By now I’m sure most of you reading this have seen or heard about, Seales’ Reel from March 16 sharing with her fans how much she appreciated them for showing up for her in ways she felt she wasn't supported in other spaces. She also mentioned various high-profile Black media outlets and award shows for not including her. One of those outlets even replied to the reel by acknowledging her truth, apologizing, and pledging to do better moving forward.
However, since then three Black media outlets, including ESSENCE, have released op-eds justifying why Seales’ treatment might not only be acceptable but the result of Seales’ overall personality and character. The Root headline reading, “If Everyone Says The Same Thing About Amanda Seales, Could She Be The Problem?” While TheGrio led with “Amanda Seales is not a victim of anything but her own hubris.” Lastly, ESSENCE chimed inwith the narrative “It's Time To Admit That Being Liked Is More Important Than Being Good At Your Job.”
Though all of these pieces were op-eds and the publications noted that the views of their journalists weren’t necessarily the views of the publication itself, the questions must be asked, why even publish them then? What conversation were you looking to elicit from these harsh attacks on a Black woman’s character?
And I’m not the only academic or journalist asking these questions. Elaine Welteroth went to social media asking, “Why are we having a public town hall discussion about whether or not we like Amanda Seales?” Marc Lamont Hill released a 20-minute video discussing the recent backlash Seales is receiving on his YouTube channel, challenging the framing of the narrative surrounding Seales. In the video, he’s also acknowledging she speaks out on issues that challenge the patriarchy, calls out the military-industrial complex, addresses racism, educates people on misogynoir, and so much more, which in essence makes her an easy target.
“When people who are in power have their authority and their power and their privilege questioned, they don’t like it and they fight, and they strike back,” Hill says.
Each of the individuals who penned these articles acknowledged that Seales speaks out against important issues but framed their narratives around the reason she’s not being received within Black Hollywood is that people don’t “like her.” Hill continues, “If you have someone in our community that’s addressing issues that make us better and then you normalize a narrative that she shouldn’t be liked, and you advance a media attack on her you’re not just attacking her, you’re making her less credible to the people who follow her and listen to her.”
Some argue that Seales’ recent framing by the media as someone who is “disliked” stems from her calling out publicist Vanessa Anderson for having her removed from a Black Emmys party in 2019. Others feel it may stem from her speaking out about Myron Rolle, NFL player turned neurosurgeon, about sexual harassment. There are countless theories on why Seales is being excluded from Black Hollywood events that stretch from her days as an MTV VJ to her stint onThe Real.
However, gossip and hearsay have no place in journalism. Black media outlets and organizations such as the NAACP were birthed out of a necessity for Black voices and stories to be heard and elevated. They were created so our community could have a space to tell our truths, and not just truths that were pretty or popular. Their inception was meant to hold those with power and authority accountable for their actions toward our community and other marginalized communities.
Likewise, they were meant to be a space where Black people are uplifted, not torn down.
The Memphis Free Speech, co-owned by Ida B. Wells, was created in 1888 as a platform to challenge racial discrimination and became a prominent voice in the Black community as it advocated for civil rights and social justice. Wells used her column to form an antilynching campaign and in one of her most famous works, she boldly suggested white women were being dishonest when accusing Black men they were caught with of rape. Her column resulted in her having to leave Memphis due to threats to her life.
ESSENCE Magazine was first published in 1970 to fill a void in the mainstream magazine industry that largely ignored and or misrepresented Black women. Its mission was to create a beautiful tapestry where Black womanhood was protected, celebrated, and allowed to be as vibrant, multifaceted, and unique as Black women themselves.
The NAACP Image Awards were created in 1967 to honor and award the outstanding achievements of members within the Black community who were often overlooked in the fields of television, film, music, and literature while simultaneously celebrating social justice activists who were creating change in America and globally.
When Black media outlets tear down and berate Black women for telling their truths, for standing up for other Black people, or for living as their authentically and unapologetic Black selves, not only are they perpetuating and justifying misogynoir; but also losing sight of what their foundational purpose. Additionally, suggesting, as these articles alluded to, that Seales isn't successful because of her lack of likability is either delusional, disrespectful, or both, given her consistent sold-out comedy shows, a successful podcast, 5-star author status, and 2.2M+ social media following across platforms.
Black women face a myriad of hatred, judgment, and backlash every day and are consistently told how they’re at fault for the way they’re treated. It is time for us as a community to stop putting the onus on Black women and start holding the offending parties accountable for their part as well.
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However, despite the pure excitement by the BeyHive to follow Beyoncé wherever she leads them, there has already been pushback in the country music arena to deny the Queen access. Oklahoma station KYKC 100.1 FM denied a listener's request to hear Beyoncé’s new songs on its station because “We do not play Beyoncé' [sic] as we are a country music station," it responded via email.
This isn’t the first time Beyoncé has been dismissed in the genre. In 2016, when she released "Daddy’s Lessons" on Lemonade, she not only was met with backlash from country music fans but was also denied by the Recording Academy’s Country Committee after she submitted the record for a Grammy. In a March 19 update posted to Instagram, she alluded to that time as being the catalyst for her next body of work, saying she "did not feel welcomed" in that space, and that the forthcoming COWBOY CARTER was born from her experience of being excluded.
Beyoncé wrote, "This album has been over five years in the making. It was born out of an experience that I had years ago where I did not feel welcomed…and it was very clear that I wasn’t. But, because of that experience, I did a deeper dive into the history of Country music and studied our rich musical archive. It feels good to see how music can unite so many people around the world, while also amplifying the voices of some of the people who have dedicated so much of their lives educating on our musical history."
Beyoncé (2nd R) performs onstage with Emily Robison, Natalie Maines, and Martie Maguire of Dixie Chicks at the 50th annual CMA Awards in 2016.
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She continued, "The criticisms I faced when I first entered this genre forced me to propel past the limitations that were put on me. act ii is a result of challenging myself, and taking my time to bend and blend genres together to create this body of work."
We saw a similar response to Lil Nas X’s "Old Town Road" in 2019 when the original single was removed from the Billboard Country charts because it didn’t “embrace enough elements of today’s country music.” Lil Nas X went on to win a Grammy with Billy Ray Cyrus for the song’s music video but was only accepted into the category after Cyrus joined for the remix.
Though the origins of the country music genre are an extension of Black culture and African ancestry, Black artists have been essentially erased from the genre's existence. Examples of this are the modern-day banjo – featured in many country songs – which is a descendant of the West African instrument, the Akonting. As with most things in American history, once white audiences were introduced to the banjo in a more “acceptable” manner through racist minstrel shows of the 1850s-1870s, it was quickly appropriated.
This unintentionally led to the creation of the 1920s Hillbilly music, which at the time was mainly popular in the South and later evolved into the country genre we know today. Hillbilly music drew its inspiration from slave spirituals, field songs, hymns, and the blues, which all originated within the Black community, and up until the end of World War I when major record labels rebranded it as country, the genre was successfully integrated.
In fact, in Patrick Huber’s 2013 essay, "Black Hillbillies: African American Musicians On Old-Time Records, 1924–1932," he details the vast diversity in the genre. In the time period chronicled, approximately 50 Black artists were featured on commercialized records within Hillbilly music. Huber’s essay was part of a larger work edited by Diane Pecknold, "Hidden in the Mix: The African American Presence in Country Music," which focused on the large contributions Black musicians had to the industry.
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Despite the huge success Hillbilly music had, record labels couldn’t fully capitalize on it while remaining diverse because of segregation throughout America. In order to market the music and artists to “mainstream” America, music executives not only segregated the genre but promoted it as “white music” and as white southerners migrated throughout the country, they took with them the ideology that country music was solely theirs. This eventually led to the erasure of Black artists and their contributions to their artistry and history.
These artists include DeFord Bailey, who was the first Black musician to play the Grand Ole Opry, and Charley Pride, the first Black person to be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. Many of us know musical legend Ray Charles for his contribution to soul music, but it isn’t common knowledge that his ability to blend country, R&B, and pop music greatly influences country music to this day. Additionally, Gus Cannon made jug bands (an ancestor to country music) popular in the 1920s and taught Johnny Cash, who is a country music icon.
As we make efforts to honor and acknowledge the Black musicians who helped mold country music into what it is today, we must also acknowledge how the intersectionality of Black womanhood has practically left this demographic out of the country music fabric completely.
As Black women face both racism and sexism (a.k.a. misogynoir), their denial of entry has been easier to maintain in this genre. Linda Martell, the first Black female solo artist to play the Grand Ole Opry, released her debut album, Color Me Country, in 1970. Though still considered a pioneer to many, her career was short, and she faced relentless discrimination and violence within the industry that eventually led her to leave country music altogether. The documentary, Bad Case of The Country Blues: The Linda Martell Story, chronicles her experiences from 1969-1975.
Though there are many up-and-coming Black country music artists, Beyoncé's entrance into this arena creates a clear and imminent threat to the genre’s marketing strategy that it is “white music.” She might be one of the most unapologetically Black artist of our times, penning lyrics such as, “I like my baby hair with baby hair and afros” and “I like my negro nose with Jackson 5 nostrils.”
Argue with me if you like, but for the past decade, Beyoncé has been uplifting and celebrating Black culture and history.
She has made it clear that she has no desire to assimilate herself or her music into mainstream white culture. She is proud of who she is and where she comes from, which is why her making a country music album is a natural progression. Beyoncé's roots are in Texas, she often talks about her love for her state and her upbringing, and just as we heard in Act I of Renaissancewith the inspirations pulled from Chicago house, funk, soul, gospel, and New Orleans Bounce music; we will be serenaded by another layer of her upbringing and soul in Act II.
Beyoncé’s Renaissance is her unabashed way of not only using her stardom to prove that Black people are not a monolith but also paying homage to the Black artists who paved the way for her but are seemingly erased from history.
She highlights the multifaceted nature of Black culture and ignites conversations that force the full history of these genres to be represented and told. As a Black woman who grew up in Alabama and isn’t ashamed to share her love for country music, I was thrilled to hear "Daddy Lessons" in 2016 and I can’t wait for COWBOY CARTERto come out on March 29.
Whether you’re a member of the BeyHive or not, I hope you can see how Beyoncé’s musical evolution is allowing space for Black people, and moreover, Black women, to exist in whatever space they choose to pursue without feeling the need to diminish, readjust, or mold themselves into what someone else says you should be.
Through her art, she is creating a space for us all to live and exist in our fullness, or in short to live in true liberation.
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This article has been updated.
Though we sang along with India.Arie, as she serenaded us with her classic “I Am Not My Hair,” Black women’s hair is indeed a statement of who they choose to be when they show up in the world each day. Valencia Carillo of Perfect Hair says, “We like to say we aren't our hair, but we also are. It changes how we feel and how we view ourselves.”
There are many reasons Black women choose protective styles such as braids, twists, and wigs as their go-to styles for everyday life.
“I wear protective styles because it's not only convenient to manage, but I love it," shares Bobbie Riley, celebrity hair and makeup artist. As a Black woman who is constantly on various sets throughout Los Angeles, I’m always aware of my hair and the lack of knowledge some have about it. I want to feel confident when doing shoots, but know there’s always a chance that the HMU on set won’t be prepared to style me accordingly. This is why I choose protective styles so frequently when shooting. However, when I’m not booked, I enjoy having my natural hair free.
Today, more Black women are embracing their natural hair and protective styles while pushing boundaries they wouldn’t have been able to less than a decade ago. Abena Afrane, a licensed celebrity cosmetologist, says, “There's a noticeable shift, even among news anchors, who now confidently wear hairstyles like braids on TV.” Yet, even with this shift, a new conversation is emerging about Black women and protective styles.
Though we see many Black women wearing their natural hair publicly, there is also a new lingering question, “Is Black women’s ‘reliance’ on protective styles simply another way we’ve found to hide a piece of ourselves in order to be deemed more presentable?”
WHY WE DO NOT LIKE OUR OWN HAIRwww.youtube.com
The truth of it all lies somewhere much deeper than that.
The History of Hair Discrimination
To fully understand where the stigma and desire to assimilate comes from, we have to venture to the origin of hair discrimination in America. Black women’s hair has been used as a weapon against them since the inception of this country. The coils of our hair are one of the most prominent features that distinguishes Black people from other races, and because of this, it’s been used to make us feel inferior.
One example of this would be the origins of the term “nappy.” It’s believed that the origin of the term comes from the word nap, which described the frizzled thread that came apart from a piece of fabric. The term “nappy” was used to describe African slaves’ hair to demean and dehumanize them.
Likewise, because of the intricate braiding styles and designs our ancestors brought to America from the continent, Black women were often forced to hide their hair. This was used as a tool to shame Black women, create a racial hierarchy, and hide our culture.
An example of this was the Tignon Laws of 1786. When the Spanish took control of Louisiana, there was a population of free Black people living in the state. To display a cultural hierarchy, the governor mandated that free Black women wear tignon, head scarves historically worn by slaves, as a means to display their inferiority to white women.
Cabinet Card of Sarah Ann Blunt Crozley wearing a tignon in the 1800s.
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Though they complied, they began to use them not only as a fashion statement, making them out of colorful and expensive fabrics and adding feathers and jewels to them, but also as a means of rebellion against their colonial ruling powers.
As time went on, Black women began to attempt to assimilate into white culture by straightening their hair. The famous Madame C.J. Walker made her fortune helping Black women manage and permanently straighten their hair. Though Walker’s business thrived and enabled other Black women to build wealth, today, many Black women are moving away from relaxers and consistently straightening their hair.
Black women are now embracing their natural hair with each passing year, but this emergence of unapologetic Blackness is often met with pushback.
Where Do Protective Styles Come From?
Protective styles are not a new phenomenon within the Black community or our African ancestry. The texture of most Black women’s hair easily gets tangled and knotted and can succumb to breakage if not well cared for properly. This reality has led centuries of Black women to find ways to protect and maintain their crowns. There are Stone Age paintings dating back to 3000 BC of North African women wearing braids in their hair.
What we call cornrows – named by enslaved Africans in the American South because they looked like rows of corn – are also known as irun didi by Yoruba people. The intricate nature of this style was not only practical but easier to maintain for an extended amount of time.
Similarly, Fulani braids – named after the Fulani people of West Africa – were used as a symbol of a woman’s marital status, career, or socio-economic class in pre-slave trade Africa. Likewise, Bantu knots – named after the Bantu group of the Zulu people – were used as a heatless curling technique for Black women centuries before it gained popularity in mainstream America.
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As chronicled in Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America by Ayana D. Byrd and Lori L. Tharps, the everchanging and cyclical relationship Black people have with their hair is often a reflection of their desire for freedom or connection to their ancestral roots. Growing up in the 90s, braids, twists, ponytails, wigs, etc. were commonplace in my and my mother’s friend groups.
Black women looking for ways to manage and care for their hair isn’t a new concept, but protective styles transition into the mainstream arena has created new conversations centered around whether Black women are using it as a mechanism to hide their natural hair.
Instead of acknowledging that Black women are becoming more comfortable with embracing themselves and their heritage, their choice of hairstyle is yet another sector where individuals have been allowed to over-police and analyze them.
Hair Discrimination Today
Global Head of DEI for Ferguson Partners Dionna Johnson Sallis admits she has experienced and witnessed hair discrimination towards Black women multiple times during her 13-year tenure in corporate America. She says, “wearing straight wigs or getting sew-ins that mirror the Eurocentric form of beauty can be a form of fitting in.” Sallis continues, “But I think many of us lean toward the more Afrocentric forms of a protective styling such as braids, twists, faux locs, and things that are more textured.”
I agree with Sallis and often use protective styles that still fully display my “Blackness,” because my goal is never to make any believe I’m ashamed of my culture or ancestry. However, there was a time when wearing my natural hair to work, whether it be in front of or behind the camera, was seen as unkempt or unprofessional.
I was told to make sure my hair was “neat” when I came into the office or was a prominent topic of discussion whenever I wore my fro out.
Luckily, I have always had older Black women around to remind my white coworkers not to touch my hair or make a big deal out of a new style I had. Nonetheless, these constant microaggressions can weigh on a person while begging the question: “Should I just cover my natural hair so they’ll shut up already?”
Sallis believes experiences like the ones I describe are less prominent today; “Because of the CROWN Act, it is made it more difficult to be discriminated against because there is a very blatant law in place to prevent this discrimination and microaggressions compared to 10 or 15 years ago.”
Strides like these have come as a result of Black women mobilizing to pursue true equity for themselves and future generations. Afrane adds, “I've observed a significant change where we're boldly advocating for equality and inclusivity in professional spaces. It's inspiring to witness us standing up and speaking out for ourselves.”
Black Women’s Rights to Their Individuality
Depending on what your daily life looks like, protective styles can be an easy way to manage and maintain your natural hair in a healthy manner. Carillo has been doing my protective styles for years, and we often talk about our busy lives managing businesses, being mothers, and still wanting to feel like ourselves. Like many Black women, we use our hair as a form of expression and style. Carillo says, “At the end of it all, I think most Black women choose what we want and what makes us feel good.” Afrane agrees, “It feels like we're collectively embracing hairstyles that bring us joy and align with our lifestyles.”
Though there will always be podcast conversations on whether or not natural hair is appropriate for formal events and people trying to create a divide between Black women who mainly wear weave and wigs versus the ones who wear their afro regularly, the one consensus I found among the women I interviewed is there is some level of awareness, whether positive or negative, Black women experience in relationship to their hair and how others perceive them.
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Riley shared a recent experience on set with one of her clients where the brand wanted a fiber fill to give her client a more “hair-like look.” Riley and her client both agreed it wasn’t the direction they wanted to go and continued with their original aesthetic for the shoot. “I loved her facial structure and her hair how it was, and I wanted her to feel just as beautiful embracing it,” Riley says.
Carillo adds, “Insecurities are real, and while we love to do what we need to for us, I'd be lying to say some women don't consider what others think.”
As we all know, existing in the intersectionality of Black womanhood comes with a slew of challenges, disparities, and dangers. However, just as the women of Louisiana in 1786 used their tignons as a form of expression, creativity, and rebellion, Black women today embrace our crowns the same way. One of the greatest joys many of us experience as Black women are switching up our hairstyles to match our mood, occasion, or season.
We find liberation in changing our styles to express who we are in the current moment we’re existing in. Though there are some who may use protective styles as a means to assimilate into Eurocentric culture, far more of us change our hairstyles to match our vibe. Afrane says, “The joy lies in the freedom to explore various looks, and it feels like we're collectively embracing hairstyles that bring us joy.”
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Since being published, Walker’s novel has been turned into a major motion film directed by Steven Spielberg in 1985, a Broadway musical between 2005 to 2008, and has now been reimagined again with a film remake premiering on Christmas Day. The impact of this book has penetrated every aspect of Black culture, and Walker’s words from the pages of this novel are still being used in films, music, and academic articles today.
Fantasia Barrino as Celie in the 2023 adaptation of 'The Color Purple.'
Through the character arcs of Celie, Shug Avery, and Sofia, we see how trauma, rejection, and abuse break these women’s spirits.
Yet, despite being dealt unbelievably difficult circumstances, they all find their way back to themselves and who they want to be. Whether it be through living with an abusive spouse like Celie, reconciling with a parent as Shug, or finding peace with who you are as Sofia, there are few Black women who couldn’t relate to at least one of these main characters or another woman in the novel.
Though this was a fiction novel, the stories shared within it are experiences many Black women faced in their communities during the early Jim Crow era in America. Many of the stories told about harm done to Black people during this time period center on white supremacists harming Black people.
However, Walker shed light on the abuse and mistreatment Black women not only received from white people but from Black men as well.
Oprah Winfrey as Sofia in the 1982 adaptation of 'The Color Purple.'
The moment Sofia’s character confronts Celie about encouraging Harpo to beat her, the words Walker wrote resonated with many Black women then and now. “All my life I had to fight. I had to fight my daddy. I had to fight my brothers. I had to fight my cousins and my uncles. A girl child ain't safe in a family of men. But I never thought I'd have to fight in my own house.”
Though Black women and girls are taught to take ownership of how our actions impact the Black men in our lives that same accountability isn’t always expected in reverse.
This reality was put on full display when the original film premiered in 1985. Despite the vast success the original film received, grossing more than $142 million worldwide and earning 11 Academy Award nominations, many filmmakers, writers, journalists, and academics felt the film was anti-black and racist in its depiction of Black men. The Los Angeles premiere was even protested by The Coalition Against Black Exploitation because of the abusive nature of the men in the film.
Though Walker had mixed reviews on the film herself, the overall backlash of the film is a tangible example of misogynoir and how the erasure of Black women’s lived experiences and contributions to the Black community were and are prevalent in the Black community.
Margaret Avery as Shug Avery in 'The Color Purple (1982).'
We see this in the way Black women are questioned when they bring up partner abuse, we see this when Black women bring up accusations of sexual misconduct against Black men they work with or for, and we even see this when Black women’s cases are mishandled by police and demand for justice isn’t as loudly heard. Black women have been expected to remain silent about the harm being inflicted on them within their own communities for decades.
Walker’s The Color Purple and the corresponding film gave a brief glimpse into the reality many of our ancestors faced in the early 1900s.
Phylicia Pearl Mpasi and Halle Bailey as young Celie and young Nellie in 'The Color Purple (2023).'
The truths shared in this novel are why the story has lasted the test of time and has been re-envisioned in so many ways. Black women want to feel seen and heard but don’t often find they have a space where they’re allowed to do so safely. They also want their stories of heartache and overall triumph to be shared and celebrated with the world.
The excitement of the remake starring; Fantasia Barrino, Danielle Brooks, Taraji P. Henson, and Halle Bailey just to name a few; is proof that Walker’s story still resonates with the Black women and community and will forever be a part of the cultural fabric of who we are in this country.
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