Keke Palmer and Black Womens Desirability

Fashion politics and the sexual commodification of the black body.

Anyone will tell you that those in a position of power will sacrifice the most. It’s scripture, to whom much is given, much is required.

As of late, we have been silently ushered (no pun intended) into conformity and a false sense of allyship and agreeance. It takes a lot of courage to share an opposing view. Indifference is now coming at an exuberant cost that not many can afford, and that is being the lone wolf. Though this ideal was a common trope symbolizing strength, independence, and a sense of cool, it’s very taxing and can take a toll on a person’s self-esteem and health. Being a loner is not the flex we assume it to be.

When I think of Keke Palmer, I am reminded of Akeelah and the Bee. I loved how the writers and producers spelled her name. Unique, Black, and significant. The film showcases a young Black girl who beats the odds through academic achievement and a strong, yet gentle Black man who is adjacent to societal negative stereotypes.

And while Keke Palmer was a child in the film, it placed a standard in my mind regarding her. Keke represents what is scarce in the Black community, and that is a Black woman of class and stature. A positive role model for young black girls.

When people think of or look at Keke Palmer, they consider her a woman who is creative, ambitious, smart, pretty, well-rounded, and a good role model. Keke is different in many ways, from her cadence to her personality.

The video of her and Usher goes against the standard we have placed on her. And though she may not have asked to be put on a pedestal, being the emblem of Black women for Black people is the cost of admission for achievement.

There is a bigger picture, though, and it goes hand in hand with my observations of Black women and desirability.

While at a Mediterranean restaurant with a friend yesterday, I began speaking to her about how we feel this need to be completely, “done up,” as Black women going outside of the house. We discussed why, as Black women, we needed to wear the most expensive hair, clothes, shoes, and nails.

I realized that it wasn’t about making a political statement that declares that we are enough or the judgment and expectation of others, but merely the fact that we, as Black women, struggle to feel beautiful just the way that we are. With the degradation that comes from rap lyrics and entertainment to the European woman’s beauty standards, Black women often feel that they need to prove their worth and beauty. And the only leverage some of the sisters think they have regarding desirability is their bodies.

When I saw the photo of Keke Palmer and the endless commentary throughout the internet, many were missing the bigger picture. Whether this was a publicity stunt or personal choice, it was evident to me that as a Black woman, especially today, there is a personal sense of urgency to remain relevant and desirable.

As interracial dating becomes an increasing fad and podcasts soar with disapproving and disrespectful opinions of Black women in any industry, it can be hard to feel like you are enough.

On Instagram, you will find that being a woman of grace, modesty, and humility was going out of style.

This expectation for women started when men would expect women to sleep with them after having a meal; it was the conversations regarding who pays for the first date — to now, there’s this expectation for women to reveal more of themselves, and men were going along right with it.

Somewhere along the lines, women started to fear that they would never partner and began to notice how many men were attracted to the lustful and exposing images of women. Many women today do not feel as though they are desirable.

We often discuss the long history of rape in African-American women and our plight for self-reclamation, but if we are aware of this grotesque aspect of history regarding the disregard and commodification of our bodies, wouldn’t it be sound to understand the reasoning why our ancestors wore skirts down to their ankles?

I digress.

Outside of this element, it’s distasteful. Does it make sense to walk out with your entire bottom out?Is that fashion?

Are women aware of the implications and invitations they send into the world with explicit and provocateur attire in common spaces? Are they aware of the attention their luring for? Is this unwarranted? If fashion was political, what’s the message for bottoms up?

If Black women were exploited for voluptuous body parts, does it make sense to parade around our bodies willingly? Is that empowering? Giving them what they want instead of concealing what they took from us?

I know dignity is out of style, but it was clear that some Black women argued being held to higher standards and respectability while simultaneously showcasing explicit behavior.

Do you ever wonder why we must be so nasty and raunchy? Because everything outside of these characteristics is seen as less desirable, promiscuity is our desirability politic.

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