You Can't Touch My Hair

by Phoebe Robinson

  How is that possible? How can we time and time again look the other way because these dudes are good at throwing pigskin on a well-manicured field? I mean, we’re totally fine with letting these dudes off the hook, but we can’t do the same for other people who are living far more innocent lives. To put this in perspective, we live in a world where Jennifer Aniston has gotten remarried and, like a dope-ass Jamaican lady, has multiple jobs, including acting and selling shea butter lotion and water, yet people are still talking about how Brad Pitt left her for Angelina Jolie. But when it comes to sexual misconduct, it seems everyone in the NFL and the media has amnesia? WHAT. DA. FUQ. How is a league that claims to be looking out for women via their annual highly popular and profitable breast cancer awareness campaign (which has also come under fire for the alleged discrepancy in how much of the profits from the merchandise actually goes to breast cancer research) be so tone-deaf and ineffectual in combating what is clearly a shameful problem? It is especially repugnant considering women make up a sizable portion of their viewing audience. According to Forbes.com, 45 percent of all NFL fans are women. Wow. Even a big football fan such as myself didn’t know that before hitting the Google. Since so many ladies watch this pastime, where are the receipts from the league proving that they give a damn about the group that comprises almost half its fan base? I’m looking underneath my couch, inside my junk drawers, on top of my desk, NFL, but I can’t find them. In fact, it seems the only woman-friendly move that the NFL has made in the past few years is to sell jerseys that are more figure-flattering for women. Don’t get me wrong. I totes appreciate the attire, but it’s very little consolation for the continual abuse.

  So why do players continue to go unchecked after being accused of committing such heinous acts? Is it a matter of money, and the NFL not wanting to reprimand star players who bring fans to the sport? Is it that the NFL is misogynistic and simply doesn’t care about women despite the spending power they yield? Is it that society doesn’t take domestic violence and sexual assault seriously until it’s too late or unless the victim is someone high profile and/or more popular than the assailant (e.g., Rihanna and Tina Turner)? Sadly, I believe it’s a combination of all of the above. While the reasons may not be easily defined, we can say for damn sure that the NFL can do better. If they can sit back year after a year while women attend NFL games and buy NFL merchandise in record numbers, then the league can certainly protect the victims of domestic violence and sexual assault.

  Simply put, the league’s lack of support for women makes it mighty hard for me to remain a fan. It also makes it hard for me to want to teach my niece, who is growing up in the Midwest just like I did, to love the game. All I want is for the NFL to show that our well-being matters to them, that they see us as human beings who should be protected. Love us like we love them. Well, except the Pittsburgh Steelers, who are the bitter rivals of my ne’er-do-well Cleveland Browns. I gots nothin’ but hate for the Steelers.

  2. Barneys and Any Other Store That Makes Shopping Unpleasant for People of Color

  Y’all, I used to think that buying things online was for shopaholics who were ashamed of their addiction and for people on shows like TLC’s I Weigh a Fuck Ton, So I Can’t Get Up from This Couch (And Yes, “Fuck Ton” Is a Legit Unit of Measurement). I mean, why would you shop at home when you can go into a store and actually touch, smell, and fall in love with the thing you are about to buy? Oh, riiiiiiiiight, because if you’re a person of color, there’s a strong chance that an innocent shopping experience can turn into “a very special episode” on a TGIF sitcom. Take, for example, the experience of Kayla Phillips and Trayon Christian. These two made national headlines in 2013 when they were accused of fraud after making expensive purchases at the upscale Barneys. Shortly after these embarrassing confrontations came to light, and after massive blowback from the public, the upscale retailer agreed to pay a settlement, including a $525,000 fine, as well as hire an independent antiprofiling consultant for two years, so as to prevent any more of these instances. While it’s great that Barneys owned up to their racist and discriminatory behavior, when it boils down to it, this type of thing happens all the time. And it’s not just exclusive to higher-end stores either. In 2013, bestselling author Roxane Gay was profiled at a Best Buy when a security guard did not believe the receipt documenting the items she purchased were indeed paid for . . . even though on the receipt it showed that money was exchanged for these electronics. Hell, employees at my local 99-cent store follow me around their establishment like we’re reenacting a Benny Hill video. Except there’s no laugh track, no zany music. Just a lot of irritation, questioning why the eff I even left the house that day if I’m just going to be hounded.

  Because this kind of mistreatment is a widespread issue, shopping is a somewhat stressful situation for me, and I’m sure many other POCs feel the same way. Whenever I go shopping, I become hyperaware that I’m black, and thereby I’m hyper-aware of how employees will read my behavior. For example, I have enough experience shopping to know that when I dress down, I’ll get shittier service, which explains why, on occasion, I’ve been known to be about one bow tie away from looking like Louis Farrakhan when I step into higher-end stores. Or it’s as simple as when I go to a convenience store with a bottle of water already in my possession, I’ll immediately find a security camera or an employee and make direct eye contact while taking a swig, so that they know I didn’t steal the bottle. I make my hands visible at all times because I don’t want any of the clerks to think I’m putting items in my pockets. The list goes on and on. It’s an emotional experience, and it makes me want to shop at online stores exclusively so I don’t have to deal with this bullshit. But that’s not realistic, and I’m a proactive person who will not settle for hiding. So here are some suggestions for improving poor retail behavior:

  Store employees, realize that your ignorance has reached FEMA State of Emergency levels if the amount of time it takes me to get your attention is equal to or greater than the number of times I have to say Beetlejuice in order to summon him. Look, I understand. To survive working in retail, you must have a thousand-yard stare like you did three tours of Vietnam. But you don’t need to pretend you’re doing the Lord’s work when you work at Uniqlo, folding sweaters while Huey Lewis and the News blares in the background. There is no reason why the entire first verse, chorus, second chorus, and bridge of “The Power of Love” plays before you acknowledge my presence.

  On the flip side, allow me to try on clothes in peace. Don’t get me wrong. You can be attentive, but knocking on the dressing room door as if you’re sending Morse code to an American ally in Ukraine is not helpful; it’s meant to make your presence known, and as a result, I get nervous. So enough, ‘kay?

  I mentioned it before, but it’s worth repeating again: Stop following me and other POCs around the stores. It is a boneheaded move, and one literally proven to be ludicrous via statistics. As Jerome D. Williams, a professor and Prudential Chair in Business at Rutgers Business School, explains in his 2013 Huffington Post article entitled “A Message to Ponder on for Barney’s, Macy’s and the NYPD: Shoplifting Comes in All Sizes, Shapes, and Colors”: The reality is that nonminority shoppers account for most of the criminal activity. This is supported by data provided by the FBI’s UCR database, which can be accessed online. Taking 2012 data, for example, the FBI data shows that approximately 70 percent of larceny/shoplifting arrestees are white. Our research suggests that whites don’t frequently show up in shoplifting crime statistics to this degree because people aren’t watching them. In fact, one could argue that whatever shoplifting statistics are reported in most cases have a built-in bias and are skewed upward. That’s because the statistics actually are not really an indication of who’s actually shoplifting. They are a reflection of who’s getting caught, and that’s a reflection of who’s getting watched. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Moral of the story: While you’re spending
all your time keeping an eye on me, some white dude just peaced out your store with an unpaid box of Froot Loops.

  Finally, be OK with your hand being near mine when handing me change after a purchase. Actually, be better than OK with it; I’m a gahtdamn human being. I’m not saying you have to hold my hand like you’re playing a game of “Ring around the Rosie,” but if the distance between our hands isn’t less than the distance required between the faller and spotter during a trust-fall exercise at summer camp, then you’re doing it wrong.

  Look, I know I’ve been joking around a lot, but it’s only to keep from being sad. These sorts of discriminatory things happen all the time, and most of the time, they don’t make the newspaper. A lot of times, black people are just forced to suck it up and keep it moving. For instance, when a new organic food store opened in a (predominantly black) Brooklyn neighborhood I used to live in, I would say that for the first year of its existence, I was consistently followed around the store. Employees would pretend to be stacking loaves of bread when they were really checking to see if I was sneaking a jar of almond butter in my purse. Normally, I would be like, “Screw this place. I’ll go somewhere else,” but all the other stores in that neighborhood had garbage produce sections, so I sucked it up and put up with it. Eventually, they left me alone.

  And that’s absurd. It’s absurd that was I judged from the outset when I clearly make more money than all the damn employees up in that organic food store. It’s absurd that after purchasing items from there the first time, it was not enough for the manager to realize I’m not a thief. It’s absurd that there were some days I didn’t go to that store because I just didn’t have the strength to deal with being made to feel like a criminal in my own neighborhood. It’s absurd that “shopping while being black” is a thing. It shouldn’t be. Like all black people and other POCs, I just want to shop in peace, and until that happens, I guess I’ll just be up in the crib, buying a fuck ton of clothes that I can’t afford right now. But they will look super cute on me, so . . . Sorry, Suze Orman, for my poor financial decisions!

  3. People Who Ask about My Relationship/Family Status

  Coming out of a long-term relationship has its downsides. Your best friend who shared inside jokes with you is gone, you have to get used to not having a partner in crime when you want to go on vacation, ditch a lame party, or conquer a list of chores around the apartment. However, one of the worst downsides, by far, has to be friends and strangers I barely know wanting to get all up in my bidness about my personal life. When I say that I’m thirty-one, single, and don’t have kids, don’t respond with “You’ve got time,” because I. CAN. SEE. YOUR. FACE. While your tone is as casual as the wardrobe at a Larry the Cable Guy concert, your face looks pained and concerned, like I just rolled into your son’s christening and opened a Tupperware container full of tuna casserole.

  4. White People Who Want There to Be a White History Month

  You. Seriously. Need. To. Do. Better. Like, better yourself. Read a book.

  5. Women Who Act Like Sexy Babies

  When I think of the concept of sexy babies, my first two questions are: 1. How did this become a thing, and 2. Why did some women sign up for this way of being as easily as I signed up for LivingSocial newsletters? Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself here. Some of you may not be familiar with the term sexy baby, so let me fill you in.

  The world most recently saw a literal interpretation of this idea when grown-ass Miley Cyrus writhed around a crib and sucked on an oversized baby bottle suggestively in her “BB Talk” video. But, usually, sexy babies are more low-key than that. It’s normally an underage girl walking around with JUICY on the backside of her sweatpants, or an adult who is behaving submissively (speaking in a baby voice) to titillate. Either way, it’s creepy and it sucks that this is a thing encouraged in people of the female persuasion. What about the dudes? No one tells them to behave like this. To be clear, I’m absolutely not about that sexy baby life, but if we’re going to have lady sexy babies, there ought to be male sexy babies. There should be teenage boys who walk around with JUST GOT A HANDLE ON THIS WHOLE WET-DREAM BUSINESS on the backside of their sweatpants. Where are the men who trash-talk in a baby voice when playing Grand Theft Auto: “I’m going to shoot you wit mah widdle gun?” Turns out there aren’t any because it’s gross. So I say to women, you need to step it up and stop this nonsense. You’re better, and you deserve better than this. Trust. Me.

  And to the young’uns who are going, “Aren’t you a feminist? Why are you judging other women?” all I have to say is, “Because you’re twenty-one and your face is serving Dora the Explorer realness, yet your clothing conveys that you know more about Frederick’s of Hollywood than Frederick Douglass. So how could I not put on a doily and Judge Judy you?” But in all seriousness, the infantilization of women perpetuates inequality, and when that is conflated with sex, it’s easier to reduce women to objects and strip them of the power they have over their bodies. I can’t go for that, which is why I believe there are other, more positive things women should be encouraged to be.

  How about “Adult Woman Who Prays She Will Gray as Elegantly as Bonnie Raitt Even Though She Knows She’s Going to Look Like Cornel West”? Or “Lady Who Can Do the Duet Song ‘It Wasn’t Me’ Expertly by Herself”? Or “Grown-Ass Woman Who Is about Her Business”? These are all amazing options, and I plan on being all these things before I die. Women who play sexy babies, I encourage you to join me.

  6. The Waffle Houses in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

  You guys don’t have any fruit on your menu, but you have thirty different waffle options? This, my friends, is what they call in the biz a “winter is coming” situation. My apologies to my digestive system because over the next couple of days, I’m about to eat. All. Dem. Waffles. But for serious, the Waffle Houses of Breaux Bridge. It would not kill y’all to have at least one piece of fruit that would’ve made Eve’s defiant ass go, “Oooh, I’mma eat me some of this. Sorry not sorry, God.”

  7. Catcallers

  PSA: Catcalling me by stating that you would let me do your laundry is just a roundabout way of saying, “Hello there, beautiful stranger! Just thought I’d let you know that I’m giving myself a HJ tonight!” Seriously, catcallers, knock it off. Stop assaulting me with comments about what domestic stuff I can do for you, stop demanding that I smile, especially when you see me carrying something heavy, stop berating me if I reject your advances, and enough with following me because I didn’t respond to your yelling. I know you think you’re being persistent like in all those rom coms where the basic plot is “women have bird brains, so it’s up to men to charmingly badger ladies until they want to sheath your penis in their vajeen the way Jaime Lannister does his sword into his scabbard.” But behaving as if you know what’s best for a woman, especially one you haven’t met, as if she has no agency of her own, is not cute. It’s creepy and it’s giving us serious Law & Order: SVU vibes. If you really do want to compliment a woman, then find a more creative way to do it than yelling comments at her the way Spike Lee does at the New York Knicks during a play-off game.

  8. Stylists

  Being a stand-up comedian/writer/actress has fun perks, like working with my comedy heroes (ahem, Janeane Garofalo), receiving free clothes from a company (thanks a mil, BB Dakota), and feeling that indescribable rush that happens when I tell a new joke and a bunch of strangers laugh till tears come out their eyes. But there’s one perk that I never predicted I would enjoy, and that is working with stylists on photo shoots.

  Despite the fact that I’m not a girly girl or a huge fashion maven, I love working with stylists. A lot. We watch the same TV shows, like the same music (anything Top 40), and share war stories about the trifling dudes we have dated. Now, with that out of the way, let me get down to the real. I have only one complaint about stylists. They’ll ask for my measurements in advance of me showing up to a shoot, but nine times out of ten, when I arr
ive, they end up handing me size two/four clothing, as if the measurements I provided them had Choose-Your-Own-Adventure vibes where every ending is Zoe Saldana. I am not Zoe Saldana. I will never be Zoe Saldana. I am Phoebe Robinson, stylists, and I need y’all to hear me when I tell you things like my hip measurements because my hips don’t lie. They are telling the truest truth when they say, “Yo, I can be on Food Network because these jeans this stylist has me in is turning me into some Grade A muffin tops.”

  Whew! This is quite a list, in which all of the things on it are of high priority. OK, getting Waffle House to add a fruit cup to the menu mayyyy not be as urgent as the NFL valuing women, but still, I can’t help but feel passionate about each of these topics. Regardless, I hope what I’ve written here will help each of these people, places, or things reconsider how they’ve been operating and strive to make some sort of change. And if that change takes time, that’s fine. Nothing good happens overnight. I mean, I did just give my mom a birthday card, and next to the illustration of the white lady on the card, I drew an arrow and wrote: “This is you except you’re black.” So, yeah, we all have some growing to do. So let’s try and get better together. Cool?

  Letters to Olivia