A fit about the fetishization of big booty bitches.

The age of the ass is upon us. J-Lo, Nicki Minaj and of course, Kimmy K are parading their slim waists and big booties all over mass media. Gone are the days of slim white biddies with big titties. Society has now been introduced to ethnic female bodies and all their glorious curves.

I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I find some satisfaction in this. Growing up I was always jealous of that slim white girl cheerleader Bring it On-esque body that was so popular. I could never have that typical white girl body. I was, and forever will be, a thick ass bitch. Even at my smallest, my ass and thighs were still the most prominent features of my body (and were the bane of my existence, and fuel for my eating disorder, for a very, very long time).

But something about this movement still sits wrong with me. It smacks of objectification and fetishization of female bodies. And worse, of ethnic female bodies.

While I was in France I wrote a paper on the Hottentot Venus. Link to Google doc of essay: here. Homegirl’s name was Saartjie Baartman and she was a Xhosa (South African) woman, who was taken on tour around the world (in a literal freak show) because of the size of her ass. She was exhibited as a freak, an anomaly, a spectacle. When freak shows in France and England went out of vogue, Saartjie became a prostitute and died shortly after of a presumed STI.

WAIT I’VE SEEN THIS SHIT BEFORE??

Bitch you ugly anyway! A fit about street harassment, race, and power

As if my readers needed another reminder (and they might, because they may be new!) I am half-black, black passing, and NOT-WHITE. I grew up in a predominately white suburb, and it was weird. Then I went to Chicago for my undergraduate education.

Something even weirder than growing up around a lot of people who looked nothing like me happened when I arrived in Chicago. Something that I had never really experienced before, but would effect me until I left. I was harassed. I was constantly hollered at on the street. While waiting for the bus, while on the bus (ditto for the el). I was harassed in bars, at clubs, in line at Walgreens, while smoking lunch-break cigarettes. Dude upon thirsty dude approached me, or yelled from a car. Bruh after can-you-fucking-not bruh brushed against my ass, cornered me in public, or pulled my headphones out. I experienced a never ending cascade of comments on my body, my clothes, my fucking not-smile (I’M ON THE CTA WHY WOULD I BE SMILING, SRSLY??), my hair. It did not stop.

Sound familiar? Watch this video.

This shit happened to me on a pretty reg basis until I moved back home where pretty much everyone is white.

What the hell is that about?

Let’s have a fit about black dudes, power politics!, and street harassment.

It happened to me: I was confused for the other Black girl at the party.

I graduated from the University of Chicago last year. It was an amazing experience and I am blessed and privileged to have attended such an institution. Many of my peers at UChicago did not share the same background as me: I am a biracial female (identifies, and checks the “Black” box on all racial inquires), who grew up in a chaotic single-parent household. But, my peers and I managed to connect and build friendships through intellect, athletics, and of course booze.

Fourth of July came around this past summer and a coworker asked me to attend his beach party. We had studied abroad in Paris together and were working together that summer at a sketchy law firm in the West Loop.

The Fourth in Chicago was absolutely beautiful. Not too humid, not too hot. There were passing clouds. My friend Pomegranate (fake names used because reasons) and I arrived with honey-whisky, chips and dip.

Nectar of the drunken gods.