When Kanye West dropped his FADE music video at the VMAs this year and Teyana Taylor graced the screen in all of her oiled up, wet-haired glory, there was no denying the obvious. Honey is bawdied up. Teyana Taylor’s body is a true testament to how much work she had put in throughout her career as an entertainer. Every ripped muscle screams dedication, not just to herself but for the sake of her career. For Teyana, her #bodygoals are both professional, personal, and yes, political.
In this moment of heightened visibility for black liberation, we often consider the wellness of black bodies in terms of survival and justice: The right to move without encountering police violence, avoiding poisoned water, accessing safe and affordable healthcare and diverse media representations. But what about the politics of body aesthetics? There’s room to consider what it means when our aspirational visions of black women’s bodies include the Teyana Taylors while ignoring the Leslie Jones’, Missy Elliots and Gabby Sidibes.
And I’m not here to say that there’s anything inherently wrong with having personal fitness goals. Glo’ up however you want, boo. Stunt on your ex. Secure that beach body. Hell, get that Brazilian butt lift. But we shouldn’t assume that our conversations about who is a baddie and who isn’t are completely outside of a black justice framework.
We’re not all sculpted like Teyana, nor are we meant to be. Some of our mothers, our aunts, our girlfriends, wives and ourselves fall outside of the #fitlife aesthetic. These bodies are just as beautiful and just as valuable. One of the critiques of Beyoncé’s Lemonade I heard the loudest was from Ashleigh Shackelford, who found the invisibility of fat femmes in the visual album to be shady. The only representation she saw of bodies that weren’t thin or otherwise “snatched” in Bey’s project came through mothers grieving their slain children. For Shackelford, this oversight was just another in the trend of fat, black femme bodies being relegated to the backdrop, props to signify trauma and pain.
I can’t say I haven’t also peeped this. Carefree black girls always seem to have flat tummies and perky breasts that sit up perfectly without bras in their crop tops. Black women who are portrayed as needing to “get their sh*t together” or are otherwise the face of disparity are often big. What do these narratives say about the black women who have loved and nurtured us for our whole lives? The black women who have put in work on behalf of our personal and communal well-being?
In fact, some of the organizers and key players in the fight for black justice are fat, full-figured, or otherwise not “fit” or “in shape.” Making room for black bodies in addition to black excellence and activism is important. The campaign Black Thighs Matter addresses this void by intentionally focusing on black bodies and demanding that ALL of them are outchea. Amber J. Phillips, who works closely with BYP100’s chapter in D.C. and is one of the founders of BLACK — a new digital media and consulting firm that created Black Thighs Matter — had this to say about the campaign:
“The rise of the Black Lives Matter movement over the last three years has made me confident in my Blackness, my leadership, and my voice as a Black woman speaking out and working against anti-Blackness in our democracy, criminal justice system and our communities. Something as simple as wearing the Black Thighs Matter shirt as a dark skin, fat Black women has made me confident in the body that I live in as I work towards accomplishing a more just society for all black people. It makes me love myself just as hard as I love my people.”
This is about more than liking your girls BBW. In fact, when Drake made his claim, this was me:
As a fat black girl I can tell you firsthand that there has been no shortage of candidates who will choose up. That’s never been the issue. What’s more important is how black girls with different body types get to show up in different spaces. What does it matter that we can raise, sleep with, support and organize around our communities if we can’t see our bodies and think we’re the sh*t? When black thighs matter, there is room for all of us to stand in our fullness as leaders and game changers.
