I should be a touch bit more specific. I’m overjoyed when I see black cosplay in a positive light. Sadly, I’m used to seeing it in an “I need to defend myself” kind of way. I say that because a lot of the black cosplayers I follow are ones I’ve found through reading an article written about racism in the community, seeing them brilliantly defend themselves from negative comments, or watching supposedly funny memes being shared that reduces their cosplay to tacky black stereotypes because—ha ha, a group of black people must be up to ghetto shenanigans, right? Don’t get me wrong: it’s good to see black cosplayers discuss the issues they deal with. The articles. The posts. The documentaries. The encouragement to go out there and be your wonderful, magical self despite the hate. All of that is amazing, and absolutely necessary. But just like being the lone black voice gets exhausting, it also gets exhausting to see black cosplay highlighted in defense.
That’s not what we came here for.
Just like every other cosplayer out there, we’re here for the fun of it all. We want to run around conventions dressed as the characters we love. We want to pose for pictures, hang out with friends, go to panels, meet guests—we want the full convention-going experience that everyone else gets. And while it’s important to have these diversity talks, it’s a bummer to discover an amazing cosplayer only because someone decided to call them the n-word.
That’s the beauty of #29DaysOfBlackCosplay.
For the entire month of February, black cosplayers are being promoted just ’cause. There’s no mockery. There’s no lack of visibility. It’s just black cosplay. The end.
My piece for #29DaysOfBlackCosplay is here :)
Feb 01
Welcome To #29DaysOfBlackCosplay: Celebrating Black Excellence In Cosplay
It should go without saying, but it always bears repeating: representation is important. When I started looking into cosplay for the first time in 2008, to say I was a bit intimidated would be putting it lightly. I had very few crafting skills to speak of, couldn’t tell a bobbin from a pin cushion and had no clue which characters I could even dress up as – it’s no secret that nerd culture isn’t…
I need to see two black women fall in love on screen
I can’t watch black media without it being tailored for straight people. I can’t watch queer media without it being completely white. I’m sick of having to imagine what a relationship would look like outside
of these constricting boundaries.
All of
my queer black friends are imitating heterosexism in their
relationships because that’s what they’ve been conditioned to accept as “normal.” Ideas of what it means to be
dominant and submissive are predicated on heavily on masculinity being
the pinnacle of control and assertion. It’s like if there’s no dom/sub then it’s not a “real” relationship. But in order for someone to feel strong, their partner must be perceived as being weak.
This constricting, binary way of thinking is toxic and often goes unchallenged, especially in the queer community. It’s painfully obvious that the lack of black queer relationships in the media has created a vacuum in which we feel pressured to mimic the dominant society’s practices. We can do better. Discussions about people at the intersection of blackness and queerness is something that doesn’t get talked about enough and I’m over it. No more silence.
I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ll bring it up again.
When I was 18 years old and experiencing my first girl crush, I actually thought I couldn’t be into girls. Not just because I was worried over people’s reactions, but I actually thought queerness was a white thing. Because that’s all I ever saw. Any LGBT character I saw in the media was white. So I actually thought, “This isn’t a thing with black people.”
Well, I suppose I should take that back, because on rare occasions the sassy gay black friend made an appearance, but heaven forbid that character actually got shown in any meaningful relationships beyond giving the heterosexual friend advice.
And I suppose there’s the exotic black woman. So being into girls just added to her sexiness.
But an actual meaningful relationship? HA HA HA HA HA HA!
Hell, even the Stonewall movie whitewashed the black, queer characters, and that was supposed to be a movie based on actual history. And this movie was released in 2015. Imagine what kind of impact that could’ve had on the black, queer crowd, to see those people on screen aiding in the LGBT movement. But nope. Guess we’re meant to be sassy friends or exotic eye candy.
I’ve been in a relationship with the same woman for 14 years. Tell me again how my relationship isn’t meaningful?
Every time I come across the few images of fat black girls in love, it’s a meme mocking them and bashing them. Can black women live for once? I mean seriously.
I guess black love or love period is only beautiful if the couple is “conventional”.
Things I hate:
1. The assumption that someone is doing a fat girl a favor by loving her because, surely, she’s so down on herself that she’s in desperate need of compliments and will cling to a person who dares to say she’s beautiful.
2. The assumption that someone is with a fat girl for some other reason other than love. Clearly, the sex is good, or maybe the food (har har, get it, cuz she’s FAT), or she has a lot of money. It cannot possibly be because, gasp, there’s an actual chemistry between the two.
3. The assumption that a fat girl smile equals glorifying obesity, surely she can’t be smiling because she’s happy with her life as it is. I mean look at that picture. That kiss on the cheek. That content look on his face. Surely she can’t be smiling because of happiness, she’s smiling to spread the fat agenda.
I suppose I will give this meme some credit with its dumb “gotta be her pussy” comment because at least it’s not doing the “fat girls are too fat to have sex/they’ll crush their partners” bullshit.
