Black and Bougie...or Not...or Maybe

If I could count the number of times someone called me bougie, I 'd be out of fingers, I'd have over a million dollars, and I'd be the poster child for bougieness. 

I like a lot of things rich people like...well I guess. I like operas, plays, wine tasting. I prefer men in suits over men rocking sagging pants. And yes, I might be looking for a dude with a college degree.
Where do I want to vacation? Spain, Paris, basically anywhere in Europe...and I want a suite in a four star hotel, with a balcony overlooking the city. 

And to a lot of people, that is bougie as hell. 

Which is so concerning to me because...I'm poor as hell! But because my mom wanted better for me, and broke her back to make sure I had experiences outside of the hood, I was labeled the bougie one...

The Goody Two Shoes.
The "White Girl".

I think the first time I experienced someone mistaking me for bougie was around 7th grade, when a boy I liked asked me if I "went to a Catholic school," (I didn't).  That same year during summer break, my best friend, whom I used to sing with all the time told me "You sing like a white girl," when my tone became rounder after I began classical voice lessons at my creative and performing arts school. 

It didn't stop there: when I suggested a date at museum, my man crush said "You hella bougie, but I like that."  When I didn't go outside to smoke weed with my ex-boyfriend, I was told I "needed to stop acting bougie," around his family. I didn't understand; I didn't smoke weed and I just didn't want to.

While bougie is defined as "Aspiring to be a higher class than one is. Derived from bourgeois - meaning middle/upper class, traditionally despised by communists.," by the Urban Dictionary, it is actually synonymous with acting white, in the black community.   When you act "bougie", you are acting like you aren't black (whatever that means).  By  being perceived as acting or behaving "better," you are forgetting that you are Black, where you came from, and the struggles that your ancestors came from.

You're not Black enough.

Being categorized as such, perplexes me.  Since when did being cultured be interchangeable with being white? Why is wanting to achieve more than what is expected looked down upon? Isn't that what our ancestors fought and in some cases died for? I feel as long as you are attached to your people, and are giving back, there should be nothing wrong. 

I still shudder at the utterance of the word when it is mentioned to me or about me. I get upset when black people describe themselves as such, but I no longer let it define me.  I know who and what I am, what I came from, and what I am not.

Kenneka

I am struggling with the story of Kenneka Jenkins.

If you don't know about it, then you are the precisely the reason why I am writing this blog post today.  Kenneka, was a 19 year old woman, who was found dead in a hotel freezer this past Sunday morning, in Chicago.  She had gone to a hotel party with her friends, obviously unknowing that it would be the last time she would be seen alive.  Her death, is yet another in a long line of young black women and girls, who died under mysterious or violent circumstances, and the media and our own community fails talk about it enough.

I am going to post the link to a news outlet article about her death http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/ct-kenneka-jenkins-hotel-freezer-timeline-20170912-story.html. I'm not going to make any conjectures about what exactly happened to her here. I don't know. I am like everyone else who thinks they have an idea.  I am like everyone else who has heard the story and added up the angles only to find out that they don't quite make a square.
here:

There is not much I do know, except that she shouldn't be dead right now and that someone who was with her knows exactly what happened and for whatever reason, will not say.  I also know that had she been a White girl, there would have been more immediate answers and a larger response. The police would not have taken their time gathering the evidence.  However, she pays the penalty for being a young, black, girl, from a city plagued by violence...and those who have not the faintest idea of what it's like to grow up with these three qualifiers might say, this sort of thing was bound to happen and then quickly move on with their lives. There is no moving on for Kenneka and none any time soon for her mourning family.

When I think about her story, it makes me think back to all the times that that could have been me.  The college parties, hanging out with a co-ed group of friends in dorm rooms, going out of town and staying in a hotel alone.  At 19, I was still pretty naive, and while I didn't drink or do much of anything risky, that did not exempt me from anything that could have happened.  The argument will arise soon enough that Kenneka was drinking, that she shouldn't have been there.  This is the all too common rebuttle that comes forth any time something tragic happens to a woman.  These ridiculous arguments ignore the fact that someone was harmed and that no one deserves that.

As I'm still reeling from this story and anxiously awaiting more details, the only thing I can hope for is that the story gets more coverage than it initially has.  I am also hoping that there are more efforts made to draw attention to crimes against Black women.

And lastly but most importantly, I am hoping for Justice for Kenneka very soon.