I woke up this morning with my head still underneath my mother’s violet comforter, scrolling Facebook, sifting for a status that would actually pique my interest. After a few scrolls, boom. I found one. “The ironic thing about all of these articles and blogs about the “Carefree Black Girl” is that not one girl writing or blogging about it are carefree,” posted an acquaintance, who also has this really awesome blog. “I mean all of it is beyond laughable. “The radical performance of the carefree Black girl” article.”The Carefree Black Girl Playlist” full of Beyonce songs. CFBG blog with every girl rocking natural hair. Maybe the archetype should be renamed “PressedBlackGirl” or “ObsessedWithSolangeBlackGirl” or “TragicBlackGirl”…,” she continued.
I rolled over a few times and commented, “Seems like many are pressed to not be the “angry Black girl,” when it’s nothing wrong with being angry, when you have every right to be. And care free Black girls are too care free to be writing about it.” After receiving a few like notifications on my comments, it made me wonder what type of Black girl I am. You have the awkward Black girl, like Issa Rae, the calm Black girl, like Beyonce in the elevator, the angry Black girl, like many womanists on my Twitter timeline and the carefree Black girl like Kelis.
I think we’re currently living in a very interesting time, where Black girls are being studied like cells underneath a petri dish. Is it that we’re so much of an “other” that we must be studied and critiqued for the world to see? Or are we just so motherfucking awesome, that everybody wants a piece of our magic and therefore we must be explored? I’m betting on the latter. Anyway, it’s quite interesting that even us Black girls are trying to figure out how to box, label and read this Black girl magic.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just way too complex to subscribe to just one of these labels. I am the queer Black girl that’s looking for the next Goddess to take away my pain with her soft kisses and warm embrace. I am the angry Black girl who cried hysterically during an hour plus car ride home from Long Island to NYC, after learning the verdict of George Zimmerman. I am the awkward Black girl, who often gets shy when meeting new people and would probably prefer to be at home watching episodes of “Sex and the City” relentlessly, while eating sushi ordered from GrubHub instead of being at the club. I am the carefree Black girl, who just went to the club last night in a Detroit Tigers t-shirt, jeans and Sperry Topsiders and couldn’t care less about competing with other chicks in heels and a dress. I am the calm Black girl, who often avoids confrontation because I just ain’t got time for that.
I am the Black girl who graduated from an artsy university, knows the English language and loves using words like fuck to get my point across. I am the Black girl who was born and raised in one of America’s most disdained cities, but has overcame adversity. I am the Black girl who is a self-proclaimed feminist and womanist, who also knows almost every word to “Ain’t No Fun.” I am the Black girl who lives for Beyonce, Audre Lorde, Karrine Steffans, Janet Mock, Angela Davis, Lupita Nyong’o, Melissa Harris-Perry, Laverne Cox, Nicki Minaj and Lauryn Hill all at the same damn time.Yes, yes and yes. I am all of these things and I do not need a box or a label to make me feel valid or like I am the acceptable and or appropriate type of Black woman.