Unfortunately I could not get in to this one. I think my reading tastes are changing. I will update my review if I try and read again.

Carefree Black Girls: A Celebration of Black Women in Popular Culture by Zeba Blay examines how a viral hashtag focused on Black females living their truths forces the author to revisit periods of pop culture history where the notion of being a carefree Black girl actually comes with some hard truths.

Yet the culture that Black women pour talents and their creativity into, the culture that emulates Black women, steals from Black women, needs Black women, is the same culture that belittles Black women, excludes Black women, ignores Black women.

Culture critic Zeba Blay coined the phrase #carefreeblackgirl in 2013 as “a way to carve out a space of celebration and freedom for Black women online.” She studies how the hashtag evolved in the chapter “Free of Cares,” starting with a phrase of the early twentieth century: “I’m free, white, and 21!” This phrase became a Hollywood catchphrase between the 1920s and 1940s with Black journalists at the time criticizing the phrase as perpetuating White supremacy since being White equates freedom, which is the untrue experience to groups who are not considered White. Though the term falls out of vernacular, the author sees the phrase still play out today from Sex and the City to the modern-day Karens quick to call the police on anyone who’s Black. And even the phrase “carefree Black girl” takes a life of its own where it seems to easily be bestowed upon lighter-skinned, thin Black actresses such as Zendaya and Yara Shahidi while Black critics argue Black females will never have the comfort to be carefree in a Eurocentric society. The phrase even derives from fellow Black writer Collier Meyerson’s Tumblr blog called “Carefree White Girls” that featured White female celebrities from Taylor Swift to Zooey Deschanel who epitomize the “deification of white womanhood.”

The first chapter “Bodies” explores how the Black female body is berated constantly from the Middle Passage to the present. Lizzo and her body is the highlight of the chapter, particularly a moment in April 2020 when the pop star was twerking for a charity “dance-a-thon” hosted via social media by Diddy to raise money for people affected by COVID-19. Once Lizzo begins twerking, Diddy tells her to stop because the watchers need family-friendly entertainment, especially on Easter Sunday. Later in the Instagram live special, reality TV star Draya Michele, who’s thinner and lighter-skinned, begins twerking without any protest. Many think it’s fatphobic for Lizzo to be told to not twerk in public. Others berate Lizzo all the time for revealing her body on social media every chance she gets. The author also shows how Lizzo announced she would be participating in a smoothie detox and points out how White female fat-positive bloggers accused Lizzo of being fatphobic.

The conversation on Lizzo turns to the 1990s portrayal of Countess Vaughn on the hit show Moesha about a Black girl growing up in South Los Angeles. Countess played opposite pop star Brandy’s Moesha as best friend Kim Parker. Her weight becomes a constant punchline, many realize after reliving the show twenty years later when its August 2020 debut on Netflix alarms Black Twitter as tweeters share the collective disgust. The author even calls out the desexualization of fat Black women in entertainment. She points to the portrayal of Kelli, played by Natasha Rothwell, on HBO’s Insecure, where explicit sex scenes are a constant but never feature Kelli. The character talks about her sexual romps, but we never see them or meet her lovers. In the recent series finale, Kelli announces she’s having a baby with a character the audience barely knows because her romantic love growth is never shown on screen compared to the other three main female leads.

The author puts a recent moment like Lizzo’s twerking for COVID-19 relief under a microscope and another moment from a generation ago about Kim Parker’s treatment from her so-called friends on her weight. Then there’s self-reflection as the author views how hard it is to accept her own body thanks to the Eurocentric beauty standard where her body, Lizzo’s body, Countess’ body are unacceptable, and the fact that they are living in their body is too much for many people to accept.

In “Strong Black Lead” playing on Netflix’s name for Black programming, the author details her mental health struggles including suicide attempts and suicidal thoughts. (The book comes with a trigger warning in the beginning.) What she was going through materialized in her writings at the time as she pondered how she was really helping readers then with sharing her draining experiences. It makes her think of other Black women in her life who have struggled but are determined to “stay strong.” The strong Black female trope is examined with calling out somewhat beloved characters such as Kerry Washington’s Olivia Pope on the Shonda Rhimes-helmed political TV drama Scandal to Viola Davis’ Aibileen Clark in the film The Help that many view as problematic with the White savior theme.

Overall, the book is like reading viral pop culture tweets coming from Black Twitter and getting the context that you may never think to reference as the reason why you would like such tweets. The content dives deeper with making comparisons between famous Black women living the height of celebrity now to those who lived at the height in yesteryears. The author shows how the battle is the same, rooted in underappreciation for the Black female’s talent whereas a non-Black female’s talent may receive better treatment over her weight, her age, her appearance. It’s amazing to see the author tie in so many current events with past events and pick them apart to study the relevance and the definition of being a carefree Black girl.

Never had a chance to read as the license expired before I could read it. ………………………………——————————————///////———//////////////////////———————————————————————————///////////////—————////////////—————-///:://///////—————————————————————//////////////////////—————————————————-////////////////—————————————————————

CW: racism, racial slurs, sexual assault (mentioned), suicide attempt (mention), suicidal thoughts, police brutality

In this collection of essays, Zeba Blay celebrates Black women and brings up how their achievements are downplayed or ignored. She doesn’t stop there and continues to talk about all the ways that Black women don’t always get to be ‘care free.’

I truly enjoyed this collection of essays. I thought this was a fascinating look into a few of the issues that Black women face and how that can affect them. Throughout this, Blay isn’t shy to talk about how it has affected her throughout the years.

Blay talks a lot about colorism. It’s so ingrained into life and really affects them day in and day out. She brought up a point that there is a missing presence of Black women actors under 30. Dark skinned actresses, not lighter skinned or mixed race ones. It was upsetting to hear that they really couldn’t come up with one under 30 dark skinned actress who had a lead role recently. Even reading this a few months after it has been published, I can’t recall this having shifted even a little.

With each point, Blay brings up an icon to help bring home her point. Whether it’s for how their bodies are policed or how they can easily slip into the role of the angry black woman, she has someone for every point.
From a white perspective, this reiterated a lot that I have learned and witnessed throughout pop culture while also giving a little background and history as to why this was as big of a deal as it was.

Her voice made this easy to read. Once I started, I really didn’t want to stop as she has this way with words that really shines through. Even when it felt repetitive at times, I didn’t mind.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who wants to know more about Black Women’s issues.

Great collection of essays. regarding the influence and impact of black women on modern culture. Insightful and challenging.

4★
“There is no singular dark-skinned-girl experience, but if there is one constant to the journey, I imagine it’s the striving to maintain a sense of oneself amidst the projections of other people.”

Zeba Blay is an experienced, passionate writer, tweeter, poster, commentator on films and culture, particularly around the subject of black women and their absence on screen. She is based in the US, so this is the society she speaks of. These essays focus on different aspects of the experience of the women who are featured and on those who are overlooked. The reasons all boil down to one thing.

“Colorism is commonly defined as prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone, usually operating within the same ethnic or racial group. This definition obscures what colorism really is at its core: straight up racism, a function and tool of white supremacy.”

That’s it. All of it. The essays feature the different ways black women have been portrayed: fat and funny, loud and sassy, submissive and subservient. You get the idea. The hierarchy of the colour scale is well-recognised. It’s easier for a woman like Halle Berry to get a film role than for someone darker.

“In June 2018, Rebecca Theodore-Vachon, a prominent Black female film critic, posited a simple question on Twitter. ‘We have a problem,’ she wrote.

‘Can anyone name 3 darker-skinned A-List Black actresses UNDER the age of 30 and currently getting offered lead roles? Because I can easily list at least 5–6 lighter skinned/mixed race who are.’

My first reaction to this tweet was, ‘Yikes.’ I knew, even as the conversation developed and the thread lengthened and Black women across Twitter racked their brains to come up with a robust list of dark-skinned A-list Black women under the age of thirty, they wouldn’t.”

Blay was born in Ghana but raised in New York, so, like most migrants, she has a sense of ‘otherness’ no matter where she is. She has also dealt with her own mental devils, connected to both trauma and racism.

There are so many topics touched upon in these essays, that I won’t attempt to list them, and many of them are beyond my ken. I’m aware of the issues with someone of any colour that doesn’t appear ‘quite white’ being identified as ‘black’, or African American. There are feuds between pop artists about who should be allowed to perform hip-hop or who is really black. Is it cultural appropriation when white women get their hairdressers to give them weaves?

She rages against the tropes and injustices, and rightly so. As I say, I’m not familiar enough with many of the people and situations she refers to because I am old and white and don’t hear the language. I did learn a word: thot. It is apparently in common use.

“It emerged into the zeitgeist and the internet via hip hop songs somewhere circa 2014, and it has been commonly agreed to be a shortened version of the phrase ‘that ho over there.’ Under this iteration of the word, a ‘thot’ is a (Black) woman who is sexually available to men.”

In other words, it’s an insult, but black women have claimed it as their own.

“There is a power in language, a power in the ways in which words like thot rise and fall and become integrated into the culture, and then co-opted.

At this point, thot has uniquely transcended its initially derogatory meaning, just as so many slurs used toward women have the potential to do (slut, heaux, etc.).”

Heaux may be new to you, but I immediately ‘heard’ it with a French accent as the plural of ‘ho’, which has been around for decades now (whores).

Blay speaks of her own issues growing up as the darkest among her friends, the one who knew she wouldn’t get hit on in the bar when they went out. She mentions all the ads in Ghana for skin-bleaching creams and the dissatisfaction women are taught to have about their colour.

When she was about 16 or so, walking home from school, a woman stopped her in the middle of the road to tell her she was beautiful. Blay said it felt like a test she was failing (she didn’t feel beautiful), but the woman went on.

“‘You have gorgeous skin, sweetie,’ she gushed. ‘Don’t ever let anybody make you feel any different. Don’t ever feel bad about that beautiful chocolate skin!’

This was a light-skinned woman whom Blay originally mistook for white and who obviously assumed Blay wished she weren’t so dark.

“One way or another, colorism finds a way to infiltrate our image of ourselves.

I’m your average so-called chocolate complexioned girl, but I’ve never had any issues about my dark skin. I’ve wanted to be thinner, prettier, have a fatter ass and a complexion that wasn’t acne prone, but I’ve never desperately wanted to be lighter than I am.”

My Goodreads review includes a photo of Zeba Blay. Photo Credit: Sylvie Rosokoff

I think I can say she’s happy in her own skin, but she is certainly not happy about the prevailing attitudes, arguments, and general prejudices based solely on skin colour.

It’s an intelligent, noisy collection of essays that read like blog posts or opinion pieces. She has plenty of examples and facts and names, many of which are unfamiliar to me. But at the end, she has references to publications and websites for each section so you can find out more.

It became repetitive, with many points repeated, but it’s a good addition to the conversation nobody seems to want to have. I realise I’m not the target audience, but I’m glad I read it.

Thanks to #NetGalley and St Martin’s Press for the copy for review.

I loved this collection and I have definitely found myself thinking about it even days after reading it. The connection between pop culture and history and general culture, and how this has affected Black women, is very apparent in this book. I particularly feel like this book does a great job of demonstrating why representation matters, and why it is so important that not only are there diverse characters on screens but that they are living in ways that could be relatable for the person watching. There are a lot of references made that I was unfamiliar with, and I am excited to check them out!

Blay compiles a book that surely will be used in Women's Studies in days to come. The book is one to be read by all young girls, not just young women of color. Exploring subjects of racism and body image, among many others, this is a gift to all females who read it!

This book takes a hard look at the representation, portrayal and overall treatment of black women. I found it relatable in many ways and it definitely did open my eyes to a lot that I was previously blind to. For instance, I have never thought of the relationship between racism and body shaming. However, the more that I think about it, the more I see it. Wasn’t that the whole idea of the Aryan Nation? What I liked about Zeba’s writing is that she doesn’t shy away from calling out everyone including black people. The representation of black women in pop culture by black men and women is not devoid of issues. One particular reference to Sarah Baartman made me take a pause and think about the significance of the lyrics by Beyonce. Overall, this is an important, eye-opening read.

An insightful collection of essays with an emphasis of black women and their influence on pop culture. This book was both a critique of the stereotypes that have followed black women and a celebration of their achievements. A must read for anyone, but especially those that follow pop culture.

AMAZING! I have purchased this book for my library and friends and family - such a great read. I loved reviewing the reference section, which included the literary works that helped inform the author's thought-provoking content.

An uplifting and inspiring book written by a black woman, and uses essays from a variety of black women writers from past and present. I truly felt seen, appreciated and cared for while reading this book. I did not want it to end.

I love the brain tingling feeling I get when a book challenges me to grow and that is exactly what happened reading this one. Zeba Blay's collection of essays in Carefree Black Girls reminds us of the powerful influence and impact Black women continue to have on our society. She celebrates Black women while also examining the portrayal of Black women in media and how that has translated to the treatment of Black women in everyday life. Blay's essays are well written and full of insight that only she can provide based on her lived experiences and her extensive knowledge as a pop culture and film critic. This book is an excellent read and I highly recommend it!

Carefree Black Girls was one of my favorite books of the year. This collection of essays highlights, celebrates, explores Black women who are present in popular culture, and Blay does that in a way that honors each woman as an individual and also explores the contexts in which each icon grew up, lives, works. Blay truly celebrates the contributions and unique power of each person she highlights, and also doesn’t shy away from discussion about the ways in which racism, misogyny, classism, ableism, fatphobia, all of these colonial forces could hamper success and Black joy, and DO impact even the most successful, recognized, celebrated Black women.

This was a perfect read. Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for this advance copy, and to Zeba Blay for sharing her work with the world.

In this series of essays, Zeba Blay shares with us her experience of being a Black woman in the U.S. She is open and honest with her struggles with depression and suicidal ideations. Her writing is raw and she doesn’t hold back as she points out the trauma Black bodies experience from all aspects of culture, but particularly in media.

As those who know my tastes are aware, I do not like to read books with a lot of language, so I struggled to skim past the cursing, which is what ultimately had me lower my rating to 3 stars.

Thank you to NetGalley for a digital ARC in exchange for my honest review.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for gifting me an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

How does one become carefree? How do women become carefree? How do black women become carefree? This concept feels unobtainable in today's society.

I am not a black woman, but I am a woman. I felt so very close to many of the the issues addressed in Carefree Black Girls, because I have these same issues. Issues of not being heard, societal body norms, and sexual assault.

I truly appreciated seeing that famous artists, such as Nicki Minaj and Lizzo, struggle with body positivity. While it is defeating, it is also heart-warming to know that we are not alone in our struggles.

Reading that the majority of film critics are white males made me sick to my stomach. Their opinions are not the only ones that matter.

The overall message is that black women need to be celebrated, regardless of their past, their body shape, and their intelligence

As Twitter user I was interested in reading more of the backstory of the #carefreeblackgirl and this didn't disappoint. I like that it was simply a collection of thoughts. Not everything has to be a real call to action or history. This just was of the moment.

Carefree Black Girls is an ode to Black women in pop culture from their influence on it to them being dragged through it. In this collection of essays the many representations of Black women, some of which have plagued Black women past and present, are addressed. From the criticism and policing of their bodies and personalities to the carbon copying of them by other cultures and converted into trends.

I enjoyed this book and reading it was like writing many of my thoughts and feelings down. Page after page was like a deep sigh and then an exhalation of the collective breath we’ve been holding for way too long.

Voluntarily reviewed after receiving a free copy courtesy of NetGalley, the Publisher and the author, Zeba Blay

While the tone ended up being heavier than I initially expected, this collection of essays was well written and engaging. I flew through this book it gave me a lot to think about. The author was very open with her struggles with mental health, which I appreciate. I think they could lead to great discussions. Overall, a good read.

This is a powerful essay collection. As a white woman who isn't overweight, I found Blay's writing accessible and honest. Her experiences were genuinely eye opening for me. She covers heavy topics like racism, fat phobia, mental health, and sexuality, I highly recommend this collection for readers of personal essay and memoir as well as pop culture.