Dolls: It Matters if You’re Black or White

The Los Rebeldes Dolls (Rebel Dolls)

By Whitney, Contributor

(Originally published August 2009)

As a college student, I had spent most of my college career wrestling with the concept of how I have white privilege. Through my studies, I tried to learn about and deconstruct our society’s power structure and my place in it.

Recently, in a Northern California Target of all places, it all came into glaring perspective for me.  As I stood in the doll aisle, I saw what Peggy McIntosh had been talking about in her groundbreaking article, “White Privilege:  Unpacking the Invisible Backpack “. I scanned the aisle and noticed that the majority of the dolls were white. The portion of the aisle that the “non-white” dolls inhabited seemed like an afterthought, like, “Oh yeah, we have to put out some black and brown dolls, huh?  Almost forgot!”.

Bratz Dolls

I stood in the aisle almost paralyzed as I slowly turned around and looked, really looked, at what was on the shelves. The white dolls were overwhelming the majority of products. The colors they were dressed in were all pastels and they were all some kind of princess, professional, or fashionista.  As I slowly turned and faced the “brown” doll section, I noticed that this population wore bright and bold colors like red, black, purple, hot pink, and even electric blue. These dolls were more like caricatures with their over plumped red lips, caked on make-up and super short skirts. Instead of being adults, like their white counterparts, these dolls were students in middle or high school.  The Latina and Black dolls were very sexily, if not scantily, dressed–the opposite of the white dolls. I’m not sure what school these dolls were supposed go to, but whatever school it was, it allowed super short and tight clothing. Sure fairy princess Barbie may be in a leotard, but for some reason the dolls of color looked like a watered down version of the classic sexual fantasy: the naughty catholic school girl.

The Los Rebeldes Dolls (Rebel Dolls)

The thought popped into my mind that if a little girl of color wants a doll that’s a princess from Target, she’ll have to choose from the white ones.  Sure she could buy a doll with her skin color and make her into a princess, but it wouldn’t be the same as seeing one on the shelf already made for her.  I know that we could bring in the argument about whether or not a princess is the right thing for any girl to want to be, but just go with me for a second while I try and explain what I saw.

There was an absolute lack of choice in the doll department.  I believe that this lack of choice extends into every area of life and is detrimental to the spirit of young girls everywhere, whatever their race.

At a very young age, girls (and boys) begin to ask the question of “why?”  Why aren’t there any dolls that are like me, that like to swim and ride bikes?  Why aren’t

Plunging Neckline Sexier Black Barbie (from the Barbie Basics Collection)

there more dolls that look like me, with brown hair and skin? Why?  Why? Why?…

There are many other, nicer sounding answers, I’m sure. But at this point in my life (I don’t have kids) I want to say very bluntly:

“Sorry kid, it’s called white privilege. And just about everything, everywhere, everyday, is colored by it. That’s why.”

Editor’s Note: The Barbie Basics Collection was released in 2010, after this piece was originally published. One of the Black dolls caused controversy as the plunging neckline on her dress seemed at bit more sexualized than her counterparts in the collection.

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The Audacity of Young Black Women Who are Low-Income, Obese, Abused, and ‘Precious’

precious

About a week ago, I began reading an article in the New York Times Magazine called, “The Audacity of Precious”.  I was so pissed by what I read in the first few paragraphs I couldn’t finish the piece at that time.

When Precious’ plight lands her in a special school, she blossoms: the audience’s initial rejection of Precious, even repulsion at the sight of her, slowly gives way to a kind of identification.

The audience’s initial rejection of Precious, even repulsion at the sight of her, slowly gives way to a kind of identification?

WTF? *And* what the hell? It seems that editor-at-large, Lynn Hirschberg, was projecting her own prejudice onto the audience, making the assumption that everyone thinks like her (I highly doubt she actually polled the audience to come to her conclusion). Either way, it is a disgusting reinforcement of our dominant culture’s back assward values when a writer for the esteemed New York Times can get away with such blatant prejudicial statements about a character who is a fat, low-income, Black young woman.

I was so disgusted; I stopped reading the article hoping to finish the rest when I had the mental space to really digest it. No such luck!

That’s why I was thrilled to learn that our friend Latoya Peterson at Racialicious.com wrote a thoughtful and poignant retort for Jezebel.com, not only about the New York Times Magazine piece, but other equally offensive articles and blogs about the film and its characters.

In the Jezebel piece, Precious Reactions Interesting Infuriating, Peterson writes:

I finished reading Push last Thursday and saw Precious the following day. Although the latter opens this Friday, I’m already horrified at a lot of the discussion prompted by the film. Did these people watch the same movie I did? For the sake of brevity, let’s simply focus on the “WTF Moments.”

Outlet: New York Magazine
Article:When Push Comes to Shove
Speaker: David Edelstein, author of the piece
Quote:

I’m not judging girls who look like Sidibe in life, but her image onscreen is jarring to the point of being transgressive, its only equivalent to be seen in John Waters’s pointedly outrageous carnivals. Her head is a balloon on the body of a zeppelin, her cheeks so inflated they squash her eyes into slits. Her expression is either surly or unreadable. Even with her voice-over narration, you’re meant to stare at her ebony face and see nothing.

Sidibe does look like this in real life – what, has he never seen a big girl before? I suppose not – watching the movie, many different emotions flicker across Precious’ face, but these are easily missed if one is gawking rather than watching.

But the woman who drops a TV onto Precious as she hurries down the stairs with her infant is a sociopath, too singularly garish to be universal.

Spoken like someone who has never watched one of their parents lose their mind over something you did and prepare to commit homicide. There’s a reason Precious was running so fucking fast. Did he just miss that part in the opening where her mother Mary promises to whoop her ass for being uppity? That wasn’t hyperbole.

Edelstein must have also missed some of Lee Daniels‘ memories from growing up. As he explains to the Daily Beast:

“It brought back a feeling I had when I was 11 years old and living in the projects in Philly. I answered the door one day, and a neighbor of ours, a light-skinned black girl who was about five years old, was standing there naked and bleeding. She’d been beaten with an electrical cord. I looked in my mom’s eyes, and it was the first time I ever saw fear in her eyes. When I read Sapphire’s book, those memories came back, and I felt I have to deal with this.”

I get the impression from Edelstein’s review that the book and the movie were simply too much dysfunction for him to stomach. And that’s fine, I can understand that instinct – but why does he feel the need to dismiss brutal shows of force as “too singularly garish to be universal?” Please keep in mind that just because an experience is out of your ken, it may be heartbreakingly common to someone else.

Continue Reading: Jezebel.com

The good news is that Latoya’s piece hit a nerve with New York Magazine writer David Edelson who wrote a response to her piece. In it he uses every excuse in the book to *not* own up to his outrageous assumptions. He declares:

One line of mine I admit was insensitive: “She’s also sexually molested by her jealous, welfare-cheating, gross, and sedentary mother, although the genital fingering might seem preferable to the verbal and physical abuse.” The last thing I would ever do is make light of sexual abuse. In a clumsy way I was trying to suggest that I have read accounts of incest in which victims have said that at least when being touched they weren’t being beaten bloody, that it was perceived by the victim at the time as the lesser of two evils. But that is too complicated and too debatable a point to pack into a single offhand phrase. I apologize.

Read more of his lame excuses at: When Push Comes to Shove — and the Shove Back, Hard

You know what would be nice? If these folks were truly honest about their bias and prejudice around race, size, economic class, etc. Wouldn’t it be enlightening if Lynn Hirschberg apologized for her remarks by saying, “I was confronted by my own privilege as a thin white woman, when I realized my assumption about the audience initially rejecting Precious and being repulsed at the sight of her, was just my insensitive prejudiced perception.”
Yeah, Wouldn’t that be nice?

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The Curious Case of the Ambiguously Mexican Red Head

Trini, my Mexican grandmother, who had red hair.

Growing up, I didn’t really fit in. My father, who I talk to almost every day, is Mexican and has never lived in the US. My mother is Anglo-American. They married in Mexico in 1967, the same year that anti-miscegenation laws were banned across the US. I was born five years later in Mexico City with red hair, white skin, and blue eyes. When I was one year old my parents divorced and my mom, my sister and I moved to California where we have lived ever since.

Trinidad, my Mexican grandmother, had red hair.

In third grade, my sister and I were taunted by neighborhood boys who called me Burrito, and my sister Taco Tits. Growing up in the Reagan Era, I can’t tell you how many people upon learning that I am Mexican said, “You can’t be. You must be Spanish.” As if being Mexican was one of the worst things a person could be.

In high-school when I got into UC Berkeley, my college advisor told me that it must have been because of Affirmative Action. The implication being that I had no reason for acceptance except the fact that people of color were granted priority entrance regardless of their merits.  And later when I dated a young Black man and the LA riots hit, he told me he couldn’t date any more white girls. “I guess that means we can’t date anymore”, I said. “You’re not white”, he smiled. “You’re Mexican”. How convenient–for him.

Growing up with others imposing their views on me about my identity led me to hide who I was for a long time. But in college I started learning about the history and politics of race in our country. I realized that so many people of color had it a lot worse than me. My Mexican heritage gave me just a taste of what others who can’t pass for white go through. I became acutely aware of the privilege that came with the white color of my skin.

Instead of letting others tell me who I was, I started to grapple with how I wanted to classify myself. Did the One-drop rule apply to me? Or was I a white Mexican? Well, not really because I’m also Anglo-American. Was I Mexican-American? Not quite as that label has been assigned to Americans who are of pure Mexican decent. Maybe I was half Mexican and half American? Hmmm…that implies that the my upper half is one ethnicity and my legs and feet the other.

In my early 30s, I had an epiphany. I realized that I don’t have to choose one over the other. I’m not either/or. I’m both/and, without a doubt and damn proud of it, thank you very much!

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Hair Manifesto

Hair: The Tales and Fables of our Follicles

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