Before I began the first blog of my life, I would like to sincerely thank Ziah for providing me with the opportunity to share my thoughts. It is because of fearless voices like hers, that I have grown to unapologetically accept my own stream of consciousness. She was looking for writers a while back, and I jokingly said I would contribute. About a month later, here I am, a new voice in an overly saturated blogging world. However, unlike rap these days, most of the blogging world has something unique to contribute no matter how many blogs exist. What is my unique contribution you ask? I would hope the fact that my fingerprints are one of kind, count for something. But if that’s not enough to convince you, I would just suggest that I am a truth-sayer. No one tells my truth like me, because my truth is unique to my existence. I hope to present my thoughts on how I view the world, in a way not that you agree, but that you understand where this sistah is coming from. With that, the blogging shall begin….
I will never forget when I opened up the pages to the Prologue of Ralph Ellison’s novel The Invisible Man. As I read the words:
I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids---and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible understand, simply because people refuse to see me (Ellison, 3).
tears began to fill my eyes. I looked behind me to make sure Ralph Ellison was not peering over my shoulder. My heart raced, as I looked to the front of the book where the publishing date of 1952 was plastered on the page. If the book was published before both my parents were conceived and Mr. Ellison was not standing behind me, how could he articulate that which I felt in my gut? That one paragraph felt as though Mr. Ellison reached inside me, stole my feelings, put them in a book, and changed the word woman to man, to make it seem he wasn’t a literary thief. I had forgotten about this piracy of my feelings, until today. As much as it happens, I should be immune to being invisible. But I have to admit, that even the thickest skin can crack. It can heal, yet and still it’s susceptible to cracking when faced with people who look above you, and not at you. But this blog is not about me and my feelings of invisibility. I said all this to explore the question of what happens when the invisible becomes visible. Case in point, Gabourey Sidibe.
Gabourey Sidibe has the honor of gracing the 25th Anniversary Cover of Elle Magazine. When I found out the news I immediately became excited for her. However, my excitement turned to anger when I read comments that stated such things as, “they always want to put these type of black women on the cover of magazines to show we all look like this” or “they just continue to perpetuate stereotypes by propping this girl up” and blah, blah, blah. To those who state they always put “these” black women on magazines, when was the last time you saw a black woman that looked like Gabourey on a magazine? I’m waiting… (all you hear is crickets). To those who say they are perpetuating stereotypes by propping “this girl” up? Do you even know what a stereotype is? A stereotype is an ignorant conclusion of someone, based upon an ignorant assumption. It has nothing to do with facts! A stereotype does not exist in the REAL F-ING WORLD. A stereotype is conceived in someone’s highly left field imagination that has no real contact with the type of person they are creating. I say no real contact, because me cooking in your kitchen and happily raising your white babies, me slaving in your fields, you seeing me in a couple of music videos or gangsta movies does not equal REAL CONTACT. Stereotypes do not have feelings or emotions beyond what the author in her or his (yes her always goes first, ‘f’ what ya heard) assumptive imagination creates for that stereotype.
Last time I checked Gabourey Sidibe was a human being, not a stereotype. But as I am realizing, this type of pervasive ignorance, this type of I don’t like seeing Gabourey Sidibe because she looks too black, too fat, too comfortable in her own skin and how dare she not apologize to the entire human race for existence type ignorance, is what happens when the invisible becomes visible. I, at one point, had become comfortable in my invisibility. I thought, “if they don’t see me who cares?” Then I woke up and realized, they want me to hide behind this veil of apology that they have created for me. But I learned a thing or two from Gabourey. She taught me never to be afraid to show your face. When they try to X you out, just show your face. Keep on showing your face, till they have no choice but to look at you and put you on the cover of Elle magazine. You ain’t got too like what you see, but that won’t stop me. Thank you Gabourey for reminding me that the only person I owe an apology to is myself for being too afraid to show my face. To all my beautiful sistahs out there, take the veil off and show your face.
