“Look at that fast-tailed girl.”
That’s what I would hear (a lot) when growing up. I would hear it from adults, pointing out other girls around me who they deemed “fast” or “acting grown.” These were girls who developed breasts and hips at 11 or 12. They were only ordinary tweens like myself, who liked reading, who liked video games, who liked sports or clothes or romance novels, but in the eyes of adults they may as well have been harlots because of how their bodies had changed—as if they had any control over it. The grown-ups in my life sucked their teeth with disapproval as hormones turned our childish bodies into womanly ones. Short shorts that were acceptable to wear at a skinny, shapeless age 9 were now unacceptable at a big booty age 11. I became obsessed with long sweaters and blouses hoping they would cover up my expanding hips and thighs. I wore pants even in the summer, hoping no one would see the “big ol’ legs” I had.
My body was a problem because you didn’t actually have to be “fast” to get called fast, you just had to “look” the part. And once you were slapped with that label as a black girl it stuck.
It was such a contradiction. Our parents were dragging us to church, warning us about sex (but not providing much information about it), while our lives were being bombarded with it. Music videos and rap lyrics dripped with tales about girls who had our curvy bodies, and how desirable they were. But the songs and videos were often uncomfortable, as the same girls that looked like they were also being disrespected and degraded. All the songs were about being sexy and having sex, but my parents wouldn’t even utter the word (except to say “don’t do it”).
“Keep your legs closed,” they would say. Somehow that always sounded just as dirty as the rap lyrics I knew they didn’t want us listening to.
This contradiction of overly sexual images of black and brown women on TV and in music while growing up in the religiously conservative African American community, was frustrating for me. Your parents won’t talk to you about sex other than say “don’t do it,” while Rihanna dutty wines with strippers, and one-third of African American teens have already had sex by the time they turn 15. The contradiction gives you the impression that the only way to be “good” is to be some perfect, no-hip-having virgin, who doesn’t listen to popular music and remains willfully ignorant about sex. If you pop your booty while dancing to your favorite song, you’re called “fast” and accused of being sexually active. But I was a curvy virgin nerd who loved popping my booty to everything on the radio. What was I?
Contrary to popular “fast girl” opinions, you can love dancing and hip hop and all sorts of salacious stuff and still make smart choices about sex and sexuality. You can still have faith and be devout no matter what you’re wearing. Choosing to listen to raunchy music and dance wild doesn’t mean you also choose to have sex. Being devout and loving Christ doesn’t mean you don’t have normal urges and desires like everyone else. You’re not defective. We are all more than one thing. We are all different and complicated individuals.
All the complaints about what you’re wearing or dancing to is a condemnation of what’s happening on the outside. But that has nothing to do with who you are internally. You have a choice. You don’t have to live up to the label handed to you.
At 16 I got straight A’s, and I danced wild (the more booty shaking the better), and I kissed a boy for the first time, and I drew cartoons, and I loved hip hop, and I’d never said a curse word out-loud, and I was a virgin, and I’d never had a boyfriend, and I wanted to be an author.
You’re more than a label. You’re more than a “virgin” or “fast-tailed.” You’re a complex, unique person. You have dreams. You are smart. You are kind. You have things you like and dislike. You have things you are good at and things you’re not so good at. You are still learning. Don’t fall in the trap of labels. There’s a middle ground.
And there’s happiness in the middle ground. Don’t let others tell you who you are.