Needles, thread and a lesson in racism
African Heritage Day in fashion design class taught me yet another lesson I didn’t want to learn
I was excited for African Heritage Day at my high school. Although I’ve never been as into fashion as my mother (who has more than 500 pairs of shoes and at least 20 fold-out closets lining our attic), I liked it enough. Nowadays, you’re more likely to see me in Capri jeans or khaki shorts and a “Good Vibes” or “Nice People Are My Favorite People” T-shirt. But when it’s time to dress up, please believe I will show out from head to four-foot heel toe every time. I get it from my momma!
So when our high school was supposed to show up in African attire, I picked the obvious fashionista to help me create an outfit. I knew I’d be impressed by all the color ensembles from my peers, but it was my fashion design class that I was really looking forward to — for obvious reasons. We didn’t even have to buy anything if we didn’t want to. I made shirts, pants, jackets, and sewed so many buttons and pockets on things that I lost count.
Recommended Read: “Be pro-fashion, not the fun police ~ Why do people get meaner the better they dress?”
But there was one girl who came into our class and put us all to shame. She had on a beautiful form-fitting dress in damn near every color in a Crayon box, print heels, and a head wrap covering her forehead and “kitchen” area. And in between that head wrap was her hair braided into these wonderful loops and turns. It was like looking at a roller coaster ride but perfectly pinned and complimented her face. It was neat and definitely took some time to do, but it was the kind of hairstyle that if you didn’t have our texture, you would waste your time trying to culturally appropriate this style. I was impressed. I had the outfit down, but she nailed the hair.
Recommended Read: “Life before slavery: African history gets the silent treatment in U.S. schools ~ Teaching U.S.’s mistreatment of Africans is important, but what about pre-slavery?”
I was really impressed by all the sistas in our fashion design class. (We had a couple of white girls in our class, but it was mainly black minus those two and our white instructor.) Participating in this was one of those good days Ice Cube rapped about, until someone asked a question about stitching. It was an innocent question, the kind of question you’d ask anytime you were getting ready to pull out a needle and thread. I noticed our teacher had been quiet for most of class, with her nose behind a book instead of interacting with us. But I was so distracted by the outfits that I didn’t notice how disinterested she seemed.
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I don’t remember what the question was. It was something that she could’ve easily answered. Instead, she muttered, “Why don’t you ask Spiderwoman instead … with that hairstyle?” We all turned around and looked directly at her, while the jaw dropped on my friend with the braids. The teacher laughed at her joke and then answered the question. My eyes stayed on her. Right at that moment, I was done with class. I was concentrating on burning a hole through her shirt with my own eyes. She had to know my eyes were locked on her, but she avoided eye contact. A few minutes later, she muttered that she was going to the restroom.