I'm Not Every Woman

When Beyoncé announced her pregnancy, there was an almost immediate firestorm of articles and tweets about her "doing it the right way" and how her pregnancy put single mothers to shame. I imagine if she ever read those articles (though she probably stopped long ago) she would think, "Can I just have this baby for me and my husband? Does this have to be representative of how every Black woman should do? Can I live?!" (Sorry, that last line would've actually been mine.) Instead of being treated like an individual, she was examined, scrutinized, then heralded as "the model." But that's par for the course when you're a celebrity, right? But what about when us "regular" folks go through the same thing?

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For many people the way they view "others," those with whom they don't personally identify, is shaped by a set of stereotypes that are perpetuated through tv and online. So whenever black women (or black people, or women) are the media's focal point, they are talking about me. Unfortunately, the image that people see most often of black women is that of the loud, uncouth hoodrat; the emasculating b*tch, the sex-crazed Jezebel, or the mammy. The problem with this is that not every black woman fits into one of these categories. True, there are some, but just as in any race we also have our professionals, students, humanitarians, nerds. *raises hands* Our characteristics run the gamut much like our skin tones.

My issue is that the media doesn't show this; it doesn't truly portray me. The result is an everyday battle to combat these stereotypes while still being true to myself. But this is easier said than done. If I'm overtly sexual, I'm the typical fast black girl. If I lose my cool and put someone in their place, I'm Sapphire. If the wrong person catches me bobbing my head and mouthing the words to a Waka Flocka Flame song then I'm automatically ghetto. (Okay, bad example; who really understands anything that Waka says? But I do love "No Hands." See, look at you judging!)

I'd like to be afforded the luxury of being seen as an individual. It would be nice to know that my actions won't reflect on the whole of black womandom--at least, not when they would reflect negatively. And it would be wonderful to know when others act in a less than savory manner that I am not categorized as "one of them" because "you know how they are." Sorry Chaka (and Whitney), but I am not every woman. I wish the world would realize that.