“I Feel Pretty” is mostly an exasperating attempt to appeal to all women as it blatantly marginalizes others.by Candice Frederick I have seen most of Amy Schumer’s live action projects, including “Snatched”, which is an abomination for many reasons, including racist stereotypes. Like so many comedians, her best work is in stand-up, specifically on “Inside Amy Schumer”. Schumer’s work has helped normalize the idea that (white) women can be brash, unapologetic, feminist, and successful. She is funny, when the material is hers and when it isn’t fat-shaming or racist. The criticism she’s received is based in truth; after all she is a white, blonde woman from Long Island who can joke about her lower back tattoo, blow jobs, and waking up in someone else’s bed after a wild night and be celebrated for it—she’s privileged, whether she recognizes that or not, and this shows in her newest film, "I Feel Pretty". When I first saw the trailer for the movie, in which she stars as Renee, a woman who suffers from low self-esteem about her physical appearance and wishes herself to be “beautiful” in order to achieve success, it gave me pause. I was conflicted, but I was interested in her addressing a real issue that plagues so many women who believe their self-worth is based on their physical appeal. It’s right on brand with who Schumer is as a comedian, and it is an important topic to explore. Yet, after watching the movie, I was acutely aware of one other thing: Schumer’s brand continues to highlight what’s wrong with white feminism. I can pinpoint this to one particular scene in the film: Renee goes to a spin class and, ridiculously, falls off the stationary bike onto the floor and bangs her head so severely that it knocks her out. She wakes up to find Tasha ( Sasheer Zamata), the super hot, super fit, Black front desk clerk standing above her with a bag of ice to soothe what is likely a concussion. Tasha is tasked with taking care of Renee, who she loudly announced wore size 9 ½ double wide spin shoes and at another point described her belly as “full.” It’s clear by their few interactions (Zamata only appears three or four times in the film) that we’re supposed to see Tasha as someone who looks down at Renee. Through Schumer’s lens, someone who looks like Zamata has everything going for her and is fine being relegated to the background to make way for her.
The Harts were hideous monstrosities of unbounded proportions.[Content Warning: child abuse, anti-Blackness, state violence, murder of Black children, suicide.] Years of reported child abuse claims, including physical harm and starvation, recently culminated in the death of an entire family. Sarah and Jennifer Hart drove their SUV off a California roadside cliff with their adopted children inside. Three of the children were found among the car wreckage along with the two women — Markis (19), Abigail (14), and Jeremiah (14). The other three remain unfound and are presumed dead, possibly washed out to sea. They are Hannah (16), Sierra (12), and Devonte (15). Investigators now believe that the crash was intentional, citing the fact that the speed was set at 90 mph and the lack of skid marks, but Black people knew it in our spirit all along. From the moment the story broke, we fucking knew it. We sat and watched as others speculated about it, giving these two abusive, murderous white women the benefit of the doubt after they had driven their adopted Black children off a 100-foot cliff. We knew it in 2014 when Devonte Hart, with tears welling up in his eyes, was photographed in a tentative embrace with a white cop at a Black Lives Matter rally and the image instantly went viral. Other photos from that day show that Devonte was already in tears even before he was approached by the cop. In Sgt. Bret Barnum’s own account of the event, he states that the boy was “hesitant” to speak to him, but he persisted with the conversation and ultimately asked for the hug. Devonte’s body language in the photos spoke volumes to us. It felt like coercion. It felt like a 12 year-old Black boy, who was at a rally to protest the Grand Jury's failure to indict Darren Wilson for the murder of Mike Brown, was afraid to speak to a white police officer, but was pressured into doing so anyway as others surrounded him and took the opportunity to snap the perfect “feel good” photo. And we were not at all surprised when Sgt. Barnum was later caught up in a controversy for publicly showing his support of Darren Wilson on Facebook. We know what it looks like when Black people are being used as a tool of performative allyship and white liberalism. Devonte was made a spectacle and used as propaganda, by his guardian who accompanied him and by every person who shared the image of his obvious pain with musings about how racial togetherness and free hugs would magically solve all of the world's issues and end racialized state violence. One of his guardians seized the opportunity to write about the viral photo on Facebook, saying that they attended the rally in hopes of “spreading love and kindness, and to remind (ALL) people that they matter in this world.” The Harts failed Devonte and his siblings in more ways than one. This is why performative white allyship is so dangerous, and not just for the Black and non-Black kids who get adopted by them. It is insidious, to say the least, when “good white folks” impersonate someone who truly cares about anti-racism work, even as they continue to uphold white supremacy in their words and actions, and continually harm people of color. We witness this ally theater daily, both in our communities and on the larger world's stage. We see the way that people like the Hart couple insulate themselves with people of color as tokens and trophies to provide themselves an alibi for their racism. We see the way they fetishize Martin Luther King, Jr. and a non-violent stance, whitewashing and re-writing his legacy to present an ahistorical vision of the civil rights leader who ultimately saw the validity of violence as a form of resistance, because they plugged their ears after “I have a dream.” Their white saviorism complex is painfully obvious, a perpetuation of the colonialist and imperialist self-aggrandizing belief that people of color always need white people to save us, even from the white supremacy that they actively participate in and continually benefit from. And how dare we not bestow accolades upon them for “liberating” us? We, deadpan as they explode into tears and go on social media rants when people of color don't fall to our knees and thank them profusely for being gracious enough to do work on our behalf. We hear them scream, “I've always been good to you negroes” before exiting stage left in a huff. We side-eye the ones who are so glaringly only “progressive and forward-thinking” because they see it as a trend, like their avocado toast and the aesthetics that they appropriated from hood Black girls. They list social justice work that they never actually did on their resume and OkCupid profiles for social capital, and pats on the back, and so they can more easily fuck the people color that they fetishize. The “I’m not like other white people” declarations don't fool us. These special snowflakes take up so much fucking space as they fall over themselves trying to obscure their own privilege and disassociate themselves from the white supremacist violences of the past, present, and future. We roll our eyes at the white allies who demand our intellectual and emotional labor and scream “It's your job to educate me!” only to take our words back to their white ally spaces to accept all of the credit, then block us on Facebook when we call them out for their intellectual thievery.
We can no longer allow feminism and The Women’s March to have a ‘pink hat’ relationship with Hip-Hop or Black women. By Ashley Nash Since the start of 2017, pink pussy hats have been at the center of conversations ranging from reproductive
The industry and white feminism do this all the time, they come up with new and asinine ways to validate exclusion in Hollywood and a complete disregard for women of color who are making incredible strides.By Candice Frederick I’ve tried to bite my tongue about this. After all, it’s just great to be mentioned, right? Because as women, when one of us wins, we all win, right? RIGHT? Wrong. It’s 2018, and I’m tired of seeing women of color show up for then take a back seat to white women whose accomplishments are just as great as their own, yet they must settle for simply being in the same room as them. Nope, not today Satan. Not anymore. Let me be more frank. You know how everyone is going on about "Lady Bird" this and "Wonder Woman" that, Greta Gerwig this and Patty Jenkins that? It seems like every Hollywood pundit is hailing the two for leading the charge for women filmmakers in 2017, as if Dee Rees didn’t just deliver one of the most astounding and technically amazing films of the year with "Mudbound" (her second since 2011’s also criminally underrated "Pariah"). Where is she in the conversation? Why is she not “leading the charge” and a frontrunner for best director this season? Why this year out of all years, when women are finally being centered in major industry discussions, does that not include Rees? This isn’t about taking anything away from Gerwig or Jenkins (because I know that’s exactly where certain minds go when you try to integrate conversation). In fact, "Wonder Woman" is my favorite movie of 2017 and "Lady Bird", well, is a very pleasant film for those hungry to see a simple story about a young white girl on the cusp of adulthood (because the landscape is sorely in need of those, right?). This also isn’t about using white women’s success as a barometer for women of color creatives, because that’s neither necessary or productive. Rather, this is about including women of color as we amplify those who’ve made extraordinary achievements in 2017 film. Is that too difficult of an ask, too outrageous to consider as more and more award nominations are unveiled sans her name?
May white feminism stay and die in 2017. They have really outdone themselves. My newsfeed curation is constantly being managed by my trigger-happy fingers that have turned ‘unfollow’ into a reflex reaction. Yet, I can be laughing uproariously at some delicious