Perfectly Imperfect: Reflecting on Media Representation for Black Women

A statistic shared by The Representation Project reveals that in 2023, 60% of Black women reported feeling misrepresented in media. However, The Representation Project also mentioned that the number of “Black women characters in popular films nearly doubled in the last decade, up to 16.7% in 2023.” With this information, it has become increasingly evident that representation is more than a matter of visibility. Black women don’t just want to see themselves on screen, they want to be portrayed accurately. Yet, many of us are divided on what accurate representation looks like. Through an exploration of Black women’s responses to different media portrayals, I aim to reveal the root of our divided standards for representation.

There are various degrading tropes assigned to Black women in media, but the most prominent are known as the Jezebel, the Sapphire, and the Mammy. Each of these tropes draws on stereotypes assigned to Black women during the eras of chattel slavery and Jim Crow segregation in America. The Jezebel portrays Black women as being inherently hypersexual and promiscuous, the Mammy characterizes Black women as subordinate maternal-figures, and the Sapphire depicts Black women as being intrinsically angry and aggressive. For years, filmmakers have exploited these negative stereotypes about Black women to garner large audiences at our expense.

Moreover, these ignominious portrayals don’t exist in a vacuum; they have real-world implications for Black women. The Jezebel trope in particular has been a continuous threat to Black women’s safety and wellbeing, putting them at a greater risk of experiencing sexual violence. Researchers found that “historical stereotypes about Black women’s promiscuity may be used by others to justify sexual violence and may contribute to less willingness from others to intervene when Black women and girls are the victims of sexual violence.” With no one else challenging the narratives pushed by mainstream media, the burden has fallen on Black women to avoid accidentally aligning with the Jezebel archetype. Many believe the only way to ensure their safety is to counter one extreme with another. From revealing outfit choices to “hip switching,” they’ve started to reject anything that may seem too inviting. While modesty isn’t inherently problematic, the issue lies in the fact that many Black women are forced to embrace this lifestyle out of fear. 

This cultural attitude doesn’t stop at just personal choices. As Black women have adapted their lives to portray a flawless image of themselves to the dominant culture, they hope for film and television characters to do the same. Subsequently, audiences are starting to denounce any form of representation that does not align with their vision of the ideal Black woman. While this is reducing the prominence of stereotypical roles, it’s also giving rise to some unfair criticism against producers who use imperfection to develop layered characters. The most recent recipient of public condemnation is Janine Teagues from the hit comedy show Abbott Elementary. Played by the show’s executive producer, Quinta Brunson, Janine is an upbeat, whimsical, and slightly eccentric second-grade teacher. In an episode of the Good Hang with Amy Poehler podcast, Brunson describes the pushback she received from Black viewers who were not pleased with Janine’s quirks. Some believed that the character’s lousy clothing and poor relationship with her hair was not the representation that Black women need on our screens. However, as Brunson explains, “it’s important for us to have characters who are more realistic than they are the absolute best representation of us.”  Janine’s imperfections are a refreshing showcase of Black women’s ability to exist as complex and flawed individuals. Yet, audiences refuse to embrace any public portrayal of the imperfections that make us human.

Even forms of representation outside the realm of film and television have been subjected to these austere restrictions. Grounded in the Stars, a sculpture constructed by artist Thomas J Price, found itself at the center of intense discourse during its time on display in Times Square. Critics of the sculpture pointed at the figure’s weight, hair, and poorly-fitted clothing as proof that the artist sought to intentionally portray Black women in a negative light. Furthermore, they argued that this “inaccurate” depiction of Black women should be replaced with a “better” form of representation. However, there are many Black women who resemble the sculpture. In fact, Price explained that its appearance was an amalgamation of women he observed in different settings. Through this artwork, he aimed to dispute conventional beliefs surrounding the type of people worthy of monumentalization. Price deliberately highlighted the imperfections of his inspirations to argue that representation can come in many different forms. Unfortunately, his message was overshadowed by commentators enforcing the very same beliefs he sought to challenge. 

But Price isn’t the only Black creative looking to change the standards for representation. A growing number of creatives are insisting that accurate representation doesn’t have to be synonymous with flawlessness. While it is understandable why these standards for representation were adopted, audiences should embrace attempts at changing them. Black women’s worthiness of respect and protection shouldn’t be measured by their ability to achieve perfection. We are in dire need of figures that prioritize highlighting Black women’s humanity, not just to make a point to others, but for self-assurance. Platforming realistic depictions of Black women serves as a reminder that we don’t have to strive for perfection in every aspect of life. We need figures that assure us it’s okay to be perfectly imperfect.