In an August issue of ESSENCE in 2009, KIERNA MAYO wrote an article entitled Black Women Behaving Badly. She asks:

Have you ever looked another Black woman up and down? Checked out her clothes, her body, her face, her hair and secretly sized her up as less than you? Have you ever laughed about another Black woman behind her back? Talked about her to your girls? Spilled her secrets? Have you ever flirted with another Black woman’s man? Woke up next to him in bed? Have you ever had a silent thought, even for a split second wishing failure on a Black woman at your job? Is bitch a regular word in your vocabulary?

Sheesh. I answered yes to all of the above.

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Back up.

I am the chick who regularly get “gritted” on, that quick head-to-toe assessment that nearly all Black women have been trained to do. And I’d offer some explanations why I think that happens, but they don’t matter. Because even when I’m at my best, doing my best, I’m always found lacking, just like every other girl it happens too. I've been sized up for the labels I am or am not wearing, the job title I should or should not have, the bag that is or is not real, the hair that really is or isn't mine, the clothes that do or do not fit properly, and whether I do or do not think I'm cute for any number of reasons including that without sun I’m rather light, and even with sun, my eyes are.

I know what other women are thinking because (as I shamefully stated above) I do it too. I’ve spent way too much time staring at the crown or part in some poor woman’s head trying to figure out if her long hair is real. Same goes for looking at the underside of a woman’s shoe to tell whether or not her
Louboutin’s are authentic Same goes for whether her Louis is from a shelf on 57th & 5th or a back room on Canal Street.

Why?

I think many Black women are pre-disposed to hating on other Black women just because they're Black women. Call it a bit of self-hate, of self-fulfilling the BS we're told about ourselves that we’re catty, angry, vindictive by nature and we just can’t get along. Accepting that idea makes me cringe as I consider myself a rather confident person. I’m fulfilled; I’m happy. I have lots of lady friends who I ride or die for. (I do admittedly have a low tolerance for stupidity.) I’m not a jealous person. In fact, I pride myself on having a crew of successful, talented women who I can identify with. Hell, my Legends to Be events are a celebration for women of color to acknowledge how amazing they are just because I feel like women need to hear it. But, sadly, I still catch myself doing that heel-to-sew in or blow out assessment.

Ugh.

I’ve tried to stop doing it, but it’s as hard as quitting the n-word. I can go awhile without doing it, but when I’m not guarded, there it goes again. It's almost second nature. And [cringe] I talk about where folks are coming up short too. Talking ish is practically a Black girl bonding ritual. You know like, "She's cute, but her [insert random perceived shortcoming here.]

But it’s got to stop. Not just for me, but for all of us cause ALL of us have done it. And we all know how it feels when some so-called woman assessed, or worse, critiques you just loud enough for you to hear, almost like a dare to say something. First, you feel self-conscious, then defensive. You wonder “WTF is she looking at?" or “WTF is she talking about?” That’s quickly followed by a sucked tooth, an eye roll, and maybe even a glare back, if you really wanna be starting something. For a lot of us, not holding your tongue, not speaking your mind, or "holding your cut cards" (for my DC folk) are foreign concepts. This is just the way it is.... but does it have to be?

Many years ago, just post-graduation, I went to a fight party at a male friend's crowded apartment. There were no less than 75 people stuffed around a big, but not huge TV waiting for him to get the pay-per-view working so the party could begin.


I walked in with Sabby (same one), Ace, and Carmen. I wasn't out of the foyer and into the living room before we could literally feel the hate coming off the 40 or so women in the room. It was hot, angry, glaring. I hadn’t done anything to those women, most of who I’d seen around on campus, but they HATED me and my friends. It was so bad, we promptly turned around and left the party. Ace, who didn’t know anyone at the party as she went to HU, waited till we got to the elevator and blurted, “Oh my God! What the heck was that?” I was actually glad to know it wasn’t just me who felt it.

At the end of her article, Mayo asserts an idea so inconceivable and far-fetched it sounds like fairytale.

Imagine what might happen if we all chose to abandon the self-fulfilling negative model. Of generally hating on sisters, and instead.... offered random sisters a genuine smile or gave other Black women compliments instead of side-glances.

[What if] instead of feeling piercing judgmental eyes from her sisters, (we) were enveloped by unconditional support and camraderie? And even, dare it be said, love?

Is getting Black women to that place possible? And if so, how?

And tell me I'm not the only sometimes hater? What can we do to stop