Bleach, Nip, Tuck: The White Beauty Myth

Journalist Martha Yankey explores the painful history that’s left many women of colour hating the way they look.

I'm a black woman and at almost 28 I have only in recent years learnt that I am beautiful. Why has it taken me so long? Well it's certainly not because I'm ugly or even unattractive, it's more because I have finally understood what it truly means to be black and naturally beautiful.

As a young girl growing up in London my parents continually told me that my hair was my beauty and my pride. They told me that if I wanted to be seen; to be taken seriously and looked upon as pretty or beautiful, I had better make sure that my barnet was coiffed to perfection.

Yet even when at the age of 16, I finally persuaded my mum to let me relax (straighten) my hair, the reality of this assumed pathway to beauty turned out to be far more complicated and far more elusive than I had imagined. It wasn't about having long, straight flowing tresses or even about being presentable: it was about accessibility. As a young black girl of African descent, my natural beauty, the beauty I was born with, was at odds with the image of beauty constructed by society.

For many a black woman, the argument is simple. It's not about trying to be white or striving to achieve European attributes, it's about wanting flexibility. Wanting to be able to acccommodate many different hairstyles. Being in control of how they are percieved. Making life easier because black hair is not the simplest to maintain. But, I question whether the manifestation of this desire to take ownership and regain control, is in fact symbolic of an erosion of identity?

From a young age, black girls are allowed to associate beauty and in turn success, with images of women that are fundamentally not like them through the fallacy that european beauty is the only form of beauty allowed.

Despite the fact that there are many dark skinned black women in the media, black women who are not caramel or fair skinned are continually excluded from the mainstream concept of beauty. If I cannot be seen in the places associated with beauty then how can I be expected to believe that I am beautiful?

For many black people (not just black women) the notion that it can no longer be left to mainstream beauty, media or even music industries to construct, safeguard and promote her image, has become all the more apparent and many in the UK are following the US example and going it alone.

Beverley Knight launched 'K', her own collection of mid-range make-up products aimed at women of colour; Arise, an African culture and style magazine came into being; the Black Entertainment, Film, Fashion, Television and Arts awards (BEFFTA) aimed at celebrating black achievement was launched and we also have Top Model of Colour.

There is a certain irony in the concept of beauty amongst races. In Africa, features typically associated with the European construct of beauty are lauded and sought after. Skin lightening creams and hair relaxant products are big business. Yet those whom we seek to mirror are aiming for features black people have previously owned: golden glowing skin by virtue of tanning salons; botox injections to make lips appear fuller and even buttock implants to enhance the derriere are becoming more and more popular amongst the masses.

The problem is not that many choose to relax their hair, the problem is not that many choose to wear a weave. The problem is the constant mismanagement and exclusion of authentic natural beauty. Beauty women can truly associate with, not one that allows us to be stripped of our identity, to become invisible so that we may get ahead, so that we may achieve or so that we may stop having our blackness associated with some element of the post slavery struggle.

I for one, love my twists and I have learnt to love my full lips and ignore the sexual connotations that float effortlessly around them. I for one have learnt that being of a caramel hue does not render me better than women of a darker hue. I for one have learnt acceptance of self. I am beautiful.

Martha Yankey, Freelance journalist and Associate Editor of black culture and events website www.catchavibe.co.uk

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