I’ve personally been asked if my nationality is Italian, Greek, Spanish, Mexican, Armenian and even Asian a few times. I’m none of those, as far as I know. It’s Austrian, Irish and Polish. I have olive skin. I don’t know if — based on what I know about my heritage — I’m “supposed” to have olive skin, but I don’t care. I’m American.
When I read this post on HelloGiggles.com, about there not being enough “DARK-skinned women on television or in music”, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I like a good debate, especially when it involves women-related issues. However, I just don’t see the “issue” in this particular case.
The author says:
“Yes, we have black powerhouses that we all know and adore: Beyoncé, Kelly Rowland, Halle Berry, Alicia Keys, Rihanna, and the list goes on and on. However, very rarely do we see a DARK-skinned woman on television or in music, and that’s just unreal. Why are these women underrepresented? Where are they?”
I caught this article on HelloGiggles via Facebook last night, blasting Selena Gomez’s new song, “Come And Get It” — and it’s gotten me all sorts of annoyed. But that’s nothing new, since each time I read something that blames pop stars for being bad influences on young girls, I immediately cringe and roll my eyes. I mean, who’s the parent?
It’s such an old, yawn-inducing cop out.
I can remember riding in the backseat of my friend’s parents’ car in 1991, when Color Me Badd’s “I Wanna Sex You Up” (you’re welcome — good luck getting it out of your head) came on the radio. I remember feeling torn, because it was a popular song and I wanted to sing along to it — but also embarrassed because my friend’s parents were present, and…well, the song repeated the word sex over and over. I was 10 years old. I knew it was an adult thing, but I had no real feelings toward it, and I didn’t even know exactly what the song was implying. I think I thought by wanting to “sex the girl up”, he meant really wanted to dance provocatively with her at someone’s birthday party at Secrets.
I never listened to kid’s tapes in the car. We listened to the radio. And, whenever a sex-y song came on — from Paula Abdul to Janet Jackson to Madonna — my mom never once got all flustered and flew forward to shut it off and hide it from me. No. And, she certainly didn’t write a hipster blog post complaining about how women should basically be sexually ambiguous, never, ever talk or (gasp) sing about sex, and should just shut up and exist. Continue reading