Allison Reynolds (The Breakfast Club), Juno (Juno), Nadine (The Edge of Seventeen), Jessica Day (New Girl), Lady Bird (Lady Bird) – these are some examples of the ‘weird girl trope’. Have you noticed they’re all white?
Representation of Black women in the media has always been poor, with the first Black woman (Halle Berry), winning the Oscar for ‘Best Actress’ in 2002 (yes, the Oscars had existed for a whopping 75 years prior to this monumental win).
However, Berry was not the first ever Black woman to win an Oscar – this was Hattie McDaniel, netting a win for ‘Best Supporting Actress’ for her role in Gone with the Wind. This sounds amazing, despite Gone with the Wind placing McDaniel into the extremely racist ‘Mammy’ stereotype. McDaniel played the character of Ruth – who was a house slave, later turned servant, in the film.
The ‘Mammy’ character (a caricature) is often an older Black woman who inherits a caregiving, maternal role, typically for their white counterpart. They don’t exist as their own person, but rather purely to be subservient and obey the other white character in need.
This is similar to another caricature that was one of the first presentations of a Black female character in TV – ‘The Sapphire’. This awful stereotype was fabricated from the 1950’s sitcom Amos ‘n’ Andy, birthed from the role of Sapphire Stevens played by Ernestine Wade. The role of Sapphire portrayed Black women as rude, chronically loud, and perpetually angry – I don’t even need to explain how disgusting this is.
These tropes mainly originate from the Jim Crow era, which arguably has only grown and manifested into a variety of tropes in modern-day media, such as the ‘Strong Black Woman’ trope or the ‘Angry Black Woman’ trope.
A notable actress who has been victim to this is Viola Davis, who has undeniable talent but is subject to roles like Annalise Keating (which she was brilliant as) displaying the ‘Strong Black Woman’ trope in How to Get Away with Murder, or Aibileen Clark in The Help where she plays a Mammy-like character. Both characters depict a Black woman who never needs help, barely cries, maintains a ‘tough’ demeanour, and is rarely celebrated for anything she does because she’s ‘strong and independent’.
But, somehow, she is expected to help everyone else despite her own struggles?
This is so damaging to witness, not only for Black women, but for society as a whole. You may be thinking this media is just fiction, but this has lasting effects on our schemata of Black women and how we view them.
People use these stereotypes and apply them to real life, especially with recent US Presidential candidate and current US Vice-President, Kamala Harris. We saw first-hand how she was targeted for being a Black woman, applying these racist stereotypes outside of our screens.
We also cannot forget the involvement of misogynoir, with these stereotypes specifically being targeted towards dark-skinned women. The closer a woman is towards whiteness, the more palatable they are to the media. Which, in turn, is why some of the more nuanced roles are often offered to lighter-skinned women instead of a woman like Viola Davis. The newspaper Deadline shares how the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media’s research found that “nearly 80% of Black female characters have light or medium skin tones“, which is an astonishing statistic that completely encapsulates the sinister ways of Hollywood.
There is a common trend within all this, where proximity to whiteness will reward you in a society that still thrives on white supremacy.
This is why it’s extremely important to discuss the history of Black women in film and TV as these problematic characterisations seemingly disappear, even though they do not – they morph into something else. It was one step to move away from these caricatures (arguably not entirely), but the fight is not over.
For many years, the media assumed they could shoehorn Black women in the aforementioned ‘Strong Black Woman’ trope, always depict them as sassy and loud, and downplay their intelligence. This was seen as progressive, as the previous stereotypes were so detrimental that this was perceived as a major improvement, or how Black women were never seen on screen, so any representation was better than none.
Specifically, I’ve always noticed how the concept of a ‘weird Black girl’ in film and TV was rarely represented, presenting Black women as a monolith. This may seem small, but many sometimes forget that Black women are multi-dimensional, in the real world and in the media we consume.
As a Black woman myself, I never grew up seeing ‘weird’ characters who I relate to, they were always white and were recognised for their weirdness. Most of the time they were even praised for their individualism by modern audiences, whereas it felt less acceptable for me to exist like that. Despite this, it is still important for me and others to accept our privilege as light-skinned women, as I see myself represented increasingly more than a dark-skinned woman would in film and TV.
In the films I mentioned with the ‘weird girl’ trope, these films and TV shows mostly have an absence of Black people in the first place, let alone Black women. In particular, it’s an overwhelming issue within these coming-of-age stories, and has a greater impact on developing Black teens than the majority realise. This is why intersectionality is so important in film and TV, as Black women who are weird exist too, and go through the exact same things as their white peers.
An underappreciated Black weird girl in British media is Tracey Gordon, who is played by the wildly talented Michaela Coel, in her self-made sitcom: Chewing Gum. Tracey Gordon was a socially awkward, strange character who engrossed you as soon as she stepped on screen and is hilariously funny for her unusualness. Now this is the type of representation people want, as she was a multi-faceted character who we empathised and grew with, instead of existing as a one-dimensional stereotype.
An earlier example of a weird Black girl is from the Youtube show, The Mis-Adventures of Awkward Black Girl, which launched Issa Rae’s career. The show features a ‘quirky’ Black main character living her everyday life, which was the type of representation Issa Rae was focused on. This was the name of her own memoir as well, detailing her personal life and the lessons she’s learnt as an ‘Awkward Black Girl’.
In an interview with Forbes, Rae discusses how she wants to make sure “that the people that I love and interact with every day are represented on screen”, following with how she was inspired by her journal entry that said “I’m awkward and Black”.
I personally believe that this type of authenticity is vital for change within Hollywood, as it seems like the media believes that social anxiety escapes Black women. We need to recognise more Black women who stand out in film and TV for their awkwardness, who bask in their weirdness and make other young Black girls not feel weird and follow suit. They’re definitely out there – we just need to stop silencing them.
In recent years, I have noticed an increase of the ‘Black weird girl’ in films also, specifically with Bottoms. The reason why I point out this film especially is because the character of Josie (Ayo Edebiri), is not characterised by her Black trauma, but rather her journey with queerness and being ‘different’. She exists as a main character alongside her white counterpart but is not overpowered by her.
The big three: weird, queer, and Black, is extremely rare to be seen in one of the main characters of a film that’s popular within the zeitgeist, which is why this is a massive feat. This is a hopeful step for the progression of comedic films like Bottoms, and I hope we see more characters like this in the future.
I could delve into these issues from so many different angles, but I want to leave you with this quote. In her book Black Looks: Race and Representation, bell hooks discusses Black representation in film writing: “It is difficult to talk when you feel no one is listening, when you feel as though a special jargon or narrative has been created that only the chosen can understand”.
This astute conclusion has been incredibly topical for many decades in terms of the representation of Black women in film and TV, but is still relevant now. We are patiently waiting for the media to learn, to change and evolve to produce more nuanced Black female characters. White womanhood has consumed us in our media, leaving Black women to pick up the scraps. In the wake of this, how many more Black women will have to feel misunderstood?
