CheapThrills

Interracial couple denied marriage in Louisiana

"I'm not a racist. I just don't believe in mixing the races that way," [Keith] Bardwell, [justice of the peace in Tangipahoa Parish] told the Associated Press on Thursday. "I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else."

I think that pretty much says it all.

Read full article here.

DirectTV's King Kong ad: Playing up a peculiar allegory

This TV spot irks the hell out of me. Perhaps because it cuts in during virtually every show I watch - from MLB playoff games to America's Next Top Model marathons. Perhaps because borrowed interest always turns out phony and lazy.

Or, perhaps, my distaste has something to do with the King Kong mockery itself.

By now, we should all get that the original King Kong film portrayed a <racist> metaphor for race relations in the U.S:

King Kong is all happy being the ruler of a weird, backwards island in the middle of nowhere. He's "discovered" by some White explorers, who basically kidnap him and bring him to the civilized world in chains and shackles. When King Kong escapes, he's murdered. But before he dies, he falls in love with a beautiful blond, and they have some sort of relationship. Which seems silly to viewers - after all, how could a proper woman possibly spend time with an uncivilized giant ape?

Now go through this synopsis and replace all references to "King Kong" with "The African man", and you should get the symbolism.

But apparently, this obvious allegory was totally lost on the marketing folks at DirectTV. The spot, in which a poor man's Naomi Watts jabs at King Kong for not being "evolved" and for "staring at her 24-7", plays up all the controversial racist undertones that the original film portrays. These insults on Kong strike me as gratuitous, and, given the history of the King Kong story, written in utter bad taste. Am I missing some crucial bit of info that makes this spot worthwhile? Somehow I doubt it.

Black women want their heads rubbed, too

Now that this week’s Oprah schedule is up on her site, I guess I can divulge which taping I attended (and if this isn’t supreme coincidence I don’t know what is): Chris Rock’s dish on his new documentary, “Good Hair”. In fact, we audience members attended the film’s North American film debut, right here in downtown Chicago.  

The show airs today, September 30th (set your DVRs!). But before it does, I’d like to comment on an issue that Rock discusses both in the film and during his visit with Oprah: the “no touch” rule when it comes to Black women’s hair (i.e. if you’re dating a Black woman, don’t even try to get near her head). According to Rock, Black men are “thirsty” to touch a head of hair, and Black women’s "keep away" policy causes intimacy issues.  

So I’ll venture this, and then explain: Black women’s scalps are equally parched from lack of attention. Yes, our hair is thirsty for love, too.  

Deeper than the “my hair will get messed up” mantra, I think the root of the problem lies in insecurity. And why not? Us women of color have always been taught that, in its natural state, our hair is not beautiful. So we hide behind weaves and wigs and relaxers, quite literally putting up a barriers between our scalps and the hands of others.  

At least in my experience, the fake-ification of my hair promoted my own hair insecurity. When I had a relaxer, my hair was never normal - but instead “oily” or “brittle” or “damaged”. It couldn’t get wet. It would break if I was – forced to – swim during PE. And oh, the lies I told my White friends back then! They’d ask, “How long does it take you to straighten your hair every morning?” I’d reply, “Oh, awhile.” Never letting on that I actually hadn’t washed it for 2 weeks. Because, in my mind, telling them that would make them think I was dirty (when in reality, it’s just not good to wash, blow dry, and hot iron relaxed hair very often). And so, when my first serious boyfriend didn’t want to rub my scalp because my hair was “too greasy”, I pretty much deemed my hair off-limits. It wasn’t that I didn’t want my head rubbed; it was more that I was ashamed.  And, quite honestly, having someone you care about halfheartedly rub your head for a second and then wipe off his hand on his jeans burns more than any relaxer on the shelf.  

Of course, these stories are from high school. I don’t have a relaxer anymore and I’m proud of my hair now, but I’ll be honest – the insecurity lingers. That’s why, even today, there are only a handful of people who I allow near my head. They’re the ones who I know are actually enjoying my hair. The ones I trust with all my insecurities. Because, as a woman of color, when someone rubs your head you’re completely dropping your guard, thus putting your complete SELF into their hands. It can be sensual, but definitely not by definition. It’s love (think Celie "scratching the song" out of Shug's head in "The Color Purple").

It's sacred.  

So back to Chris Rock and men not being allowed to touch Black women’s hair. My advice: If you’re a man and you’re with a Black woman, offer to give her a legit scalp massage. Say you’ll be careful not to mess up her hair – all you want is for her to lay down and close her eyes and relax. She may turn you down, but believe me, the offer will light her up.

Finding blind racism in Charades

Here’s an interesting story:

A friend of mine just started working on his MBA at a new school. He’s met a ton of great people so far – cool kids that seem open-minded, progressive, smart as hell, and just totally fun to be around.

The inner core of his new circle of friends (all of whom are White) has been hanging out pretty frequently, doing everything from grabbing drinks to playing Scattergories. A few nights ago, they found themselves in a heated game of Charades. Boys vs. girls. Winner rules the roost.

Girls were up. Person. 5-syllables. Sounds like “llama”. Yep, you guessed it, Barack Obama.

The boys looked on in excitement as one of the girls acted out “mama” to her team. Then one guy, who I actually met and really found to be one the warmest, most easy-going people in the bunch, whispers to my friend, “If we were up, would it be wrong for me to act out a monkey?”

He was serious. Like, he had no idea.

What’s so baffling to me is that I don’t think there’s an intentional racist bone in this guy’s body. No, these racist images are embedded in his mind, and, clearly, he has no idea how supremely destructive they are. To people as sheltered as he, King Kong looks like a big Black guy! Haha! Funny! And better walk fast, because the “ghetto” kids on the corner are probably selling drugs! Because that’s what “ghetto people” do!

Is it racism? Or just totally cluelessness? You tell me.

Live at the Oprah Show!

You won’t believe it…
A friend of mine actually scored tickets to Oprah.

Wednesday morning, we found ourselves dressed to the nines, in a cab whizzing (literally, the cabbie was going about 55 on city roads) to Harpo Studios for a 7am Oprah Show taping.

Sadly, I’m somewhat limited in what I can reveal about the show itself. But I will say this: Oprah seemed, well, a little odd. It hit me almost immediately, when she was announced out and meandered onto set in a total daze.

Barefoot.

I thought she was trying to make a statement; something along the lines of “Black women are beautiful head-to-toe no matter what.” But no. She honestly didn’t know what the hell was going on. When she sat down, she ran through scripts for about 10 minutes while someone put on her shoes for her and someone else sprayed her hair. We all sat in an awkward silence, half smiling, half cringing. Excited, but also... confused.

The beginning was weird, but the actual show was a total trip. I kept having David At The Dentist moments, thinking to myself, "Is this real life?" And the guest rocked. So if you find yourself home sick on September 30th (or know how to work your DVR), tune in. I sat in the front row, so you may see me. Look for the orange scarf and mohawk-y fro.

When a commenter starts to freak you out

Blogging’s tricky. You become the ruler of a little piece of the web and, as such, you’re faced with these surreal, technology-meets-antiquity dilemmas. “How much should I expose?” "Must I be humble or powerful?" “What is my relationship to my ‘court’, (ie, the commenters)?"

This is my blog. And because it’s mine, I can write what I want. So I write what I know: my interpretations on topics that are important to me. I push myself to really explore difficult, often prickly issues – mostly pertaining to race and interracial-ness. I know my posts can be a bit controversial, and I welcome an open dialogue.

Dialogue. What is dialogue? Dialogue is when you respond to an idea with another idea. It could be a build on the original idea. Or it could be a counterpoint.

What is NOT dialogue? When you respond to an idea with a tirade. When you misrepresent your rage for intelligence. When you create pointless openings to scream and shout and blab on and on about how angry you are.

I’m SO VERY against censoring the comments on this blog. Barring the removal of spam, I don’t exercise comment moderation. But, after months and months of one commenters rants and vindictive posts, I just can’t justify leaving the stuff up. I've tried to refrain from formally responding to this commenter's insulting, downright disturbing diatribes. They’re too hate-filled for me to even go there. I have addressed the topic that gets him so angry, though. Because the topic is important to me.

But now it's just gone too far. This is the comment that did in said commenter:

…and see a Black women cling so feverishly to the persons and the portions of a culture systemically inclined to disregard each and every aspect of her being, is like waiting to watch an accident you know is bound to happen. You can’t help but wait for the impact.

Main reason why this comment sucks so bad:

Contradictory motives. Apparently I cling to people that disregard “every aspect of my being” (if you've been following this person's comments, that would be White people), which leads me to surmise that this commenter would rather I “cling” solely to other Black people. But then in the next sentence s/he admits s/he’s waiting to watch me crash. Isn’t that a total disregard for “my being” as well? And, commenter, arent... you... Black? So... what's with your perverse desire to not only WATCH a fellow person of color hurt, but to go COMPLETELY out of your way to contribute to it? So sickening.

But also:
Use of big words and fancy grammar to sound smart/bolster a point. Dude, you’re not fooling anyone.

And to top it off, the commenter displays:
Stalker tendencies. After countless awful comments, I did a quick glance at my basic analytics - and I’m speculating this commenter Googles my name at least 6 times a day (yeah, at this point I have NO problem calling him/her out on it). To spew rage all over my blog. Hi, that’s not normal.

The truth is, I’m not so much angry at this person. No, what PISSES ME OFF is having to, from now on, delete a reader’s comments. That’s not what bloggings all about, at all.

But frankly, this commenter has issues that run far deeper than I’d like to delve. And I don’t need such negativity in my own, personal space. That being said, I’ve gotta play brutal blogger and ban "nothavingit" from my court. So that's it. Goodbye. I hope you stop throwing punches at the wind and start smiling someday.

-Ryan ☺

The twists that shocked the nation

Came across this Black hair article a few days ago in the New York Times—you know, discussing good hair, bad hair, wearing hair natural vs. relaxing it chemically. This seems to be a hot topic since Malia Obama’s been wearing her hair in… get ready for it… twists! Shocking! God, it’s like the general public has never been exposed to a normal Black girl wearing normal Black hairstyles. Wonder why?

I work at an ad agency… but I can safely point the finger at advertising for really messing up perceptions of what “normal” hair looks like. Even “normal” Black hair.

Growing up, I never believed I had nice hair. Because my hair never looked like the girls in the Pantene ads. Even after a whole day of washing and blow-drying my hair “straight,” it was still poofy as ever. It didn’t shine and bounce and flow over my shoulders. Even after I convinced my mom to buy a whole bunch of Pantene, it still didn’t look right. On the contrary, the products made my hair brittle and dry.

Thanks a lot, Pantene.

The problem is, we NEVER see normal Black hairstyles in hair product advertising. Even when there’s a woman of color in the ad. It’s mind-boggling. Like this Pantene Relaxed and Natural ad? Most Black women don’t have REAL hair like either one of these chicks. In fact, it’s really hard for me to believe that this is real hair. Those curls are virtually unachievable without hours at the salon. And the straight ‘do looks like a weave. I’m pretty sure it is one.

Give me some real hairstyles and real hair. Whether it’s relaxed, natural, short, long, whatever. Maybe that way the country won’t get all in a tizzy over some damn twists. Geez.

Takin' it up a few inches

Over the weekend, I went to see my kick-ass hairstylist at G20 Salon, Jessie Lockward. She's the only stylist I've ever had who knows how to make my natural (non-relaxed) hair look perfect. From the highlights to the flawless flat iron finishes, Jessie works wonders. I don't know what I'm going to do without her (SIDENOTE: If anyone knows of a bomb hairstylist in Chicago, let me know!! Cuz right now I'm debating flying back to Boston every few months to see my girl).

But this visit, I took Jessie's services to the next level. In the ultimate Cosmo "New City! New You!" move, I asked Jessie to chop off about 5 inches of my long locks. Mind you, besides the regular trims, I haven't really CUT my hair in oh, I don't know, let's say, 15 years. I harbor an irrational fear (common to many women of color I know) that my hair won't EVER grow back... and then I'll look at pictures from my childhood and think to myself "Grandmommy was right! I never shoulda cut off all that hair!" But we brainstormed the perfect cut for my face - an assymetrical bob that's short in the back and long in the front - and I went for it. Now my hair feels so bouncy and healthy. I think Grandmommy would approve.

Jessie assured me that the cut will allow my hair to grow back stronger and healthier. And I totally believe her.

Vote CheapThrills for the Black Weblog Awards!

Hey! So this is fun. I've been nominated for the Black Weblog Awards in 4 categories:

1. Best Culture Blog (ref: Boston posts)
2. Best Personal Blog
3. Best Political/News blog (ref: Obama election commentary)
4. Best Sex and Relationships Blog (well, no sex, but interracial relationships galore)

To vote for me, just click on graphic below (or the first link in this post). I really appreciate your support (you all make this whole thing worthwhile, after all) :)

Black man/White woman interracial relationships: Breaking down my judgment

Over the past couple months, I’ve been surrounding myself with people who all have something in common: they’re the least judgmental people I’ve ever known. They're: 1) unconditionally understanding and compassionate of any given situation – no matter how crazy, weird, or counter-culture it may be, and 2) TOTALLY open about their own lives, in all their outrageous and extreme glory.

How refreshing. To escape the “right” and “wrong”, “good” and “bad”, “black” and “white”.

Which brings me to my point.

During a conversation with one such non-shockable friend, the topic of interracial relationships arose. As I began discussing my own perceptions and thoughts on the subject, something became appallingly clear:

I am judgmental.

Here’s the bare-bones, no-holds-barred confession: I am shamefully judgmental of Black man/White woman interracial relationships. When I see such a couple, I immediately jump to the conclusion that the Black man is trying to prove something and the White woman is trying to piss off her family. I lump the couple into a category, with no desire to dig deeper or even accept their union.

So during this conversation, my friend commented, simply: “Why do you care what choices these other people are making?”

The remark struck me. Yes, why DO I care?  I've thought hard about this. I’m sure when my Black man/White woman aversion took shape, it sprung from jealousy. When I was a little girl, I never knew my true worth (what kid does?). I was so jealous all the time. Of White females, because, in my eyes, they’d always have something special in their pale skin that I could never have, no matter how straight I blow-dried my hair or how blond I dyed it. And of guys (all guys, but mostly Black guys), because they were always the most popular and the funniest… and most of them liked girls who weren’t boyish and gawky and frizzy-haired like me.

As time passed, I (seemingly) got over my childhood jealousies. But also, the “Black man/White woman relationship aversion” became almost second nature. An instinctual eye-roll. And coming from the Black girl who digs White guys… what a perfect storm of cutting irony.

So now I take a step back. I see many of my White girlfriends entering into wonderful, loving relationships with Black men. I see happiness and strength. And when I see a couple that I would generally stereotype cuddling on the subway or holding hands through Downtown Crossing, I really have to check myself. Why spend time passing judgment on things I don’t even try to understand? Why do I continuing to do this, with the roiling emotions of a 3rd-grader?

I've got it. The reality is that I’m NOT over my jealousies. And the problem exists in my own head, not the interracial union. Which is a tad upsetting, but also… again, refreshing.

Because I can’t understand all the complexities of others. But I can accept them. And, even better, I can bask in my God-given joy of delving deep and understanding my own complexities.

There's no place for judgment in self-discovery. So I'm kicking all those judgmental thoughts to the curb.

A closer look at Disney's first Black princess

Disney's The Princess And The Frog trailer hit the web last night (don't watch if you don't want to see spoilers). It gave me goosebumps, sure, BUT!

So maybe I was expecting too much... but I was kinda hoping Disney's first Black princess would actually remain Black throughout the whole film.

Ack. Oh well. It's just a trailer. And the prince pre-frog transformation is kinda hot (I've always had a thing for Disney princes). So I'm still excited to see the flick. How 'bout you?

More: It Ain't Cool

Black men, let’s get real

A few days ago, I found myself chatting with a few co-workers about the Chris Brown / Rihanna conflict. After a bit of a pause, one woman remarked:

“I just don’t get this whole angry Black man complex. They need to get it together.”

The strange thing about it was, everyone participating in the conversation nodded in affirmation, thus bolstering her “point”. I, on the other hand, guffawed, shook my head, and retorted, “Huh? This has nothing to do with the ‘angry Black man’ – whatever that means. It’s an abusive relationship… race has nothing to do with it.”

Surprised? I’m sure a few of you are, seeing as how I get comments like this frequently:

“Maybe my problem with the statements in Ryan's blog is that maybe she should admit that she has a bias against black men, remembers your mother and her sister both married white men.”

and

“It's truly tragic how much you hate men who share your color.”

and

“Isn't this the same person who wrote about terrified she was of sexually hyper-aggressive black males? How they scared her into those oh so comforting anglo-arms when she was a teenager girl? Suggesting that only black men eyeball and catcall women in their teens?”

Ok. We need to talk about this.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how I come across on this blog to Black men. Because I care. A lot. I think about how I felt 4 years ago, when I came across the Facebook group Black Men and White Women Come Together (now defunct), or how I’d feel if I read a blog authored by a Black man who finds himself dating primarily (hi, not exclusively) White women. Did this/would this hurt my feelings? Highlight my insecurities? Anger me?

Perhaps.

But then I think about what’s real – at least, to me.

I know that I identify more with my race than I do with my sex. That might sound weird, but it’s true. I identify more with Black men than I do with White women. I think of myself as “bi-racial” before “female”. Because of this, I’ve always felt deeply connected with other bi-racial and African-American folks – men included. (!) 

I know that I’m someone who calls out the elephant in the room (I get this from my mom). In my opinion, doing so progresses the conversation past formality, to a place actually worth exploring. Because really, what’s the point of skirting around the issues? It’s boring and pointless.

I also know that discussing a topic like gender relations through a racial lens isn’t easy. It’s visceral and messy. I get that. But I’m not someone who gives free passes. So I knew I’d offend a few when I called out Black men for cat calling. But I also knew that I could have gone deeper… because there is much more to say about the public objectification of Black females (the booty-shaking b*tches, the nappy headed hos, the “come here girl” comments and over-exaggerated head turns… I mean really, let’s get real).  I make no claim that this objectification began in the Black community – just think about the Saartjie Baartman, or “Venus Hottentot” story – but somehow the Black community has managed to perpetuate it. Obviously, not all Black men do this, and obviously some White men and Latino men and whoever-else-men cat call and all the rest – but I’m talking about Black women and Black men here. And it’s an important issue for us to discuss, together.

So yes, I have quite a few concerns with gender relations within the African-American community. But that doesn’t mean I won’t defend Black men wholeheartedly when someone looking in from the outside makes an ignorant blanket statement like the one my co-worker made. A statement based on nothing but TMZ and the 7 o’clock news.

But within the community, we need real talk to move forward. Understand that I want nothing more than to uplift the race, but to do so I think it’s imperative that we address the good, the bad and the ugly. You be real with me, and I promise I’ll be real with you.

Bush-Obama face morph

It's Sunday night and this is really freaking me out.

Reflections on election journalism from Politico's "mega Obama supporter" (tee hee)

When my father emailed me asking for my definition of Politico.com, I scribbled this in reply: “Politico is a news site, but its reporters also keep active blogs.”

I didn’t think much of my response at the time. But now that I re-read my assessment, I realize it's really no wonder the site became one of my go-to sources for all things politics during this election cycle.

Why?

Well, I found that during Obama’s run, I was hungry not only for straight reporting, but also for perspectives, dialogue and active conversation. As a blogger, I developed a deep respect for the writers who posted their words online, engaged with their readers, sometimes took public lashings from the community at large, and even went to far as to make public their online contact information. People like Andrew Sullivan of The Atlantic. Sam Stein of The Huffington Post. 

And Ben Smith, of Politico. Who I had the fortune of conversing with, particularly on how deeply personal this election was to so many.

So naturally, his story in Politico’s glossy Presidential Inauguration magazine (which hit the stands in D.C. yesterday and is viewable online here) is also deeply personal to me.

Not so much because of my little contribution to the article, but rather because, through his writing, it’s clear that he developed a relationship with each one of the people he mentions. The stories he highlights are ones that his readers actively sent him… over the past 14 months (that boggles my mind!). Ones that his readers felt comfortable sharing with him. In part, I’m sure, because he broke down that imaginary wall between reporter/subject, thus creating thinker/thinker relationships.

Wow. In my opinion, that kind of ongoing dialogue—new to journalism—is the key to making a story truly powerful.

Can’t wait to see the magazine in print.

I’m profiled in the Washington Post today

Washington Post: In Obama's Run, Finding A Long-Sought Sense of Acceptance

_________________

Remember last month, when Philly Daily News published my inauguration ticket request letter? Well, I still don’t have a ticket (tear)… but I do have some fun news: after it ran a Washington Post reporter contacted me requesting to profile my family – particularly for the family's “bi-racialness”, as it were.

The profile ran today, and I must say it’s pretty awesome to see my name in Washington Post print. The reporter even included a lengthy quote from this blog.

Overall, I’m very pleased with the piece. But just a couple notes from my end: 1) My mom definitely feels the significance of Obama’s presidency, it just hasn’t hit her yet. I expect her to be sobbing on my shoulder at the inauguration. 2) My daddy woulda loved to join me in D.C. – for both the historical significance of Obama’s presidency and for his own studies (he’s a professor of political framing). So it’s not that he won’t come, but rather, because he’s a professor of political framing and will be teaching, it’s more that he quite literally can’t.

In any case, the coolest thing of all to me is the fact that journalism has become such a two-way street. From blogs posted to articles published to profiles written, there’s this new fluidity to journalism that lets us all join in on the conversation. Pretty neat stuff.