One seemingly obvious, but still notable, aspect of Southern antebellum ladyhood, is the necessary and explicit disqualification of black women. The sphere of Southern ladyhood largely consisted of personal beauty and moral reform, with the first seen as evidence of the second. Personal beauty proved personal morality. In the 19th century white mind, whiteness was an essential component of female beauty, and thus, ladyhood.
From historian Mary Cathryn Cain's article "The Art and Politics of Looking White: Beauty Practices among White Women in Antebellum America"
Antebellum white Americans interpreted
visible whiteness as an outward projection of inner
virtue or, as the Toilette of Health, Beauty and Fashion
maintained, ''the face is the mirror of the soul.'' A
beautiful white face, then, reflected an unstained
heart, and the skin's translucence was no longer
valued solely for its physical beauty: it was valorized as
evidence of moral rectitude that allowed a woman's
inner light to shine for any observer. Likewise, the
Book of Health and Beauty declared that ''a hand white
and smooth, diversified with bluish veins, presenting
to the touch the softness of satin, and to the eye the
grateful color of milk'' could be read as a clear index
of a woman's ''moral accomplishments.''
Analysis of Female Beauty, Wilson Flagg reinforced
the attitude that female whiteness was incompatible
with negative personal traits. The book consisted
of a series of poems, each of which depicted
an ideal woman who bore the physical attributes
associated with a particular feminine virtue. Flagg
describes ''Sylvia,'' the personification of Innocence,
by alluding to ''her complexion's pearly hues,'' while
''Cecilia,'' the embodiment of Constancy, looked ''as
white and spotless as new-drifted snow.'' Perhaps
Flagg's characterization of Piety in ''Ophelia'' is his
most telling: ''You cannot think beneath a brow so
fair, /One sinful thought was ever harbored there.''
Here Flagg explicitly equates whiteness with the absence of sin.
In the Southern antebellum white mind, no black woman could ever qualify as a lady, because whiteness was beauty and beauty was moral cleanliness. But like most of the societal components of white supremacy, as surely as patrolling the boundaries of ladyhood meant keeping blacks locked out, it also meant keeping whites locked in. And so whiteness became not simply a sign of beauty and morality, but a sign of an aristocratic mien. Obviously being white does not, automatically, gift you with skin that is "spotless as new-drifted snow." For such an affect, a healthy industry of powders and cosmetics existed to help affect the illusion of moral cleanliness.
But many such cosmetics were railed against by the white aristocracy as unnatural, and the women who applied them were roundly denounced as "painted ladies." Instead, it was advised that white women find other ways to perfect themselves--like a ingesting white chalk and arsenic:
To achieve the desired complexion,
middle-class white women ritualized the practices
described in beauty manuals--not all of them well
advised. Some women dieted, slept with their
windows open, or abstained from sleep altogether.
Some women swore by warm baths. Others swore
by warm beverages; still others swore off hot drinks
completely. Some women ate chalk, drank vinegar,
wore camphorated charms, bled themselves with
leeches or even ingested arsenic to get the desired
result. Many refrained from drinking alcohol and
reading at night. And almost all middle-class white
women avoided the sun.
African-American women from the South, and perhaps from Detroit, Chicago and Harlem, might find that last bit about avoiding the sun particularly poignant. In another era, it was not at all atypical for black people to advise their children to do exactly that for fear of them moving from "colored" to "black."
Some of this was raised, a few weeks back, while discussing Kanye West's album, and hip-hop's occasional embarrassing reinforcement of aesthetics born of a phrenological age. Ladyhood isn't what it once was. But the notion that lighter skin confers upon the owner some deeper power is very much with us. We like to call it colorism. But this understates things. It's white supremacy. When black rappers exalt the "sexy young ladies of the light skin breed," they are participating in an exercise inaugurated with their arrival to the West in chains. They are patrolling the borders, caging off women for sure, but just as surely, caging off themselves.
Image taken from "The Three Species of Beauty, as affecting the head and face,'' Alexander Walker, Beauty: Illustrated Chiefly by an Analysis and Classification of Beauty in Woman (New York: W. H. Colyer, 1845), pl. 16. As cited in Cain's article.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
It was widely seen as a counter-argument to claims that poor people are "to blame" for bad decisions and a rebuke to policies that withhold money from the poorest families unless they behave in a certain way. After all, if being poor leads to bad decision-making (as opposed to the other way around), then giving cash should alleviate the cognitive burdens of poverty, all on its own.
Sometimes, science doesn't stick without a proper anecdote, and "Why I Make Terrible Decisions," a comment published on Gawker's Kinja platform by a person in poverty, is a devastating illustration of the Science study. I've bolded what I found the most moving, insightful portions, but it's a moving and insightful testimony all the way through.
One hundred years ago, a crisis in urban masculinity created the lumberjack aesthetic. Now it's making a comeback.
The first one I met was at an inauguration party in 2009. I was in a cocktail dress. He was in jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt. He had John Henry tattooed on his bicep. He was white. Somehow, at a fairly elegant affair, he had found a can of PBR. Since then they’ve multiplied. You can see them in coffee shops and bars and artisanal butchers. They don't exactly cut down trees, but they might try their hand at agriculture and woodworking, even if only in the form of window-box herb gardens.
In the last month, these bearded, manly men even earned themselves a pithy nickname: the lumbersexuals. GearJunkiecoined the term only a few weeks ago, and since then Jezebel, Gawker, The Guardian and Time have jumped in to analyze their style. BuzzFeed even has a holiday gift guide for the lumbersexual in your life. (He would, apparently, like bourbon-flavored syrup and beard oil.)
As the public’s fear and loathing surge, the frontrunner’s durable candidacy has taken a dark turn.
MYRTLE BEACH, South Carolina—All politicians, if they are any good at their craft, know the truth about human nature.
Donald Trump is very good, and he knows it better than most.
Trump stands alone on a long platform, surrounded by a rapturous throng. Below and behind him—sitting on bleachers and standing on the floor—they fill this city’s cavernous, yellow-beige convention center by the thousands. As Trump will shortly point out, there are a lot of other Republican presidential candidates, but none of them get crowds anything like this.
Trump raises an orange-pink hand like a waiter holding a tray. “They are not coming in from Syria,” he says. “We’re sending them back!” The crowd surges, whistles, cheers. “So many bad things are happening—they have sections of Paris where the police are afraid to go,” he continues. “Look at Belgium, the whole place is closed down! We can’t let it happen here, folks.”
Why the ingrained expectation that women should desire to become parents is unhealthy
In 2008, Nebraska decriminalized child abandonment. The move was part of a "safe haven" law designed to address increased rates of infanticide in the state. Like other safe-haven laws, parents in Nebraska who felt unprepared to care for their babies could drop them off in a designated location without fear of arrest and prosecution. But legislators made a major logistical error: They failed to implement an age limitation for dropped-off children.
Within just weeks of the law passing, parents started dropping off their kids. But here's the rub: None of them were infants. A couple of months in, 36 children had been left in state hospitals and police stations. Twenty-two of the children were over 13 years old. A 51-year-old grandmother dropped off a 12-year-old boy. One father dropped off his entire family -- nine children from ages one to 17. Others drove from neighboring states to drop off their children once they heard that they could abandon them without repercussion.
The Nebraska state government, realizing the tremendous mistake it had made, held a special session of the legislature to rewrite the law in order to add an age limitation. Governor Dave Heineman said the change would "put the focus back on the original intent of these laws, which is saving newborn babies and exempting a parent from prosecution for child abandonment. It should also prevent those outside the state from bringing their children to Nebraska in an attempt to secure services."
Better-informed consumers are ditching the bowls of sugar that were once a triumph of 20th-century marketing.
Last year, General Mills launched a new product aimed at health-conscious customers: Cheerios Protein, a version of its popular cereal made with whole-grain oats and lentils. Early reviews were favorable. The cereal, Huffington Post reported, tasted mostly like regular Cheerios, although “it seemed like they were sweetened and flavored a little more aggressively.” Meanwhile, ads boasted that the cereal would offer “long-lasting energy” as opposed to a sugar crash.
But earlier this month, the Center for Science in the Public Interest sued General Mills, saying that there’s very little extra protein in Cheerios Protein compared to the original brand and an awful lot more sugar—17 times as much, in fact. So why would General Mills try to market a product as containing protein when it’s really a box fill of carbs and refined sugar?
The statesman understood something most diplomats don’t: history—and how to apply it.
In his new biography of Henry Kissinger, the historian Niall Ferguson recalls that halfway through what became an eight-year research project, he had an epiphany. Tracing the story of how a young man from Nazi Germany became America’s greatest living statesman, he discovered not only the essence of Kissinger’s statecraft, but the missing gene in modern American diplomacy: an understanding of history.
For Ferguson, it was a humbling revelation. As he confesses in the introduction to Kissinger: “In researching the life and times of Henry Kissinger, I have come to realize that my approach was unsubtle. In particular, I had missed the crucial importance in American foreign policy of the history deficit: The fact that key decision-makers know almost nothing not just of other countries’ pasts but also of their own. Worse, they often do not see what is wrong with their ignorance.”
A Chicago cop now faces murder charges—but will anyone hold his colleagues, his superiors, and elected officials accountable for their failures?
Thanks to clear video evidence, Chicago police officer Jason Van Dyke was charged this week with first-degree murder for shooting 17-year-old Laquan McDonald. Nevertheless, thousands of people took to the city’s streets on Friday in protest. And that is as it should be.
The needlessness of the killing is clear and unambiguous:
Yet that dash-cam footage was suppressed for more than a year by authorities citing an investigation. “There was no mystery, no dead-end leads to pursue, no ambiguity about who fired the shots,” Eric Zorn wrote in The Chicago Tribune. “Who was pursuing justice and the truth? What were they doing? Who were they talking to? With whom were they meeting? What were they trying to figure out for 400 days?”
Why are so many kids with bright prospects killing themselves in Palo Alto?
The air shrieks, and life stops. First, from far away, comes a high whine like angry insects swarming, and then a trampling, like a herd moving through. The kids on their bikes who pass by the Caltrain crossing are eager to get home from school, but they know the drill. Brake. Wait for the train to pass. Five cars, double-decker, tearing past at 50 miles an hour. Too fast to see the faces of the Silicon Valley commuters on board, only a long silver thing with black teeth. A Caltrain coming into a station slows, invites you in. But a Caltrain at a crossing registers more like an ambulance, warning you fiercely out of its way.
The kids wait until the passing train forces a gust you can feel on your skin. The alarms ring and the red lights flash for a few seconds more, just in case. Then the gate lifts up, signaling that it’s safe to cross. All at once life revives: a rush of bikes, skateboards, helmets, backpacks, basketball shorts, boisterous conversation. “Ew, how old is that gum?” “The quiz is next week, dipshit.” On the road, a minivan makes a left a little too fast—nothing ominous, just a mom late for pickup. The air is again still, like it usually is in spring in Palo Alto. A woodpecker does its work nearby. A bee goes in search of jasmine, stinging no one.
In the name of emotional well-being, college students are increasingly demanding protection from words and ideas they don’t like. Here’s why that’s disastrous for education—and mental health.
Something strange is happening at America’s colleges and universities. A movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offense. Last December, Jeannie Suk wrote in an online article for The New Yorker about law students asking her fellow professors at Harvard not to teach rape law—or, in one case, even use the word violate (as in “that violates the law”) lest it cause students distress. In February, Laura Kipnis, a professor at Northwestern University, wrote an essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education describing a new campus politics of sexual paranoia—and was then subjected to a long investigation after students who were offended by the article and by a tweet she’d sent filed Title IX complaints against her. In June, a professor protecting himself with a pseudonym wrote an essay for Vox describing how gingerly he now has to teach. “I’m a Liberal Professor, and My Liberal Students Terrify Me,” the headline said. A number of popular comedians, including Chris Rock, have stopped performing on college campuses (see Caitlin Flanagan’s article in this month’s issue). Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Maher have publicly condemned the oversensitivity of college students, saying too many of them can’t take a joke.