“Oh, that is so ghetto; don’t wear that.”
“When we go out in public, don’t embarrass me and act ghetto.”
“Does this make me look ghetto?”
All those phrases were once told to me and uttered out of my mouth for as long as I can remember. Being called Ghetto, a hood rat, ratchet, or any other description was the stigma placed upon young Black girls like a scarlet red letter. Acting right and looking presentable were taught to me at an early age. Now we have a term for what I was trained to do, which I wasn’t aware of until my 20s. The term is called assimilation, and what that meant to me was to be seen and don’t threaten the existence of your white and non-Black peers. No hoops, no loud music, no baggy clothes, even your hair had to look a certain way that didn’t feel “distracting” to your peers. All that was drilled in my head and haunted me in every social setting I appeared in.
As a young Black girl in the suburbs during high school, I did my best to survive, which meant washing off my AF1s, nameplate necklace, and big curly puffs that I had known since I was in the south side of Syracuse—washing out what felt like an expression to me to adapt to this foreign territory of Hollister, Uggs, and Ed Hardy. I thrived after a while and soon lost myself in the “OMG LOL” and “xoxo” language. It wasn’t until my 20s, becoming a transplant in NYC, that I realized my hoops don’t determine my education, my vernacular doesn’t make me a lesser candidate, and if I want to wear my damn Outkast tee, that shouldn’t label me.
But you see, that was my journey, and I’m pretty sure other Black girls who had to wake up from assimilation felt the same way. This is why I sit and feel confused about the current social climate where the phrases “Hot Cheeto girl” and “brownie glaze lips” are tossed around as innovating style options—even inviting the privileged white women to be the trendsetters of these once vilified beauty/fashion aesthetics. What happened in society (seemingly overnight) for the once “GHETTO” aesthetics to make their way onto the same runways that receive praise from the folks who often look disgusted when Black and Brown women with the same aesthetic would be in the same vicinity as them? When did the world wake up and say, “I want to make money today from the very trends that I shamed Black and Latinx women for.”
I remember my first encounter with it. I was afraid to wear my bigger hoops to work and chose my dainty ones along with my small nameplate necklace. A colleague of mine walked past me and said, “oh, love your name necklace. They’re definitely on trend.” I was confused but also from that day on; I wore my nameplate proudly as a reminder that this piece of jewelry has been and will always be trendy in our communities.
Now, we’re seeing acrylics and hoops in mainstream magazines. We’re seeing durags and baby hairs on the runways as accessories. White girls scream in excitement as they try to Christopher Columbus their style into clean-girl aesthetic and sticky bangs. The damp bang was used to describe baby hair's precise and delicate stylings. But I don’t blame white women solely, or anyone else in particular; I wonder if this style evolution is being forced upon us by influencers and musical artists. The first image that comes to my mind is Saweetie and how her appearance has transformed overnight from the clean fashion aesthetic to her Icy Girl image of baby hairs, long nails, chains, and mannerisms. Is she genuinely presenting an authentic version of who she is, or are she and her team recognizing the cash crop is being ghetto? Maybe she isn’t aware, or perhaps she uses her mixed race/light privilege to display the imagery in a way brown-skinned women are not allowed to express so freely.
While I continue to ask myself how much longer until society shames these women once again as they grow tired of wearing our traditions like faux fur, I’ll be here with my almond nails, hoops, and baggy tees, wondering if I’m even being authentic to myself.
That’s what society is doing; it’s taking the same aesthetic we tried to erase when we think of Black and Brown excellence and rebranding it as a new version. But they will never erase the originators, the flavor, and the same influences that made you do a double take and wonder: “Where did she get her bamboo hoops from?”