Warning: this article is going to be a bit more personal than I’ve been before. With that written, I’ll jump right in. Every time I relapse, I try to find something—or someone—to blame. Previous examples include the phrase “you’re not getting any smaller” and the occasional critical stare, which inevitably sent me into the kitchen––only to subsequently go into the bathroom. And so on, and so on ad infinitum. But the idea of a woman of color with an eating disorder always seemed an anathema to me. African American beauty always appeared to skirt the mainstream ideals when it came to weight. Hair quality and skin hue continue to fall victim, but weight was our “upper hand,” so to speak. And although we relax our hair to the point it falls out and occasionally avoid the sun to keep our skin lighter, we still enjoy our ribs and biscuits without remorse because we still appreciate the roundness of our rumps and the fullness of our thighs.
So how did we get here, to a time when there are numerous Web sites devoted to the understanding and prevention of eating disorders among women of color? It’s too easy to say that the prevailing standards finally caused the collapse of a culture that still celebrated the fuller figure. Perhaps it was the trade, or sacrifice, of ethnic women who, as they attained a more mainstream (read: Euro-centric) education and attitude, so attained a different sense of what is or isn’t beautiful. For, according to many eating disorder studies, women of color who suffer from EDs are less likely to live in impoverished neighborhoods and more likely to be college students/graduates. I picture the prolific stereotype of the large black woman, speaking Ebonics and clearly possessing enough self-confidence in her appearance that she feels comfortable wearing spandex shorts and skimpy T-shirts. For young women of color, that image is dichotomous: 1) she is sassy and secure; therefore, if they look and speak like her, she is an affirmation that they don’t have to strive to emulate the anorexic and bulimic models on billboards; but 2) she is also a subliminal reminder of how African American women are perceived, and to be like her is to admit that she is the
highest level of beauty and intelligence that we can ever reach. Sadly, the numbers are still too dubious to efficiently measure how many women of color suffer from EDs. Whether or not they are being counted, it’s possible to ascertain that the stigma within the black community still encourages resistance to European standards of beauty, and in turn assigns shame to the methods of attaining that standard. If we do it, we can’t talk about it, and therefore, the possibility of recognizing an ED as a problem never surfaces. If we don’t do it, we relegate ourselves to the inferior standard of the larger-than-life “Sheniqua.” So, in essence, we’re screwed.
Now, does this mean I’m arguing for the deliberate intellectual and financial stagnation (or regression) of African American women? Perhaps, perhaps not, if it can ensure the health of our young ladies who, in their effort to reach perfection according to accepted social standards, are interjecting their educational pursuit with sticking a finger in their throats. Ultimately, I’m advocating attention to how we in the community itself react to popular images when it comes to how the world sees us and how we see ourselves. What are we doing in our own community to offset the stereotypes we’re offered? Must we embrace one or the other, or can we somehow amalgamate the ideals to encompass the full-figured beauty we’ve always cherished while also encouraging academic aspirations minus physiological forfeiture? Hopefully you’re not holding out for a “here’s what we can do about it” paragraph, offering optimism to women who realize that in their pursuit of mainstream intellectual and social acceptance, they have suddenly found themselves “unintentionally” missing a meal or kneeling over a toilet bowl. Nor will I apologize for what may seem a self-aggrandizing attempt at altruism by inserting my own experiences into the editorial. Rather, I hope that for African Americans this column will at best offer insight into a problem that is not Caucasian-exclusive, and open their eyes to the sacrifices our sisters make in trying to distance themselves from the “Sheniqua” archetype. And for those women of color who do put themselves through such horrific self-torture, let this column allow you to separate the unwelcome habit that can sometimes come with striving for perfection in a Euro-centric society so that your compromise doesn’t kill you.
