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Carolyn M. West, PhD
is Professor of Psychology at the University of Washington,
where she teaches courses on the psychology of Black women.
She is co-editor of the journal Sexualization, Media, and Society.
Her research is focused on violence against women and
human sexuality. Her best-known book is Violence in the Lives of
Black Women: Battered, Black, and Blue.
139
8
Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel,
and the Bad Girls of
Reality Television
Media Representations of Black Women
It is the summer of 2016 and the airwaves are filled with
#BlackGirlMagic1 (Thomas, 2015). I swell with pride as Donna Brazil,
veteran political strategist, and Michelle Obama, our iconic first lady, take
the stage at the Democratic National Convention (Owens, 2016). My spirit
soars when young Black women athletes capture gold medals in swimming
(Simone Manuel) and gymnastics (Simone Biles and Gabby Douglas) at
the Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro (Reid, 2016). I am entertained on
Thursday nights by Shonda Rhimes, writer/producer extraordinaire, who
has crafted complex Black female characters, such as Olivia Pope on Scandal
and Annalise Keating on How to Get Away With Murder (Allison, 2016).
At the same time, the media landscape is populated with Gold Diggers,
Modern Jezebels, Baby Mamas, Uneducated Sisters, Rachet Women, Angry
Women, Mean Black Girls, Unhealthy Black Women, and Black Barbies.
Essence magazine surveyed more than 1,200 Black women and the partici-
pants overwhelmingly had a negative reaction to the aforementioned media
images (Walton, 2013). At the same time, Black women are frequent con-
sumers of this televised mayhem. In 2013, 6 of the top 10 television shows
watched by African American audiences were in the “reality television”
genre. By 2014, there were more than 10 reality television shows featuring
1 CaShawn Thompson created the hashtag #BlackGirlsAreMagic in 2013 to speak about the
positive achievements of Black women. Since then, the hashtag has spread widely (Thomas,
2015).
140 Carolyn M. West
the antics of Black women, including Basketball Wives, Love and Hip-Hop,
and the Real Housewives of Atlanta (Allison, 2016).
Understanding the role of media representations in the lives of
21st-century Black women is important for several reasons. Accord-
ing to scholars, some stereotypes have been activated so frequently, for
example through media exposure, that these representations can occur
nonconsciously in the mere presence of a stereotyped group member. If an
individual chooses to accept a stereotype, or if he or she simply does not
think about it, then the image can influence the way in which they perceive
and interact with African American women in social situations (Donovan,
2011). I learned this lesson after attending a large professional convention
for psychologists. As I was leaving the hotel restaurant, a White male diner
asked me to show him to a table. He probably had encountered more Black
female servers than Black female university professors, which made it eas-
ier for him to assume that I was a waitress, although my dark blue power
suit and arms filled with books suggested otherwise.
In response to these misrepresentations, some Black women engage in
“shifting,” which is an emotionally taxing psychological process where they
“change or alter various parts of themselves such as their speech or dress,
in order to placate both mainstream society and their own communities
of color” (Johnson, Gamst, Meyers, Arellano-Morales, & Shorter-Gooden,
2016, p. 15). To illustrate, Black women may change the tone of their voice
in the presence of non-Black people to avoid being perceived as aggres-
sive, or they may downplay their academic achievements to avoid being
perceived as threatening to potential male partners.
On the other hand, much like adjusting their posture to live in a crooked
room, when “bombarded with warped images of their humanity, some black
women tilt and bend themselves to fit the distortion” (Harris-Perry, 2011,
p. 29). In other words, the cultural (mis)representations of African American
women are so widespread that individual Black women may embrace them
as authentic characteristics and behaviors that they then enact in their daily
lives. As a result, Black college women who self-identified as nurturing Mam-
mies, or as verbally combative Sapphires, or as promiscuous Jezebels have
reported a variety of psychological challenges, including lower self-esteem
(Thomas, Witherspoon, & Speight, 2004), depression (Donovan & West,
2015), and binge eating disorder (Harrington, Crowther, & Shipherd, 2010).
In my lecture, I discuss how and why the Mammy, Sapphire, and
Jezebel images were created and how they have been replaced by corre-
sponding contemporary images that serve a similar function, including
the Strong Black Woman, the Angry Black Woman, and the Video Vixen.
Specifically, I discuss how the Mammy image can contribute to role strain,
which is the challenge of balancing multiple responsibilities, and concerns
about physical features, including skin color, hair texture, and weight. Next,
I explore how Black women’s expression of anger is shaped by the Sapphire
image. Finally, I discuss how the Jezebel image can influence perceptions
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 141
of Black women’s sexuality and victimization. In a focus group interview,
one Black female graduate student said: “It’s hard to define yourself and
create an image of yourself that is positive and healthy” (Watson, Robinson,
Dispenzas, & Nazari, 2012, p. 466). Therefore, I discuss some ways that
Black women can develop more positive self-images.
Throughout my lecture, I use examples of media representations that
depict Black women in popular culture, including those from television and
film, the music industry, advertising, print, and digital media (Gammage,
2016; Goldman, Ford, Harris, & Howard, 2014). I invite you to become
a more critical consumer of these images (Nicol, 2013). As you read, ask
yourself and your peers questions such as: Do you think that reality televi-
sion performers such as Tiffany Pollard, better known as “New York,” and
her mother “Sister Patterson” are modern-day Jezebels and Sapphires who
reinforce the worst stereotypes about African American women (Campbell,
Giannino, China, & Harris, 2008)? Perhaps you believe that shows that
depict Black women engaging in verbal combat and slugfests are just enter-
tainment (Warner, 2015). Is the Oliva Pope character on Scandal a sexually
liberated Black woman who freely has an affair with the married White
president or is she a modern day Sally Hemmings, the enslaved woman who
bore President Thomas Jefferson’s children (Gammage, 2016)? Is talented
singer Beyoncé a Black feminist icon, particularly after she created the
stunningly visual album Lemonade (Trier-Bieniek, 2016), or is Beyoncé a
“cultural terrorist” who has recycled the Jezebel stereotype2 (hooks, 2016)?
Mammy
The names Mammy and Aunt were both used in Southern antebellum
fiction to describe a role and a person within the plantation household
who served as a baby nurse, cook, and general domestic worker (Parks,
2010). The Mammy image continues to be a common representation of
Black women. Christian (1980) described her temperament and physical
appearance as follows:
black in color as well as race and fat with enormous breasts that are full
enough to nourish all the children in the world; her head is perpetually
covered with her trademark kerchief to hide the kinky hair that marks
her as ugly. Tied to her physical characteristics are her personality
traits: she is strong, for she certainly has enough girth, but this strength
2 To inform your discussion about Beyoncé, see the reading list at #Lemonade http://www.
aaihs.org/lemonade-a-black-feminist-resource-list/ and watch her video Lemonade at https://
www.izlesene.com/video/beyonce-lemonade/9296178. In May 2014, The New School in New
York City hosted a panel discussion that caused quite a stir after author and social activist bell
hooks called Beyoncé a “terrorist.” Watch bell hooks and Janet Mock debate: http://lives-
tream.com/TheNewSchool/Slave/videos/50178872
142 Carolyn M. West
is used in the service to her white master and as a way of keeping her
male counterparts in check; she is kind and loyal, for she is a mother;
she is sexless. (pp. 12–13)
There is little historic evidence to support the existence of a subordinate,
nurturing, self-sacrificing Mammy figure. The reality is that enslaved women
were beaten and overworked. In response, they ran away or helped other
slaves escape, fought back when punished, and, in some cases, poisoned the
slave owners. Therefore, historians and authors rewrote history to create the
image of the loyal, happy Mammy for several reasons. First, if we could believe
that Mammy in Margaret Mitchell’s novel Gone with the Wind (brought to life
by Hattie McDaniel in the movie) was content with her life, we could believe
that slavery was a relatively humane institution and that Black women were
happy with their marginalized status (Harris-Perry, 2011; Parks, 2010).
Of course, the Mammy image did not retire after slavery. Americans
surrounded themselves with this image in the form of commercial products,
such as cookbooks and cookie jars. Similar to the work that they performed
during slavery, and well into the 20th century many Black women were
forced to work as cooks, nursemaids, and washerwomen. The Mammy
image erased the economic and occupational inequalities that Black women
faced in the workplace by popularizing and normalizing the notion that
Black women were naturally suited to be in perpetual servitude. After all,
the domestic items always had a broad, toothy grin, and the actual Black
women who performed these domestic duties were expected to project the
image that they too were equally as happy. Ask your classmates why Mammy
syrup pitchers and similar racist memorabilia have been retired into attics
and garages, but the Quaker Oats Company has refused to retire the smiling
Aunt Jemima icon that has appeared on their breakfast products for more
than a century (see Nicol, 2013, and Pilgrim, 2015, for a discussion).
The portrayal of Black women as asexual, physically undesirable
Mammies also made it easier to deny the frequent sexual assault of enslaved
women. Depicting African American women as kinky haired, coal-black
Mammies who were morbidly obese ensured that they would be at the
very bottom of the beauty hierarchy that valued White-/light-colored skin;
straight, preferably blond hair; and a thin body build. After all, it was rea-
soned (Harris-Perry, 2011), what slave owner would select this monstrous
Black woman as a sexual partner over his White wife who was the epitome
of refinement and beauty?
Role Strain and the Strong Black Woman
The expectation that Black women constantly provide service and
emotional labor, always with a smile, continues to persist in modern times.
In fact, Black women from all walks of life, from corporate professionals to
service workers, complain that coworkers and supervisors ask them to assume
multipurpose caretaker roles as guidance counselors, nannies, and therapists.
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 143
As Beauboeuf-Lafontant (2013) asserted, “mammification invokes the long his-
tory of racialized and gendered comfort imagined in the person of a large, Afri-
can-featured Black woman” (p. 47). For example, in 1998, John Gray, author
of the Mars and Venus series of self-help books, appeared on Oprah Winfrey’s
show. In response to an audience member’s distress, he instructed Ms. Winfrey,
one of the most powerful women in the television, to give the woman a hug.
He went on to say, “Oprah’s going to be your mommy. . . She’s the mother of
America. That’s why she didn’t have time for her own kids. She’s taking care
of all the lost children” (Burrelle’s Transcripts, 1998, p. 8). However, unlike
Oprah, less wealthy mammified Black women may receive verbal praise for
such displays of emotional warmth, but rarely does this recognition result in
monetary rewards or respect in the workplace (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013).
Unlike her Mammy predecessor, the Strong Black Woman (SBW) is
expected to perform constant emotional services to Black community and
family members. Perhaps you know her as
the do-it-all mother, always on-call, raising children, sustaining
households, working both outside and inside the home…She’s the
determined sister who against all odds got that college degree. . .
She’s the girl-friend you bare all with, the one you tell your troubles
to. . . . We’ve been schooled by the stories about her, seen her in
action, witnessed her in our sisters. We’ve named her the “Strong Black
Woman.” (Parks, 2010, p. viii)
A growing Black feminist literature of autobiographical, theoretical, clin-
ical, and empirical studies has consistently shown that African American
women internalize the SBW image (Abrams, Maxwell, Pope, & Belgrave,
2014; Nelson, Cardemil, & Adeoye, 2016). For example, the majority (83%)
of Black college women in one sample perceived themselves as currently, or
in the future, exhibiting the following traits: strong/assertive, independent,
educated, hardworking/ambitious, caring, and self-confident (West, Dono-
van, & Daniel, 2016). Frequent consumption of music videos and Black-
and women-oriented magazines, particularly if Black women perceived the
images to be realistic, has been associated with accepting the notion of the
SBW (Jerald, Ward, Moss, Thomas, & Fletcher, in press).
On one hand, the internalization of strength, up to a point, can provide
some protection against the psychological and physical outcomes of stressful
events and discrimination, including experiences with racism and sexism in
the classroom. For example, Mary, a graduate student in psychology, reported
in a focus group: “Black folks are less intelligent, and women are certainly
unintelligent, so we’re just double stupid” (Scott, 2013, p. 318). In response,
Mary always did her best work in order to challenge these stereotypes.
At the same time, there can be a steep cost, in the form of negative effects
on Black women’s mental health, associated with the constant display of
strength. For example, the internalization of the self-sacrificing Mammy, as
measured by such items as “I feel guilty when I put my own needs before
144 Carolyn M. West
others” and “People often expect me to take care of them,” has been associated
with lower self-esteem (Thomas et al., 2004, p. 433). In addition, stress was
a significant predictor of depressive symptoms among Black women who
reported moderate and high levels of SBW endorsement (Donovan & West,
2015). Furthermore, adhering to the SBW mandate may intensify these
symptoms when Black women are reluctant to seek help, as one Black woman
admitted: “Yes, I noticed that it often causes me to refuse and avoid asking
for help from others . . . thus trapping me in a rut and leaving me frustrated”
(West et al., 2016, p. 402).
To conclude, the SBW is a paradox and a contradiction: “She’s flesh and
blood, myth and fiction, fact and lie” (Parks, 2010, p. ix). As a society, we
must address the economic and social inequalities that leave Black women
so vulnerable to role strain. This means challenging social and political pol-
icies that assume Black women don’t need community or government sup-
port in the form of social services, such as child support, daycare centers,
and financial support for education (Harris-Perry, 2011). It is interesting
that a correlation between stress and depression was not found for Black
women who did not strive to fulfill the SBW role (Donovan & West, 2015).
As individuals, Black women must learn to seek and accept social support,
nurture themselves as well as they nurture others, and set boundaries by
refusing unreasonable requests. They must give themselves permission to
move from superhuman to merely human, which will allow them simulta-
neously to express their vulnerability and celebrate their resilience.
Body Image
Portrayals of Mammy with a very dark skin tone, kinky hair, and obesity—
all physical features that contrast with European beauty standards—suggest
that Black women are at the very bottom of the beauty hierarchy. The belief
that Black women, in general, are physically unattractive persists. Psychology
Today blogger, Satoshi Kanazawa (2011), an evolutionary psychologist, created
a firestorm in the media after he published a blogpost in which he claimed that
“black women are far less attractive than white, Asian, and Native American
women.” He further speculated that Black women’s higher rates of obesity and
masculinized appearance contribute to their unattractiveness:
The only thing I can think of that might potentially explain the
lower average level of physical attractiveness among black women is
testosterone . . . women with higher levels of testosterone also have
more masculine features and are therefore less physically attractive.
Although the blogpost was taken down and an apology was issued, Black
women continue to be bombarded by media images in the form of “male
mammies” such as Madea in Tyler Perry’s films, Rasputia in Eddie Murphy’s
Norbit, and Martin Lawrence’s Big Momma. In one study, Black women said
that these grossly overweight characters desexualized and demeaned actual
Black women (Chen, Williams, Hendrickson, & Chen, 2012).
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 145
Some Black women struggle with reconciling their beauty with that of
mainstream standards, especially concerning weight and body image, skin
tone, and hair texture (Awad et al., 2015). The internalization of media
images that feature a thin body type, lighter skin tone, and long or straight
hair has been associated with greater body dissatisfaction (Capodilupo,
2015; Watson, Livingston, Cliette, & Eaton, 2015). Below, I discuss some of
these challenges and ways that Black women have redefined beauty images.
Weight and Obesity. It may appear to the casual observer that the
happy Mammy image is consistent with reality. A disproportionate number
of African American women are considered to be overweight, and 35% are
diagnosed as obese (body mass index of 30 or above) (Beauboeuf-Lafont-
ant, 2013). Despite their heavier weight, in comparison to White women,
African American women reported a more positive body image and were
less likely to engage in unhealthy dieting and restrictive eating practices.
In fact, many young Black women celebrate their curves and express pride
in being described as thick or healthy. The acceptance of larger body sizes
in the Black community and a rejection of White beauty standards may
explain these results (Quick & Bryd-Bredbenner, 2014).
Yet, the cheerful Mammy image can also mask the reality of weight
concerns in the lives of real Black women. Too often they are overweight
because they live in disadvantaged residential areas, with an overabun-
dance of fast-food restaurants and a limited number of full-service gro-
cery stores that stock affordable, healthy foods, such as fresh fruits and
vegetables. Moreover, these communities may lack recreational facilities
and green spaces to exercise, and if available, they may not be safe places
to play or exercise. Black women’s sometimes heavy weight places them
at elevated risk for a variety of chronic and debilitating conditions, such
as hypertension, heart disease, and diabetes (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013).
For other African American women, including those with economic
resources, “overeating is the outward expression of emotional states that
have no direct mode of expression” (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013, p. 44). In
other words, it is a way to manage stress, depression, and anxiety. Consider
Kira’s experience using food as a coping strategy:
I feel like food is the easiest thing to get to, you know. . . . Let’s say I’m
having trouble, problems with people in general. Like, I go to work,
I go to school, every day, and people are always interrogating me or
whatever. And it’s like, “Well, right now, food will solve the problem.
It’ll satisfy me.” (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013, p. 45)
Moreover, some Black women, particularly those who have internalized an
idealized form of the Strong Black Woman image, use food to self-medicate
and suppress the emotional pain that is associated with previous physical
and sexual trauma (Harrington et al., 2010). Other Black women binge eat,
which results in weight gain, because they hope to prevent future sexual
146 Carolyn M. West
harassment and assault. In a focus group, one Black woman reported:
“As I have aged, I realized that one of the things that I do to not have
that unwelcome comment or objectification is to gain weight and to make
yourself unattractive” (Watson et al., 2012, p. 467).
Black women also may receive mixed messages about their body size
and shape. On one hand, they absorb the message from the mainstream
media that a thin body type is most desirable and that they should diet or
exercise to fit this beauty standard. At the same time, some thinner Black
women perceived themselves to be less attractive because they lacked the
curves that define the “typical” Black woman’s body. Barbara, a 22-year-
old undergraduate shared her experience: “There was this one girl . . . she
couldn’t understand why I wasn’t as large as ‘regular’ Black women because
my hips aren’t large and my butt isn’t big and she’s like, ‘I don’t under-
stand, ’cause you’re Black’” (Lewis, Mendenhall, Harwood, & Huntt, 2016,
p. 772). Paradoxically, some Black women strive for a slim-thick body with
a thinner waist with medium-size breasts and large buttocks.
Skin Color. The term colorism refers to a discriminatory economic
and social system that values lighter over darker skin tones and has deep
historical roots. During slavery, Blacks with lighter skin, often the offspring
of White slave owners, were sometimes given more education, less stren-
uous physical labor, and better housing. These privileges continued after
emancipation. In the early 1900s, consistent with the color discrimination
that was perpetuated in the larger society, some Black community mem-
bers used European physical features to determine admission to schools,
churches, and social organizations. During the 1960s and early 1970s, the
“Black is Beautiful” movement was at its height and celebrated African
physical features, such as natural hairstyles and dark skin. In contemporary
times, however, “old forms of colorism have been replaced with more subtle
manifestations appearing through casual name-calling, subtle comments,
and carefully hidden stereotypes” (Wilder, 2015b, p. 203). Beyond race,
social class, and gender, in the midst of the 21st century, skin color still plays
an integral role in shaping the life experiences of young Black women. For
example, derogatory words are used to describe dark skin, such as burnt,
charcoal, and tar baby. This negative connotation can be internalized. One
self-described brown woman explained her bathing ritual: “As a little girl I
would get really dark in the summer and I would come home and scrub my
skin when I was in the shower, so I could get my brown color back” (Wilder,
2015b, p. 201). As they grew into adolescence, those darker in complexion
quickly learned that society and even members of their own community
perceived them to be loud, intimidating, and suspicious (Wilder, 2015b).
Media representations, for example in the form of rap music videos, may
convey unfavorable messages about dark-skinned women or even exclude
them (Maxwell, Abrams, & Belgrave, in press). The internalization of this
message can leave some Black women with the belief that they are unwor-
thy of happy, healthy relationships with an intimate partner. Yet, despite
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 147
these challenges, with the support of a strong family support network and
a positive racial identity, darker skinned Black women can develop a strong
sense of self-esteem and comfort with their beauty (Wilder & Cain, 2011).
Light-skinned Black women appear to enjoy more social privileges, and
many of them are aware of color preferences in job settings. One Black under-
graduate noted: “If I go into an interview and there is a dark-skinned girl next
to me, I feel as though I have a better chance than her just because I have a
lighter skin complexion” (Wilder, 2015b, p. 199). As for dating relationships,
lighter skinned Black women are believed to be more physically attractive
and to possess positive personality traits (Stephens & Thomas, 2012). At the
same time, they may be highly sexualized or find themselves wondering if
partners are more attracted to their physical appearance than to their person-
alities. Because of these perceived privileges, lighter skinned Black women
may be accused of conceit and arrogance. Sharelle, an 18-year-old who
identified her skin tone as light brown, openly discussed her frustration with
being stereotyped as a snob: “I don’t think I’m stuck up, but people say that I
am, and I just think it’s because of my complexion” (Wilder, 2015b, p. 193).
Despite these challenges, many light-skinned Black women develop a sense
of pride and a healthy racial identity (Wilder, 2015a).
Hair Texture. Hair texture plays a critical role in how African Amer-
ican women view themselves and others. Recall that Mammy and Aunt
Jemima always had their hair covered in a bandana or head rag. Kinky
hair, which was referred to as “wool” during the slave era, was perceived
to be dirty, unkempt, and unattractive (Ellis-Hervey, Doss, Davis, Nicks, &
Araiza, 2016). Even today, Black women are publically shamed because of
the appearance of their hair. On the April 4, 2007, edition of MSNBC’s Imus
in the Morning, host Don Imus3 referred to the Rutgers University wom-
en’s basketball team, which was comprised of eight African American and
two White players, as “nappy-headed hos” (Nicol, 2013). It is especially
painful when this public hair shaming is perpetrated by members of the
African American community. For example, Gabby Douglas received some
very hurtful comments via social media about her hair as she competed
in the Olympic Games (Buckner, 2016). Today, African American women
can choose to wear their hair in a variety of styles, including weaves, wigs,
dreads, chemically processed, or nonchemically processed (often referred
to as “natural hair”) (Ellis-Hervey et al., 2016). Still, Black women who
wear natural hairstyles may be perceived as “militant” or “angry.” In other
cases, they are perceived to be more creative: “Now . . . because my hair is
natural all of a sudden I can sing, I do poetry (laughter) like there are all
of these things that are assigned to me because I have natural hair” (Awad
et al., 2015, p. 549). Although their level of self-esteem does not vary based
3 On April 4, 2007, Don Imus commented negatively on the Rutgers University women’s basket-
ball team, which was comprised of eight African American and two White players. Watch these
comments at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmF8iIeOVEo
148 Carolyn M. West
on hairstyle choice, African American women with natural hair seem to be
less concerned about the perceptions of others and less inclined to embrace
European beauty standards (Ellis-Hervey et al., 2016).
However, for other Black woman, altering their natural hair, with a
straightening comb or chemical relaxer, is a “rite of passage” that begins at an
early age and continues into adulthood. In addition to conforming to beauty
standards, straighter hair seems to be an unspoken requirement for entering
some social groups and business networks. Cindy, a 23-year-old Black grad-
uate student cut her dreadlocks and her advisor remarked: “I love your new
hairstyle; you look so professional.” The student experienced this comment
as a microagression because it implied that her natural hair was somehow
“unprofessional” (Lewis et al., 2016, p. 771). A tremendous amount of time
and money is spent on transforming Black women’s hair. For example, one
Black college student admitted that “I had to take out an emergency loan so I
could buy weave” (Awad et al., 2015, p. 546). Some Black women chose their
hair over their health. The extra time and money spent to restyle their hair
after exercise made some Black women avoid physical exertion, which led to
weight gain (Huebschmann, Campbell, Brown, & Dunn, 2016).
To conclude, as one Black graduate student said in a focus group about
beauty images, “having to compete with those images can be really exhaust-
ing sometimes” (Watson et al., 2012, p. 465). There are several things that
could help Black women with struggles regarding beauty ideals and body
image. For example, we can challenge ourselves and others when wavy
or straight hair is referred to as “good” and curly or kinky hair is referred
to as “bad” (Ellis-Hervey et al., 2016). Second, nutrition campaigns can
consider how trauma, depression, stress, as well as adherence to the SBW
stereotype, contribute to Black women’s health challenges and weight gain
(Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013). Third, families (Wilder & Cain, 2011) and
universities (Gasman & Abiola, 2016) can be places of healing and learn-
ing about color consciousness. For example, documentaries such as Dark
Girls (Berry, Berry, & Duke, 2011), Light Girls (Duke, 2015), and Good Hair
(Rock, 2010) examine Black women’s body image in ways that college stu-
dents may find especially engaging. It is worth noting that Black women
who have a positive racial identity remain satisfied with their body image,
even when exposed to media images (Zhang, Dixon, & Conrad, 2009). Per-
haps Grace, a Black graduate student, put it best: “As long as I perceive
myself as beautiful then, I really don’t have any issue with the media’s defi-
nition of beautiful” (Awad et al., 2015, p. 560).
Sapphire
The Amos ’n Andy show created the character Sapphire Stevens, which
was played by Ernestine Wade as a domineering, aggressive, and emasculating
shrew who drew laughs for berating King Fish, her lazy, get-rich-quick,
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 149
con-artist husband. It began as a radio show, and the television version, with
its all-Black cast, aired on CBS from 1951 to 1953. Civil rights organizations
complained that the show depicted African Americans as buffoons, and it was
eventually removed from the broadcast schedule (for a historical overview
see Pilgrim, 2015).
In addition to humorous depictions, contemporary Sapphires are
represented as Angry Black Women (ABW) or Sistas with Attitude. In fact,
this portrayal permeates our culture. For example, there are websites where
you can buy Angry Black Bitch cups, shirts, pillows, aprons, mouse pads, and
even teddy bears (Pilgrim, 2015). All too often, reality television shows fea-
ture Black women who are drama-prone, overbearing, aggressive, and even
hyperviolent. For example, VH1’s Love and Hip-Hop based in Atlanta, New
York, and Hollywood has filmed fight scenes among Black female cast mem-
bers. Viewers are invited to tune in for “drama with explosive words, both
on and off stage” or “explosive confrontations” (Gammage, 2016, p. 80).
Even educated Black women are shown as rampaging ABW. Bravo’s reality
television show Married to Medicine, with two board-certified medical doc-
tors, had an episode where cast members, Toya and Mariah, were filmed
fighting at a gala. Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth, who was a participant on
the first season of Donald Trump’s television show The Apprentice, was the
archetypal ABW. She shouted, lied, and undermined the other contestants,
which earned her contempt and a place on TV Guide’s 2013 list of the 60
Nastiest Villains List of All Times (Allison, 2016; Gammage, 2016).
The Sapphire/ABW image serves several purposes. According to Pil-
grim (2015) “it is a social control mechanism that is employed to punish
black women who violate the societal norms that encourage them to be pas-
sive, servile, nonthreatening, and unseen” (p. 121). In other words, because
their passion and righteous indignation is often misread as irrational anger,
this image can be used to silence and shame Black women who dare to chal-
lenge social inequalities, complain about their circumstances, or demand
fair treatment (Harris-Perry, 2011).
Because this image is so pervasive, it has become a template for por-
traying almost all Black women. In fact, White college students rated Black
women as loud, tough, strong, less sensitive, and uneducated; Donovan
(2011) concluded that “when emotional is paired with loud and tough, as
with the Black female target, it suggests a hostile, domineering nature that
is out of control and threatening—unfavorable traits for women” (p. 464).
When skin color was considered, darker skinned Black women were more
often perceived as ghetto, loud, and aggressive (Wilder, 2015b).
Escalating levels of violence have been used against Black women when
authority figures perceive them as noncompliant or angry. For example, in
Prairie View, Texas, a police officer threw Sandra Bland to the ground and
threatened to “light her up” with a Taser. What was Sandra’s crime? She
was pulled over and arrested for failure to signal a lane change. Sandra
later hanged herself in a jail cell, although her family contested whether
150 Carolyn M. West
this was really the case. In Columbia, South Carolina, a school resource
officer wrapped his arm around a Black girl’s neck; he tried to pull her from
her desk, which flipped over backward, and she was thrown across the
floor. She sustained a carpet burn on her forehead and her neck, and her
back and shoulder were swollen. What was Shakara’s crime? The recently
orphaned teenager was arrested for disturbing class, although she never
uttered a word, because she refused to put her cell phone away. Both cases
were captured on videotape.4 Despite the disproportionate violence used by
these officers and the injuries sustained by Sandra and Shakara, viewers of
the videos inferred that the victims were belligerent and dangerous. Conse-
quently, the violence against these unarmed Black women was deemed to
be justifiable (Love, 2016).
It is frustrating for African American women to realize that “you cannot
behave your way out of racial terror” (Love, 2016). Yet, they often censor
themselves to avoid perpetuating the ABW stereotype. For example, some
Black women monitor their communication styles, including nonverbal
behavior, to avoid being threatening to their White colleagues or others in
positions of authority (Lewis et al., 2016). One woman reported: “I’m learn-
ing not to do certain behaviors, such as resting my hands on my hip or roll
my eyes when in certain environments” (Scott, 2013, p. 320).
Other Black women silence their voices. Nancy, a 31-year-old graduate
student said: “I always have this stigma of this angry Black woman and so, I
have to kinda tone down my passion for whatever it might be” (Lewis et al.,
2016, p. 769). Meanwhile, Cathy reported in a focus group: “When someone
offends me I have to bite my tongue, let it sink in, so I won’t speak off the emo-
tion of the moment” (Scott, 2013, p. 321). At the risk of gaining weight, other
Black women overeat to manage their anger. Macy, a college student, reported
that eating lets her “shut up for a second,” which helps to avoid a verbal explo-
sion. The alternative: “You would just start telling people off and wouldn’t care
if you hurt anybody’s feelings” (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2013, 46). Attempting
to balance the expression of anger and assertiveness can leave Black women
in a double bind: “I feel weak as a Black woman if I get angry in class. I’m like,
‘How could you let them get to you?’ But then when I don’t say anything, I feel
I’m weak. It’s like a losing battle” (Scott, 2013, p. 321).
In contrast, other African American women see the ABW as central to
their identity. For example, in a focus group, Deborah proclaimed: “I am loud,
pushy, controlling, stand-offish and I am a loner. And that is how other people
see me too” (Harris-Perry, 2011, p. 90). However, endorsing the Sapphire
image, as measured by items including “Black women are usually angry with
others” and “People respond to me more if I am loud and angry,” has been
associated with lower self-esteem (Thomas et al., 2004, p. 433). Because
4 Watch the Sandra Bland police dash cam video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-
jpSEemvwOn4 and the cell-phone video of Shakara at https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=qBSrccdaqXo. Please note that these videos can be disturbing.
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 151
“sistas with attitude don’t cry, don’t break, don’t need (or ask for) help, don’t
need a man, don’t need a friend” (Boylorn, 2008, p. 425), Black women who
embrace this stereotype are less likely to receive assistance and support.
To conclude, perhaps we should recognize that Black women have
complex reactions to the media representations of the ABW. On one hand,
Black college women who are frequent consumers of music videos, movies,
and Black- and women-oriented magazines, particularly if they perceive
these images to be realistic, have been found to be more accepting of the
notion that Black women are angry or sassy Sapphires (Jerald et al., in
press). On the other hand, research has shown that young Black women can
grasp the nuances and complexity of the racist and sexist workings of real-
ity television shows such as Love and Hip-Hop NY. More important, viewers
rejected this behavior for their own lives (Edwards, 2016).
Perhaps, we should strive to accept our mixed feelings when we watch
these Sapphires and ABW. As Boylorn (2008) admitted, “I feel conflicted
because I find myself embracing some images and rejecting others while
finding a piece of myself (the good and not-so-good parts of me)” (p. 419).
Maybe some viewers can find freedom and fun in the antics of their favorite
characters. Warner (2015) asserted that “to witness the behavior of these
reality TV characters without the lens of respectability—unconcerned with
what ‘they’ will think of if ‘we’ show out—is a liberatory act for black female
audiences” (p. 141).
Away from the televised mayhem, I think that we need to show greater
compassion for Black women who carry anger. Projecting this hardened
persona may be a type of self-protection. The constant threat of racism and
mis treatment can create a hyperarousal to danger, which in turn gets perceived
as anger or aggression (Ashley, 2014). In addition, Black women can be encour-
aged to write about and express their justifiable anger at societal injustices
(Griffin, 2012). Contemporary Black women, like their historical counterparts,
have strategically used anger to benefit themselves and their communities. For
example, students can use their righteous anger to protest the extrajudicial
killings and assaults of unarmed African American men and women.
Jezebel
In 1619, the first ship loaded with enslaved Africans arrived in James-
town, Virginia. Upon arrival, enslaved women were placed on the auction
block, stripped naked, and examined to determine their reproductive
capacity. Once sold, they were coerced, bribed, induced, seduced, ordered,
and, of course, violently forced to have sexual relations with slaveholders,
their sons, other male relatives, and overseers. Sexual ter rorism did not
end with slavery. During nighttime raids, vigilante groups such as the Ku
Klux Klan, whipped African Americans, destroyed their property, and sav-
agely raped Black women. The Jezebel image, which has been embraced
152 Carolyn M. West
by the larger culture for more than 500 years, supports the belief that
Black women’s innate hypersexuality made them “unrapeable” and under-
serving of protection and sympathy (for a historical overview see West &
Johnson, 2013).
With advances in technology and increased access to various forms of
social media, young women are bombarded with these sexualized images at
an accelerated rate (Brown, White-Johnson, & Griffin-Fennell, 2013). Per-
haps you know the modern Jezebel as the hyperfertile Black baby momma
on daytime television talk shows. On The Maury Povich Show, she is seeking
a paternity test from 10 potential “baby daddies” and hoping to hear: “You
are the father!” On reality television she is the “freak” Chardonnay, dressed
in a string bikini and high heels, who turned herself into a “human sundae”
by putting ice cream on her body to compete on the show For the Love of
Ray-J (Coleman, Butler, Long, & Fisher, in press). Tiffany Pollard (known
as “New York”) has been described as the “perfect Jezebel for the 21st cen-
tury.” She flaunts her surgically enhanced breasts to the viewing audience
as 20 eager-to-please men compete for her attention on her reality dating
show I Love New York (Campbell et al., 2008, p. 23).
The most sexualized images of the modern Jezebel can be found in
hip-hop culture and music videos (for a review see Ward, Rivadeneyra,
Thomas, Day, & Epstein, 2013). In the late 1990s, overtly sexualized, but
one-dimensional rap artists, such as Lil’ Kim and Foxxy Brown were popular.
By 2011, Nicki Minaj was the undisputed queen of the sexy, female hip-hop
emcees (Harris-Perry, 2011). She is also personified as the “gold digger”
or the “video hoe,” a woman who uses her sexuality to obtain success in
the entertainment industry. Do you remember Karrine “Superhead” Steffans
(2005), the self-described “video vixen” who profited from her intimate
sexual knowledge of Black male entertainers with her book and speaking
tour? She and other video models are staged, or in some cases, position
themselves, in ways that emphasize and fetishize their large buttocks.5
Because Black women have been reduced to their butts, historically
and in the media, they are frequently the targets of harassment, sexual
assault, degrading comments, and general sexual objectification (Watson
et al., 2012). For example, Olivia, a 24-year old Black graduate student,
revealed that a White man had approached her in a bar, used a slur for pro-
miscuous woman, and began singing the lyrics to the song “Shake it Fast”
by Mystical: “Yeah, shake that ass, you big booty hoe.” She was offended
because this explicit rap song encouraged women to shake their buttocks in
front of men for money (Lewis, et al., 2016, p. 769).
5 Focusing on Black women’s buttocks is not new. Sarah Bartman, the so-called Hottentot Venus,
was exhibited, with an emphasis on her large buttocks, at fashionable parties in Paris and
London in the early 1800s. Upon her death, her skeleton and genitalia were preserved at a
national history museum in France before she was finally laid to rest in South Africa in 2002
(Harris-Perry, 2011).
8 ■ Mammy, Sapphire, Jezebel, and the Bad Girls 153
There are a variety of harmful effects associated with exposure to these
forms of sexual violence. Some women become fearful or develop anxiety;
whereas, others have difficulty setting boundaries and demanding healthy
relationships with their partners. When internalized in the form of shame and
self-blame, “rather than blame their objectifiers and place their experiences
within a sociocultural context, some African American women may have
internalized oppressive ideology, and thereby believe that they have caused
such events to happen” (Watson et al., 2012; p. 467). Endorsing the beliefs
that Black women are sex objects and that men are driven by sex was related
to higher levels of self-blame and lower levels of self-esteem among young
Black women who are survivors of sexual coercion (French & Neville, 2013).
In order to combat the Jezebel image, similar to early 19th-century Afri-
can American women activists, such as Ida B. Wells, some Black women today
seek to redefine this stereotype through projecting modesty and respecta-
bility. For example, one Black undergraduate explained: “I arrive to class
early . . . looking professional not what they think or perceive us to look like,
tight shirts, booty shorts, whatever” (Scott, 2013, p. 320). Despite their best
efforts to appear well mannered and appropriately dressed, the sexualized
Jezebel image is still projected onto Black women (Donovan, 2011).
Unable to completely escape the Jezebel image, an increasing number of
Black women are embracing the hypersexual Jezebel, particularly if they are
frequent media consumers who believe that these are accurate representa-
tions (Jerald et al., in press). Also, endorsement of this image was more pro-
nounced among younger Black women, especially if they had a lower edu-
cational status and lower self-esteem (Brown et al., 2013). However, there’s
a problem, I believe, with the internalization of the Jezebel image: It may
lead some Black women to believe that their sexuality is a major source of
self-esteem and the only valuable resource that they have to barter for mate-
rial goods, such as cars and money. Further, Black women’s endorsement of
this image has been associated with engaging in risky sexual behaviors, such
as more casual sexual partners in the past year, the belief that having sex
without protection would strengthen their relationships, and a willingness
to trade sex for money or drugs (Duvall et al., 2013). Equally as concern-
ing, Black adolescent girls who endorse the Jezebel image are more likely
to minimize the danger that is associated with their risky sexual behavior
(Townsend, Thomas, Neilands, & Jackson, 2010).
To close, African American women today, as in historical times, are remark-
ably resilient when faced with sexual violence and sexual objectification. They
have sought emotional and social support, used their spirituality to cope, and
even physically and verbally resisted their attackers (Watson et al., 2012; West
& Robinson, 2013). In my case, I unleashed my inner Sapphire/ABW and began
writing about and protesting against sexual violence after I successfully filed a
sexual harassment complaint as a graduate student (West, 2010).
Ultimately, Black women must strive to create a healthy sexuality in
a society that depicts them as oversexed and unrapeable, an image that is
154 Carolyn M. West
now broadcast around the world 24 hours a day in music videos and other
forms of media. Young Black women, particularly those who are educated
and have a strong sense of racial pride, are uniquely positioned to understand
the oppressive nature of these gendered, racialized images. Along with other
forms of activism, they can conduct media literacy training for their commu-
nities (Brown et al., 2013). In addition, Black women can create comprehen-
sive sex education that promotes positive, healthy sexual expression.
Conclusion
In my lecture, I discussed why the Mammy, Sapphire, and Jezebel
images were created, why they persist, and how they are reflected in con-
temporary images of, among others, the Strong Black Woman, the Angry
Black Woman, and the Video Vixen. Although there is a heavy physical and
psychological toll associated with coexisting with such images, I hope you
have come to appreciate Black women’s remarkable resilience. Please con-
sider learning more about how these images have influenced your own life.
For example, take the Stereotypical Roles for Black Women Scale (Thomas
et al., 2004) or African American Women’s Shifting Scale (Johnson et al.,
2016). Then, demand representations that depict the diversity among Black
women that are not connected to these historical or demeaning stereotypes.
If you can’t find them, get to work creating your own images and broadcast
them through social media. With assistance from their allies, Black women
can develop the capacity to imagine themselves as something more than
these distorted media representations. Then, they can begin to change the
structures that have created and maintain these images.
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SUGGESTED READINGS
Allison, D. C. (2016). Black women’s portrayals on reality television: The new Sapphire.
Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.
Gammage, M. M. (2016). Representations of Black women in the media: The
damnation of Black womanhood. New York: Routledge.
Goldman, A. Y., Ford, V. S., Harris, A. A., & Howard, N. R. (Eds.). (2014). Black
women and popular culture: The conversation continues. Lanham, MD: Lexington
Books.
