Lace on Race

Notes From The Coronavirus Couch: Rags And Respectability; Purses and Profiling and Persecution

Tikka Rose is low on kibble and chicken treats. I am out of fixins for fruit salad.

I have to go out today. I am getting ready for battle.

Not with the virus so much as with public perception.

My battle armor: perfectly pressed skirt; twinset; good black medium heels. Anne Klein watch. Tasteful jewelry that looks like quiet money. Elegant handbag. Perfect eye makeup. Wig on point.

My mask: a silk scarf that perfectly coordinates.

Again, for kibble and fruit salad.

This is not respectability politics. This is for my very survival.

Those of you who know me know that I operate on two tracks sartorially: either a flowing Earth Mother, or an Ann Taylor/Land’s End/Talbot’s (or a good dupe of same for this County worker) aesthetic.

Both looks suit me. I am mostly softly tailored during the week, and on weekends revert to a look that a friend once half-jokingly called my ‘Farmer’s Market Mama’ vibe.

I like both looks, but not as much as you might think. I too like leggings, and stretched out sweaters, and funny, ironic, trenchant tee shirts. I like old sweats, and baseball caps, and sandals that are one baby step away from houseshoes. I like not caring if I ‘match’. I love a clean face.

In the few days I have been sheltering in place, I have not worn a wig. Such freedom; feeling the wind on my scalp when I go to feed Tikka; the coolness; the lightness. Sometimes on weekends I do eschew the wigs and wrap my head in a scarf or a cap. This is even better. I love rubbing my hand across my shorn scalp and loving the soft curls (what’s left of them, anyway).

This should be the time I can indulge all of these things. Leave the gold necklace and the workwear in the closet. Step out of the pinchy shoes. Every time I see a meme with a person wearing a variant of old pajamas to the store, because who cares now, right? I feel a twinge.

I care. I have to care. I have always had to care.

I tell myself that the reason I care so much is that I live in the same city where I went to high school and college; I’m even in the same stomping grounds of Crawford and SDSU. People pop up everywhere–mostly when I look my grungiest. So what’s the harm in kicking it up a notch for when I’m blindsided by an old paramour at Sprouts?

I tell myself that. But that is not the reason; not the main reason.

Ya. It’s armor. It’s strategic. Both costumes, and to some degree that’s exactly what they are, both costumes have messages I broadcast out to white people. Yes, even in the diverse neighborhoods to which I mostly confine myself.

The work look is for ‘at least as competent as you, but I promise I won’t upstage or threaten you, so use me, but don’t let your insecurities punish me’. That’s the reason for soft sweaters and drapey trousers. The tasteful knockoff accessories are also for after work, in stores and restaurants (and medical visits; we’ve talked about my dressing up High Church when I see my doctor) The Farmer’s Market Mama makes sure those in the community see me as benign; if I am going to enjoy my surroundings on my day off, I can’t afford, don’t have the emotional bandwidth, to endure even more hostility and ‘what are you doing here?’ looks when I am just trying to enjoy brunch and window shopping.

I need neutral workdays and rest days. My clothing choices, made so painstakingly before I drive down the hill, are designed to make me both perfectly respectable and utterly forgettable. They lessen (though not to zero) the chance that I will get a look, or a comment, or followed. They allow me some breathing room in a world that treats me like an ignorant, criminal, dangerous interloper.

All of this was true before Coronavirus. The shield was for my psychological and emotional health. It’s at another level now.

Now, particularly with the guidelines for facemasks, the costuming is not just so the waiter won’t ignore me, or the doctor won’t dismiss me.

It’s for my very survival.

I’d like to stop here for a moment, and ask you, reader, to truly reflect on what message your presence in the world makes. I want you to ask yourself why you wore the clothes you chose when you ran your last errand.

Messy hair is privilege. Stained sweatshirts are privilege. Raccoon eyes at brunch are privilege.

And now face masks are too.

Make no mistake. I will wear face masks. To protect Darian, and Chakecia, and LeRon. And Julio, and Carolina, and Lucila. And Ling, and Mona, and Naoki.

And, whether or not they they choose to call the cops on me, also Becky, and Chad, and Amy.

The Coronavirus may well be able to get past my makeshift face protector made from respectability rags.

But that is hardly my only threat.

Who will protect me?

Lace Watkins

4 responses to “Notes From The Coronavirus Couch: Rags And Respectability; Purses and Profiling and Persecution”

  1. Claire Avatar
    Claire

    Ohhhh this brings up so much for me. My mother was extremely anxious that my sisters and I present as “those nice Ramsey girls.” We generally failed – we were scuffed up, broken-boned, messy haired feral children. I spent much of my teen years retrieving my favorite shirt from the trash b/c my mother continuously threw it away. She knew what Lace knows, even though I refused to believe her – the way we present ourselves in public counts. Of course my mom had a different purpose – she wanted others to know that she was doing a good job as a mother/tamer of the wild beasts inter house. Lace’s point is truly a matter of survival. The other day I was deputized to make a trip out of the house to the pharmacy and the grocery store. My outfit included (top to bottom): uncombed, unwashed hair and body b/c I hadn’t taken a shower for 2 days, a face mask I made from a piece of quilting fabric w/maneki nekko cats on bright pink, a dirty t-shirt, dirty leggings, no underwear (b/c I planned to strip once just inside the door when I got home), black nitrile gloves, sandals (easier to wash my feet than a pair of shoes or socks), a quilted vest w/clorox wipes and spare gloves in one pocket and my credit card and a twenty dollar bill in the other. I didn’t care what kind of rat bag I looked like b/c all I wanted to do was get in and out as fast as I could, then come home, toss the gloves, and wash everything else including me. And Lace is right – leaving the house as a rat bag is absolute privilege, b/c no security guard is going to chase me out of Walmart, and no while lady is going to call the cops on me. I knew I was violating the “nice Ramsey girl” rules, but also that it would not endanger my life or my freedom. I don’t think there will be enough of a change in the US to truly protect you Lace during my lifetime. But I will do my part to get in anyone’s face who acts up in my presence. . . and I will continue my habit of face to face challenges to anyone I see bothering a black woman. . .

  2. Vickie White Avatar
    Vickie White

    I’ve noticed in myself how I’ve been conditioned to look at the clothing of black people and try to use it to slot them into stereotypes that often revolve around fear of something bad or uncomfortable or “against the rules” coming from that black person. And the next conditioned step seems to be to -do- something about that person, to “exit” the person from the situation or defend against them. Whereas with a white person, they could be dressed like a kook and I wouldn’t feel the conditioned response to “exit” them.

    I am reminded of a recent post about a struggling black person who didn’t need an ally, but needed white people to get out of their way. I think I need to work on unconditioning myself to being surprised to see black faces out and about, and to responding with heightened awareness and, occasionally, wariness. And to just leave black people to be themselves without enduring my scrutiny and prejudiced judgment.

    However, Lace, you asked “Who will protect me?” And Danielle, you mentioned that you are struggling to find your action in response to Lace’s post. It sounds like Lace may be calling us to be attentive for situations where black people are being attacked or hounded for how they look and to insert ourselves into the situation to defend the black person. Lace or admin staff, is that accurate?

  3. Deb Chymiak-Isanhart Avatar
    Deb Chymiak-Isanhart

    I once heard white privilege described as the things white ppl don’t have to worry about. I rarely worry about what I wear shopping. I did when I was younger. But that was out of vanity, never fear.

    This extra stress that Black ppl feel every day is one reason they will face worse outcomes in this pandemic. But they were already feeling is effects long before COVID-19 in the way the stress of racism impacts health.

  4. Danielle Joy Holcombe Avatar
    Danielle Joy Holcombe

    I typically think about whether or not I will be judged if I go out to run errands without a bra, or these days whether or not someone will think I’m just an “old lady” in leggings.

    I never have to think about respectability as a life or death determination. I never wonder if someone will view me as a threat or not. And I don’t generally give that much thought to what I put on before I go out (now, or pre-pandemic). I understand that you have always had to consider these things and now masks make for heightened risk.

    I’m struggling to find my action here though. I mean I see that I must pay attention to how I see and what I choose to assume about people I see and their dress. And of course I need to take opportunities to enlighten my fellow white people about what is truly a threat (usually us). But in truth, I want leggings and oversized shirts for us all, and not skirts and twinsets for me. And that feels like unwillingness for personal sacrifice.

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