So to appease you all, here's the final essay
I submitted for my writing seminar [dated 4/28/12].
Enjoy.
~
Unintentionally, I sat down to write this accompanied by
Skittles and tea. Much like my tea bag, the United States – black and urban
communities in specific – continues to steep in the wake of the Trayvon
Martin/George Zimmerman case. While the public fear the open discussion of this
tragic event will fade like that of Joseph Kony, the case lingers in most of
our minds forcing us to talk about it even when a story about the massacre of
sixteen Afghan citizens crosses our path. Any form of tragedy will always make
us reflect on that which affects us, personal or as a nation, the most. It’s an
unsettling chilling sensation.
Yet as
cold as I feel this overcast April afternoon, I don’t feel the urge to don a
hooded sweatshirt to completely recreate the Trayvon image, even in the privacy
of my own home. I refrain from engaging in such activity out of habit – the
practice of not dressing suspiciously. Through the years, there have been far
too many instances of a black person, more specifically a black
male, looking suspicious enough to justify a beating or murder with a
very slow legal process following, if any at all. It's enough to terrify a
young black man, certainly enough to scare me.
Who’s to
say that the attacks on blacks in the past are due to how they dress? Certainly
even black men who dressed in suits were watched just as closely as those who
didn’t in the 1960s. However with the changing times, the dress code of the
standard African American male has shifted in various directions, some
appearing more trustworthy or nonthreatening to our white counterparts than
others – especially to those who choose to live in gated communities with
“like-minded residents who seek shelter from outsiders and whose physical
seclusion then worsens paranoid groupthink against others” (Benjamin).
By and
large, music and movies heavily influences the dress code of a generation.
Thusly, hip-hop and R&B contribute to the way many African-Americans dress.
An example of this is during the start of gangster rap in the late 80s to early
90s. Embodying the thug culture of the time, it would seem clear which gang (if
any) a rapper affiliated with by his clothing – usually red for Bloods and blue
for Crips. Aside from color, many rappers and even male R&B singers wore
loose fitting clothing. One purpose for this was to easily high any concealed
weapons they might have on their person. Much like in the wild, making yourself
appear larger is a smart tactic for warding off potential foes. With these
things in mind, someone from another culture may easily frighten, assume the
worse, and strike first before they can be harmed themselves.
Baggy
pants are also a popular trend among those in urban communities. Though often
worn beltless, some wore a belt to appropriate the right among of sag to their
pants as opposed to securing their pants around their waist. Many believe this
fashion statement evolved from prison culture, where the inmates are not
allowed belts causing their pants to sag. In a sense, those who wear their
pants in this manner are preparing themselves for the future. As the saying
goes, dress for the job/part you want. Obviously, not all black men – and even
the few black women – who sag their pants are future criminals, but there are
some outside the culture will perceive it as such. I had a white friend tell me
that his grandfather said to him, “Oh you wear pants like those niggers?” when
he sagged his pants. He changed it to “non-whites” after his wife yelled at
him.
Just as
whites have copied our culture and fashion trends, the black community has
copied theirs. One of the earliest instances of this I can remember is Tommy
Hilfiger. Originally worn by – and perhaps meant for – the preppy Caucasian
community, African Americans latched onto the brand and made it their own in
the 1990s. For a period of time, you didn’t amount to much socially or
financially if you didn’t own anything with a Tommy Hilfiger logo on it.
Eventually a rumor came about that Hilfiger went on Oprah Winfrey’s show and
confessed he would have never created the brand if he knew black people would
wear it. He has since denied the allegations, saying he’s never been on Oprah.
There’s no video evidence or record of him every making an appearance on the show.
However,
the situation was parodied in Spike Lee’s film Bamboozled which features a commercial for Timmi Hillnigger, a
white collar white man pushing his clothes onto the African American community
to make a profit and keep them poor with a tagline of “We keep it so real, we
give you the bullet holes.”
The purpose of buying Hilfiger’s
brand wasn’t to keep it “real,” I propose. It was a form on integration, trying
to marry different styles while not appearing as gangster. In a way, it was an
attempt to look less suspicious by dressing white. However, this lacks any
factual support at all. It’s much more likely that a hoodlum went to the nice
part of the mall, saw a Tommy Hilfiger jacket, said “This is dope,” and
contemplated stealing it when he saw how much it cost.
Tommy Hilfiger is no longer in
fashion, at least not like it was in the 90s. Abercrombie, American Eagle, J
Crew, and other brands similar to them have risen in their place. Preppy white
students made them popular, fortunate black kids went to college with the
previously mentions kids and brought the style back to the respective areas
during breaks, and the sensation spread like wildfire. Though many rappers hang
on dearly to the baggy clothes they’re used to, there are those who have begun
wearing skinny jeans and tighter shirts. Thus young urban youth purchase their
clothes in the same style.
One would propose that young
black men dressing like young white men would make them less suspiciously
looking, but it still isn’t necessarily true. Just as our clothing habits
evolve, so do theirs. They leave us with last season’s look, alienating and
incriminating us once again.
Personally, I’ve never been one
for baggy clothes or name brands with the logo on their merchandise. I like to
think I have a style unique to the urban community, with my ironic t-shirts and
brightly colored beanie hats. I’ve always thought of myself as elite in that
way. But there are still days when I’ll sport a hoodie. Though it is form
fitting, it still makes me a black man in a hood. Earlier this month, I
attempted to catch a campus shuttle on the side of the campus that is lined by
a dangerous, high crime, poverty ridden, black neighborhood. Though the driver
was black, he still hesitated to let me on before I removed my hood.
An event like that made me
realize that profiling occurs no matter what you wear or who you come across.
Just because I wear tight jeans and a plaid shirt while walking through a white
neighborhood doesn’t mean I feel safe. I’m as nervous if not more as the people
I see stare at me and wonder why I’m there. I realize it’s a fear that seems
utterly ridiculous, but the death of Trayvon Martin proves that I have reason
to hold on to it. Somehow I doubt it will ever leave me.
Sources
Bamboozled. Dir. Spike Lee. Perf. Damon Wayans,
Tommy Davidson, Savion Glover, Jada Pinkett Smith, Michael Rapaport, Mos Def. New
Line Cinema, 2000.
Benjamin, Rich. “The Gated Community Mentality.” The
New York Times 30 March 2012.
Misener,
Jessica. “Tommy Hilfiger Opens Up About Racial Allegations, Brand's Staying
Power At 92nd Street Y.” The Huffington Post 12 March 2012.
