Barack Obama is Bringing Bougie Back.
The Inauguration is just around the corner. And when I say “The Inauguration”, I mean THE Inauguration. It goes without saying that every Inauguration is historic. This one is no exception, for obvious reasons. The election of Barack Obama was a victory for minorities and the disenfranchised everywhere. MY people are still walking around with bootleg Obama t-shirts that they bought at their local beauty supply store with two packs of hair for their next tighten up. But there’s another, not so discussed reason this is big. If you remember back to the home stretch right before the election, fat white people in middle america were accusing Mr. President of being ‘elitist’, ‘too articulate’, even ‘socialist’. As some of my people who would say…”Bougie”.
“Bougie”. I’ve spent the majority of my life battling this value judgement, usually made by other black people. For those of you fluent in French, no, I wasn’t being called bougie-as in candle, but “bougie”. “Bougie” as in the short form of Bourgeoisie, taken to mean that someone has a bourgeois personality. By rights, bougie should be “bourgie”, but you can’t expect someone who would legitimately say ” Brushutta!? What’s that!? You so bougie!”, to have any respect for the laws of grammar or spelling. Phonetic bastardization, I suppose, is a given. You see, in black circles, being “bougie” is something that is always seen as highly negative, mainly because it implies that you consider yourself better, and by default (or, depending on who you ask, your fault) racially removed. Given my natural born tendencies towards full out vaginal rejection, I’ve inately been able to cope with and almost blow off my “manhood” being questioned on the regular basis. Having been verbally and physically assaulted for said proclivites, I’ve learned to stand my ground and pick my battles. But it was this ‘bougie’ assertion that always shook me. The implications for me, have had a full evolution. In the earlier days of the term’s existence in my life, it was a simple comment made by a classmate of mine in the seventh grade. I was mercilessly yanked out of my performing arts magnet program in San Diego, and was relocated to the biggest little hick town in California (which shall remain nameless). So, it was my fourth day in second period geography class. After I had presented an oral report of the origins of the Magna Carta and the impression left on current democratic procedure, some fool (whom I later renamed ‘Critter’), with his plaque encrusted overbite and ashy hands looked me up and down on the way back to my desk and shouted “Oreo!”. I immediately perked up, because I thought there were literal Oreos in the room for consumption. That thought was quickly erased as the room exploded in laughter, and I sank down in my chair in utter embarrasment and confusion. Later, one of my newly made white friends explained to me what “Oreo” meant. It’s meaning in this context was that I, was just like the sandwich cookie: Black on the outside, and white on the inside. While this wasn’t the first time I had experienced racial polarization, though the concept was still achingly new to me, it WAS the first time another black person had called me out in this way. In retrospect, I realize that this kid was attempting to take his power back. Power, that in his mind, I had robbed him of. Not only was I the new kid, but I was the new kid that was supposed to be like him and for him, because we lived in a place where racial tensions were the foundations for establishing social norms. That I wasn’t. I was a new kid, sure. A black kid, okay. But the differences were that I was obviously smarter, quickly liked, well dressed, and painfully gay. So his exclamation was his way of putting me back in my place. That was the first incident, but was to be far from the last. By the time I had left jr. high, I had deduced that if you spoke correct english, understood the functions of predicates and verbs, and were remotely interested in learning and getting good grades, then the perception was that you were trying to be white. I later found that the situation wasn’t so…black and white.
Having traveled the world, moving to major metropolitan cities, and being exposed to various cultural and socio-economic sets, I found that the bougie complex wasn’t just a question of race, or where it was I stood in either land. It was more a question of authenticity, of ‘realness’. And it was there, in the middle of that realization that the implications of the B-word became that much more offensive to me. In your early twenties, when you’re already grappling issues of identity/transition, the last thing you want to concern yourself with is how racially authentic you are. The idea of being not “black enough” is something that: A. I detest, and B. I come up against every day. From being in audition and having some Jewish man behind a table look at me and say “That was great. Can you do it again, but a little more…black?” to some Negro I don’t know from a hole in a wall implying that I’m not keeping it real. How wrong is the fact that he can stand in front of me, and that my worth can be measured by how “black” he thinks I am? Alas, I’ve come to understand the vertical depth of these judgements. What is said:”You so bougie”. “Bougie ass nigga”. What is heard: “You black person with your different ways, don’t go thinking you are better than me”. Through much trial and error, like every other personal challenge I’ve had to date, I’ve learned to make organic champagned spiked beverages out of the lemons hurled at my head. My observational skills have served me and saved me more than a few times. Our nation’s prisons are filled with prime examples of “Keeping It Real” gone terribly awry. My ecclectic musical tastes have secured job offers. My “bougie,” “siddity” ways have made me an expert in the fields of style and luxury. I powerfully decided that no one can define my authenticity except for me. I operate with integrity, and expect nothing less from anyone else I come in contact with. I’ve co-opted ‘bougie’ and have gilded it and turned it into “Savvy”. Cultural Duality is an invaluable skill that can serve you well. Those who fall victim to other’s narrow view of what ‘real’ is lead narrow lives, and I pity them. Colonized thinking is dangerous for all of us. Who are we as humans to deem that none of us should be too fancy, too smart, too adventurous? The spirit of this blog, this site, and my career is to teach everyone to revel in the star quality each of us own. So whatever it is they call you, be it bougie, bitch, fag, diva, embrace it. It’s the best in each of us that often brings out the worst in others. The election of Barack Obama as President doesn’t neccesarily mark the end of this polarization. But it did give many of us much more room to breathe, and for that, I am grateful.
2 days ago
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