July 6, 2012

Attired Suspiciously

Listen, I know I'm slacking again.
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.

No comments:

Post a Comment