Thanks to all those pictures of Chord Overstreet and Emma Roberts that have been popping up on my dash, I had a sort of epiphany this weekend.

fourzoas:

I mean, I’ve always known this, but those images reminded me of how powerful the gaze really is, how looking shapes the way we see.

When pics of the newly reunited pair began showing up, I experienced what I can only call moments of cognitive dissonance. I kept thinking “that doesn’t look right,” like the photographs of two people standing next to each other in a romantic way didn’t match the visual image that I had of a relationship featuring part of the pair (the male, in this case). Somewhere in all the Glee-watching and gifset reblogging my brain began to understand that this

is just as normal as this

Food for thought, especially when I thought back on how odd the first image did seem to me at the start, how no matter how much I thought that Sam and Mercedes made clear sense to me as a pairing on the show, the visual image of the two of them as a couple took some getting used to. It’s sad, really, that I, a 40-something year old black woman who is married to a white man, didn’t have the cultural or symbolic resources to see the image of those two characters together as automatically “normal,” that it took time and repeated sightings/viewings of the pair to rewrite the cultural script in my head so that it’s no longer odd for me to literally see Sam Evans/Chord Overstreet (and, by extension, someone who looks like him) as a possible romantic interest for Mercedes Jones/Amber Riley (and, by extension, so many of my sisters who have been somewhat excluded from or marginalized away from the power of the gaze*). This right here is why media representation is so fucking important.

*Not to imply that the gaze is good—it’s complicated and I need to think some more before I can put that part in words. 

ETA: I’ve added tags to reflect the people/characters in these images because I’ve decided not to be a chickenshit blogger and to tag things the way I think they should be—to reflect the content of the post, which, in this case, uses images of particular people/characters as objects on which to think and reflect. Just so you know…

Reblogging this because it seems relevant to the conversation appearing on my dash. Media representation is serious business.

Thanks to all those pictures of Chord Overstreet and Emma Roberts that have been popping up on my dash, I had a sort of epiphany this weekend.

I mean, I’ve always known this, but those images reminded me of how powerful the gaze really is, how looking shapes the way we see.

When pics of the newly reunited pair began showing up, I experienced what I can only call moments of cognitive dissonance. I kept thinking “that doesn’t look right,” like the photographs of two people standing next to each other in a romantic way didn’t match the visual image that I had of a relationship featuring part of the pair (the male, in this case). Somewhere in all the Glee-watching and gifset reblogging my brain began to understand that this

is just as normal as this

Food for thought, especially when I thought back on how odd the first image did seem to me at the start, how no matter how much I thought that Sam and Mercedes made clear sense to me as a pairing on the show, the visual image of the two of them as a couple took some getting used to. It’s sad, really, that I, a 40-something year old black woman who is married to a white man, didn’t have the cultural or symbolic resources to see the image of those two characters together as automatically “normal,” that it took time and repeated sightings/viewings of the pair to rewrite the cultural script in my head so that it’s no longer odd for me to literally see Sam Evans/Chord Overstreet (and, by extension, someone who looks like him) as a possible romantic interest for Mercedes Jones/Amber Riley (and, by extension, so many of my sisters who have been somewhat excluded from or marginalized away from the power of the gaze*). This right here is why media representation is so fucking important.

*Not to imply that the gaze is good—it’s complicated and I need to think some more before I can put that part in words. 

ETA: I’ve added tags to reflect the people/characters in these images because I’ve decided not to be a chickenshit blogger and to tag things the way I think they should be—to reflect the content of the post, which, in this case, uses images of particular people/characters as objects on which to think and reflect. Just so you know…

saharradesert:

Because, even though McKinley is like WAY more diverse than any schools i’ve ever attended, i understand her.

No one’s ever liked her before Sam come into the picture. I’ve grown up with white kids my whole life, every combination. Up until 9th grade I was the only black kid…

(via iam-tellnoone)

theoceanandthesky:

milkeemountainmama:

to all those little girls of color who needed some pop princess that looked like them in their lives? I never wanted to be a pop princess—I loved her fucking songs and i loved her so much—but I wanted to be punk and head banger and skater…

"Seeing non-white people demand inclusion into the mainstream annoys white people. However, seeing non-white people create something for themselves just angers white people too! I just laugh."

lifeisntfiction (via ai-yo)

TRUTH. If POC criticise lack of representation in mainstream media, it’s ‘Why are you so whiny?’, ‘Stop being so politically correct!’, ‘It’s just representing the real world!’, ‘It’s just a show!’, ‘It has nothing to do with race! Stop seeing racism everywhere!’, ‘There’s already a Black Disney princess, be grateful!’, ‘Everyone is so politically correct these days!’, ‘Instead of complaining, why don’t you just make your own films?’, etc. And then when POC DO make something of their own, it’s ‘How dare you exclude white people and relegate us to side roles or not represent us at all? That’s not equality! We’re all human! (REVERSE) RACISM!!!’

(via xanthophiliac)

(via stopwhitewashing)

"

It’s the same old story: Nothing in this world happens unless white folks says it happens. And therein lies the problem of being a professional black storyteller– writer, musician, filmmaker. Being black is like serving as Hoke, the driver in “Driving Miss Daisy,” except it’s a kind of TV series lasts the rest of your life: You get to drive the well-meaning boss to and fro, you love that boss, your lives are stitched together, but only when the boss decides your story intersects with his or her life is your story valid. Because you’re a kind of cultural maid. You serve up the music, the life, the pain, the spirituality. You clean house. Take the kids to school. You serve the eggs and pour the coffee. And for your efforts the white folks thank you. They pay you a little. They ask about your kids. Then they jump into the swimming pool and you go home to your life on the outside, whatever it is. And if lucky you get to be the wise old black sage that drops pearls of wisdom, the wise old poet or bluesman who says ‘I been buked and scorned,’ and you heal the white folks, when in fact you can’t heal anybody. Robbing a character of their full dimension, be it in fiction or non fiction, hurts everyone the world over. Need proof? Ask any Native American, Asian, Latino, Gay American, or so called white “hillbilly.” As if hillbillies don’t read books, and Asians don’t rap, and Muslims don’t argue about the cost of a brake job.


There’s nothing wrong with being white. I’m half white myself and proud of it. There isn’t a day passes that I don’t think about my late white Jewish mother and the lessons she taught me about humanity. But bearing witness to this kind of cultural war over the course of a lifetime will grind a man or woman down in horrible ways, and that’s my fear.

"

— James McBride, Being A Maid (via thetart)

(via racialicious)

"The notion that identity is outside representation – that there are ourselves and then the baggage in which we describe ourselves – is untenable. Identity is within discourse, within representation. It is constituted in part by representation. Identity is a narrative of the self; it’s the story we tell about the self in order to know who we are. We impose a structure on it. The most important effect of this reconceptualization of identity is the surreptitious return of difference. Identity is a game that ought to be played against difference. But now we have to think about identity in relation to difference. There are differences between the ways in which genders are socially and psychically constructed. But there is no fixity to those oppositions. It is a relational opposition, it is a relation of difference. So we’re then in the difficult conceptual area of trying to think identity and difference.…there is always a play of identity and difference and always a play of difference across identity. You can’t think of them without each other."

—     Stuart Hall, ”Ethnicity: Identity and Difference.” Radical America (via ekdu)

(Source: cocothinkshefancy)

karnythia:

Query, how often do we see WOC positioned as valuable in the media? Especially in Western media? Not as commodities, but as people to be cherished? I know there’s a lot of rhetoric about to come my way about equality & feminism, but this really isn’t about the needs of white middle class women to…

Really interesting question, and as I’m trying to come up with examples, I’m wondering about how you’d define “cherished” as opposed to “commodified” and what media channels would be worth examining (prime-time programming on the Alphabets? Emmy-nominated series? Top-grossing films/award nominated films?). Which is to say—there’s a great set of questions to be explored. 

Seen at my local Target: Barbie Basics

No names, just model numbers. We’ve come a long way?

Seen at my local Target: Barbie Basics

No names, just model numbers. We’ve come a long way?

68rooms68vacancies:

At this point, anyone who follows me knows I work in a comic shop. Or, at the very least, you know that I’m a comic fanatic. I feel like sharing this anecdote that happened today, which took a very crappy day and made it one of the best days I’ve had in weeks. And it involves a customer, his son,…

(Source: werewolfau)

"Minorities are typically less than 18% of the population, but they seem to get nearly 100% of the history. Why should white children not have a comic book hero that they can identify with?This"

http://www.bleedingcool.com/2011/08/02/fear-of-a-black-spider-man/ (via mostlyhazel)

“WHY SHOULD WHITE CHILDREN NOT HAVE A COMIC BOOK HERO THAT THEY CAN IDENTIFY WITH?”

WHY SHOULD WHITE CHILDREN NOT HAVE A COMIC BOOK HERO THAT THEY CAN IDENTIFY WITH?”

How someone wrote this with a straight face, I’ll never know.

(via palaceoffunk)

……………. are they being serious

(via korrathelastswagbender)

Wait, what? 

(via kyssthis16)

This twitch in my eye…it can’t be healthy. I think I’m going to lay down.

(via karnythia)

(Source: addamses, via karnythia)

"Although there is no centralized warehouse of online information about these sorts of cases, the raw statistics and anecdotal evidence suggest that hundreds of other parents around the country have been accused of murdering their children since June 2008, the month Caylee Anthony went missing. Some already have been convicted or have pleaded guilty. Others have been acquitted or are yet to face trial. Yet none have remotely achieved the fame (or notoriety) that Anthony achieved in a little less than three years, from the date she reported her daughter missing until Tuesday, the day she was acquitted of the murder and manslaughter charges against her in an Orlando, Florida courtroom."

From Andrew Cohen’s must-read article on the lunacy of the Casey Anthony media circus. This is the one, and only, post we’ll make the subject. We promise. 

Read more at The Atlantic

(via theatlantic)

Another quote from the article linked above—emphasis mine

The stories of these thousands of “unfamous” victims have never been told on cable television. The narratives of destroyed lives and broken families have never been dissected in magazines, or in books, or in syndication. They never trended on Twitter, the stories of these black victims, or Hispanic victims, or victims whose trials were hidden from the camera’s view. There were no primetime specials about them. Every hour of coverage of the Anthony case, every obsessive update about every little tick in her trial, every bit of lousy analysis detracted from the telling of these other stories about life and death, parent and child, conviction and acquittal, law and justice.

Sorry, but I don’t think any of those other stories would have been told if Caylee’s hadn’t been in focus because telling those other stories—those stories of Others—would make us far too uncomfortable in our national skin.