by Joan Morgan
A lot of times what black women perceive to be brothers’ “inability to deal with independent women” is really their struggle with a culture that views men who are less than financially solid as something “less than men.”
“You know, I hear a lot of strong, intelligent women say they intimidate brothers,” says Clinkscales. “I think that they do intimidate some. But if they do, then there’s a good chance that’s not the guy they really need to be with. Smart, together sistas need to be with the type of man who is fearless, courageous, and wants to succeed badly enough that he’ll jump into any situation.”
He does caution, however, that a brother’s desire for success in not necessarily indicative of his confidence level. “There are a lot of insecurities that come with trying to succeed. There’s an intense amount of pressure to make it. Some brothers may seem like they have a lot of confidence, but sometimes it’s just not real.”
While Jacobs doesn’t buy that brothers are necessarily intimidated by strong women, he does think that sistas need to be more realistic about what they’re up against. “It’s rare for a woman to find a guy that can deal with the completely assed out feeling that comes with being broke or just not being where you want to be. The bottom line is, as a man in this world, not having paper makes you feel weak and vulnerable. Your girl could even be Willy—fine, paper, and status—and not care. It still wouldn’t matter. The second she takes you out in her circles and you gotta be around other niggas with jobs and status, it’s not cool anymore. The second anybody wants to know what you do, you feel like a pumpkin.”
Complicating these feelings of insecurity are male competition and ego. What Jacobs affectionately calls “the whole rooster thing. . . . In a room full of roosters, the strongest rooster wins. And if your shit is not right you are definitely gonna have to watch other roosters with paper and status try to get at your girl. They’re sending her bouquets of flowers and you can’t even give her a rose.”
Still, Jacobs maintains it’s not all about the men. He attributes a lot of brothers’ inability to flow under those circumstances to what he perceives to be most women’s materialism. From his experience, a sista’s claim to be satisfied with “a quality guy with good morals, upbringing, and potential” is usually “bullshit.”
“When most women say they recognize a brother’s potential, it’s really just a smoke screen. Because if the potential doesn’t rise as fast as they think it should, they keep right on moving. For a woman to be loyal even when it seems like it’s the darkest hour—when it’s like Goddamn, another peanut butter and jelly sandwich—is very, very rare.
“The bottom line is this: Women like to be taken out. They like to be with men who have status in their social circles. And they want to be with a guy with some money and at least a little bit of power.”
Sad but true. As liberated women we may revel in our ability to pay our own way but we’re not likely to fall for the men who let us. The one boyfriend I had who actually took the “feminist” approach of splitting all our dating expenses—everything from the movies to vacations—squarely down the middle, couldn’t win for trying. Since he made almost three times my salary, my “feminist” mind had trouble processing his actions as anything but cheap. Hypocritical as it was, the sight of him calculating the bill had the undesirable effect of waterhosing my libido.
Let’s face it, money and the ability to spend it freely is one of society’s strongest assertions of power—and power is a very sexy thing. There’s an undeniable, take-charge sex appeal that a man has when he’s trickin’ loot. Whether it’s game or not, when a man picks up the tab he gives the impression of being able to “handle his”—himself, his affairs, and his woman.
“Sometimes, it’s not a power or an ego thing,” says Jacobs—who, for the record, always pays. More often than not, he explains, a brother’s ability to trick loot on a woman he likes simply makes him feel like a good guy. “It’s one of the ways we’re taught to be a gentleman. You pay—even if you know she can pay for herself. It’s like walking on the outside of the street, you know that nothing’s probably gonna happen but you do it anyway. Or opening the door even though you know she can open it herself. It’s just the gentlemanly, chivalrous thing to do.”
Men have long figured out what us liberated supasistas have been loath to admit: Men are not the only ones with a vested interest in sexism. When it comes to equality, most of us are only willing to go but so far. Equal pay for equal work, yes. Equal access and opportunity, certainly. But complete and total equality? Not hardly. Because while we recognize sexism’s evils, we also fully enjoy its privileges—not least among them chivalry.
Gender-biased it may be, but in a society of ever-shifting gender roles, temporarily indulging the men lucci/women coochie division of power offers a soothing semblance of order. Not to wax nostalgic for the “good old days” but those much-needed feminist advances also left our generation disconcertingly bewildered about what our “roles” are as men and women— and how they relate to each other. As a result, women’s struggle for political, economic, and social equality has always been infinitely clearer than the internal battle we wage trying to honor both our independence and our femininity. Dating is one of the few areas in my life that I get to completely indulge the latter. For a few hours I don’t want equality. I want the door held open, the chair pulled out, and I don’t want to think about money at all. I want nothing more than the ultra-femme responsibility of juggling hairstylist and mani/pedi appointments, being a great conversationalist, and looking like a dime.
Ironically this is probably more symptomatic of feminism than an abandonment of it. As much as I enjoy the challenge of kicking ass at work, paying the bills, staying fit, staying sane, and leaping tall buildings in a single bound, letting a man spend a little dough expresses the “feminine” desire to let somebody else take care of me for a change.
Just call it the “chicken” in me.
Until the day we find ourselves in the throes of a feminist revolution, trickin’ isn’t likely to go away. Whatever our disdain for chickenheads may be, it’s obvious that trickin’ is too intricately woven into our culture’s social fabric to simply tell baby girls to “Just Say No.” We live in a world where strippers out-earn women with college degrees and antiquated alimony and child-support laws guarantee some women higher standards of living than most 9 to 5’s ever could. Chickens rely on punanny for the same reasons drug dealers don’t struggle through four years of college: In a world of limited resources, trickin’ is a viable means of elevating one’s game.
Truth be told, there are a few things we could learn from our chickenhead sistren. When it comes to maximizing the resources the good Lord gave ’em, girlfriends are nice with theirs. Chickens always look good. They don’t drop their drawers unless there’s something valuable to garner out of the exchange. And they recognize the intrinsic value in occasionally allowing a man “to just be a man.” Basically, chickenheads accept that in a male-dominated society obsessed with both beauty and sex, there is something to be said for women effectively working their erotic power.
Rapper/actress Queen Latifah would tend to agree. Despite a great deal of public pressure she refused “to chastise Kim and Foxy” for their sexually explicit lyrics. “A lot of [women] were really on that bandwagon,” she said, “but I think we need to get over ourselves. Queen down, we’ve all got our share of shit in the closet, so why act holier than thou? Somebody is finally saying it in plain English: If you cum then I’m gonna cum. If he’s gonna get what he wants then I’m gonna get what I want. And these are not unlike things I say myself.
“Who am I to tell Kim to put some clothes on?” she continued. “Or to say that she needs to stop talking about money and jewels? I understand that she wants that. I want those things too. We just go about getting it in different ways.
“Kim sees her power in a different way than I see my power,” she reasons. “And she may feel that she’s working her power to the
best of her ability—instead of letting somebody else pimp that power.
“And let’s face it, men have been pimping pussy power for a very, very, long time.
“The bottom line,” she concludes, “is that pussy is a powerful thing. And I’ve come to recognize that some women can use it to gain things for themselves because they see it as their greatest strength.”
Not all women are as comfortable with erotic power as Queen Latifah. There are sistas like Danni,IV who find the idea of women exploiting the competitive edge society grants attractive people complicit and offensive. “It’s not fair,” says the thirty-something film production coordinator, who, by the way, got her share of good looks and somebody else’s. “When it comes to work, I don’t think looks should have any relevance. I’ve been in situations where I was one of two women up for a position and I was chosen—knowing that the other person may be slightly more qualified. It bothers me that I got the job because some man decided I was better for him to look at every day.”
Still, she admits it never bothered her “enough to not take the job.” Her friend Shawn,V a self-described feminist with absolutely no chickenhead envy (in addition to being the breadwinner, her husband does all the cooking and supports her fledgling film career) thinks Danni should cut herself some slack. She points out an interesting double standard: Smart, personable, attractive men rely on their combined attributes all the time to advance themselves socially and professionally—and call it charm. Women who do the same, however, are accused by others of “selling out.” The fear is that playing these games place all but the most attractive women at a disadvantage.
But women who feel this way about erotic power have it terribly misconstrued. “Erotic power isn’t based solely on looks,” explains Shawn. “Ultimately, it’s about understanding the power of the feminine and your power as a woman. There are women who are not what you would consider conventionally attractive who are very good at working their feminine power. And I think it’s time feminism let women know that using that power is okay—instead of demeaning or ridiculing them.”
Liz,VI a southern belle and a bit of a feminist femme fatale, is also down with erotic power. Being fully in command of one’s womanly charms, she maintains, is a powerful tool when it comes to battling sexism. She calls it working the “militant feminine.” “Oh, if you’re a guy and you’re putting me in a sexist situation, I’m sorry for you,” warns the thirty-something costume designer. “Because I love that power.
“I’m strong enough and old enough to see that when it comes to getting what I want from men I don’t have to be right all the time,” she explains. “I’d really rather win.
“Some of the most successful women in life know that the more attention you give men, the farther you’re going to get. He could be wrong or talking about something really stupid but they know how to make their point in a way that doesn’t put it up all in his face.” Doing this doesn’t make her feel angry or compromised at all. “I’m such a strong, militantly feminine person,” she says proudly, “that I’m into it.”
Liz and Shawn are poignant examples of how women today differ from their foremothers. In the past, feminists were understandably loath to condone utilizing erotic power as a means of battling sexism. Many remembered all too vividly a time when erotic power was all women had—and it was rarely enough to circumvent abuse and exploitation.
But while women today still experience sexism, we do so in markedly different ways. Many of us are empowered enough to combine our erotic power with resources that were unimaginable to our mothers— money, education, talent, drive, ambition, confidence, and the freedom to just “go for ours.”
We have the luxury of choosing both our battles and our artillery. We know that sometimes winning requires utilizing whatever confrontational measures are necessary. We’re not afraid of lawsuits, boycotts, organized protests, or giving a deserving offender a good cussing out. But we also recognize that there are times when winning requires a lighter touch. And sometimes a short skirt and a bat of the eyes is not only easier but infinitely more effective.
But before we go casting our liberated principles to the wind and get our “cluck, cluck” on, remember that chickenheads rarely win. When it comes to the division of power, men get a much better deal. With any skill, their power (money) increases exponentially over time. Thanks to deeply embedded prejudices regarding women and aging, ours (coochie and beauty) diminishes drastically with age. More often than not a pretty, young chicken who tricked her way through her twenties may find herself out of the game by thirty. “Successful” chickens are usually a mere fraction of those who ass out trying.
For sistas especially, relying on punanny power to secure one’s future is a crapshoot, at best. Given the harsh economic realities of black folks’ lives, chickens are up against phenomenal odds. Despite the fairy-tale appeal of Cinderella stories, black Prince Charmings— specifically, brothers making enough paper to set their women comfortably in the lap of luxury—are exceedingly rare. Girlfriends pursuing that prince at the exclusion of all others would be wise to broaden their horizons. As of 1992, the number of blacks (male and female) making $50,000 or more was a pathetic 1 percent of the African-American population.1 More often than not, married couples who reached the nirvana of black middle-classdom were only able to do so by combining their incomes. Even with the burgeoning of the black middle class and the entertainment industry’s highly publicized black millionaires, there simply aren’t enough rappers, ball players, doctors, lawyers, or even gainfully employed brothers to satisfy the enormous demand.
Besides, landing the prince doesn’t necessarily make a sista empowered. Nicky,VII a twenty-seven-year-old doctor once dated an NBA Willy and describes it as one of “the most depressing periods” of her life. Attractive, funny, confident, and intelligent enough to graduate top of her class at Yale medical school, Nicky still found that the infinite number of beautiful women that checked for her man—“everything from that fine-ass R&B singer to the jiggy entertainment lawyer to the hoochie go-go bitch dancing in some cage” played havoc with her self-esteem.
“I never thought I could be that girl but all of a sudden I found myself obsessing about everything. Every day it was like, ‘Am I thin enough? Are my titties too small? Is my ass too big? Is my hair too short? Am I too light? Am I light enough?’ It was ridiculous. It’s a competition you can’t possibly win.”
Finally, for the sake of her sanity, she decided to cut him loose. “I realized that he just wasn’t making me feel secure enough about the relationship to not worry about other women. And if you gotta rely on pretty to keep a man, forget it. No matter how pretty you are there’s always going to be someone prettier. No matter how good you can get your freak on, there’s always some girl out there who can freak it better.”
Nicky’s observations drive home the ultimate truth about erotic power. Without financial independence, education, ambition, intelligence, spirituality, and love, punanny alone isn’t all that powerful. The reality is that it’s easily replaceable, inexhaustible in supply, and quite frankly, common as shit. Women who value their erotic power over everything else stand to do some serious damage to their self-esteem.
Ultimately, the illusion that chickenheads win is fueled by a lack of understanding of how sexism works. Sexism is one instance where it’s virtually impossible to dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools. No matter how well women think they’ve mastered the game, they’re still playing by somebody else’s rules. And when it comes to women and sex, the old double standards are still very much in effect.
Chris Lighty, Violator Records president and chickenhead fave, is straight-up about it. “It’s sexist and it’s male chauvinist, but there are a lot of beautiful, nice women who’ll end up missing out, just because they’ve been with too many of us.” (Too many by the way, according to Chris, is any number greater than two.) When I point out the hypocrisy in this, that a number of brothers in the Black Boy Million
aire Club sleep with everything in sight, he doesn’t even bother denying it. “We all like the jiggy freaks and we wanna sleep with her and her friends—maybe even at the same time— but that’s just sex,” he emphasizes. “That’s not the girl we marry. None of us wants to be sitting at dinner with Michael Jordan, Puffy, Shaquille O’Neal, and the new hot rapper and know they’ve been with your girl.”
His answer brings back BethAnn’s parting words to me that fateful day she talked me through my Chickenhead Envy. They don’t win forever. It just takes the men we love a little longer to realize how much they love us.
Curious, I ask Lighty if he thinks this is true. “You’re asking me if chickenheads win?” He laughs good and hard at the question. “No, of course they don’t. If they win it’s only for a minute. Chickenheads are like a temporary ego boost. We know it doesn’t take much to get a chicken. All you need is a good watch and a little bit of cash. And for a man, there’s no real victory in that.”
I also ask Puff Daddy, aka Sean Combs. Essentially he says the same thing. When it comes to wifey, it seems, chickens will not do at all. Even though the multi-millionaire mogul/pop star can more than provide, he’s not checking for providing chickens with a life of leisure. “Don’t get me wrong,” he explains, “I want to provide for my woman, but at the same I want a woman that’s ambitious. A motivator, one that’s going to make the team stronger.
“I want us to be partners blowing up together,” he continues. “And I want her to get her ass out of bed before twelve in the afternoon because I work until five in the morning. I should not wake up and see my woman in bed sleeping. Write a screenplay. Build a school in Africa. Do something. I don’t want a woman who would have me be up all night busting my ass and not even want to cook me breakfast ’cuz she’s waiting for the maid.”
