your big girl pants on and having to face a boardroom full of executives or sell yourself in front of a casting agent. It’s her trying to achieve the things she wants to do in life.”
Riley says she has big dreams beyond releasing this new music, too. She’d love to star in a rom-com with Winston Duke. She hasn't starred in a biopic yet, but she’d revel in the opportunity to portray Rosetta Tharpe on screen. She’s determined that her previous setbacks won’t stop her from dreaming big.
“I think one of my superpowers is resilience because, at the end of the day, I’m going to kick, scream, cry, cuss, be mad and disappointed, but I’m going to get up and risk having to deal with it all again. It’s worth it for the happy moments,” she says.
If Riley seems more comfortable and confident professionally, it’s because of the work she’s been doing in her personal life.
She’d previously spoken to xoNecole about becoming engaged to a man she discovered in a post on the site, but she called things off last year. For Valentine’s Day, she revealed her new boyfriend publicly. “I decided to post him on Valentine’s Day, partially because I was in the dog house. I got in trouble with him,” she says, half-joking before turning serious. “The breakup was never going to stop me from finding love. Or at least trying. I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness, and you enjoy it and work through it.”
Credit: Ally Green
"I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness and you enjoy it and work through it.”
With her ex, Riley was pretty outspoken about her relationship, even appearing in content for Netflix with him. This time around is different. She’s not hiding her boyfriend of eight months, but she’s more protective of him, especially because he’s a father and isn’t interested in becoming a public figure.
She’s traveling more, too. It’s a deliberate effort on her part to enjoy her money and reject the trauma she’s developed after experiencing poverty in her childhood. “I live in constant fear of being broke. I don’t think you ever don’t remember that trauma or move past that. Now I travel and I’m like, listen, if it goes, it goes. I’m not saying [to] be reckless, but I deserve to enjoy my hard work.”
After everything she’s been through, she certainly deserves to finally let loose a bit. “I have to have a life to live,” she says. “I’ve got to have a life worth fighting for.”
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French Curl Braids Are Summer's It Girl Hairstyle & Here's How To Wear Them
There’s just something about the summertime that makes a Black woman want to break out a fresh set of braids. Maybe it’s the ease of waking up and knowing that of all things on your to-do list, doing your hair isn’t one of them. Or maybe it’s the versatility that comes with the braided tresses that inspire you to want to try out a new style.
While traditional knotless braids and box braids have taken the crown for the last few summers, the word on the hair streets is that there’s a new style that’s stealing the show.
French curl braids have become the latest and most fly braiding style to take over our TikTok ‘’For You” page. What makes the style stand out from traditional box braids with the straight, dipped ends is the unique curly braiding hair that is used to achieve a bouncy spring to the ends of each braid. You might even recognize the look from OG-braid queen Brandy, who rocked the style so effortlessly in her 90’s sitcom Moesha.
The style has since found new innovations in the hands and creativity of Black women (as we do) to take on different styles, layers, and colors that are versatile enough to wear for any day party, graduation, wedding, or poolside you might find yourself at this summer.
Get Inspired by the Best French Curl Braids Inspiration & Styles:
The French curl braiding hair comes in packs of pre-curled synthetic hair, which has been praised for its lightweight yet voluminous look that truly makes a statement.
And if you’re looking to switch your style up for the summer months ahead, we’ve put together the best French curl braiding looks to add to your moodboard and, hopefully, your summer hair lookbook.
Half-Black & Half-Blonde French Curl Braids With a Buss Down Middle Part
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come along to get small knotless french curl braids with me - I was so curious about the process and hestiant about getting them intially so I hope this helps someone out! #frenchcurlbraids #knotlessbraids #harlembraidsnyc #harlembraidingshop #nycbraiders
Ways I like to style my French Curl braids 🏾 Love how versatile braids can be! #braids #frenchcurlbraids #texturedhair #layeredbraids
3 Quick ways to style your french curls #hairstyle #londontiktok #braidsuklondon #leedsuk🇬🇧 #hairtutorial #howtotiktok #styletips #frenchbraids
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