Blog Post #2: Problems

One problem that has consistently impacted my life on campus, online, and in how I see the media is how whiteness and colorism shape the way Black women are perceived. As someone who has been labeled “whitewashed” doesn’t come from just anywhere. It’s tied to a much bigger system that decides which versions of Blackness are seen as “less black” because of hobbies or even just personality traits. One that has been told they are “whitewashed” would also most likely be categorized by being softer, well spoken, desirable, reserved, or even safe. Yet on the other hand black women who “act black” are seen as maternal, aggressive, loud, or ghetto. This toxic bias is something that’s reinforced constantly through culture, media, and social interactions.

Colorism plays a major role in this. This can also be seen in movies and T.V shows today. Lighter skin, looser hair textures, and proximity to whiteness are often treated as more “acceptable” or attractive, while darker-skinned Black women are more likely to be pushed into limiting roles. Research and cultural criticism have long shown that colorism affects everything from casting decisions to romantic desirability in media. These patterns don’t stay on screen. They follow viewers into real life and shape expectations of how Black women are supposed to exist.

A clear example of this shows up in how audiences responded to the film Sinners. In discussions online, many viewers instinctively read Annie (a darker-skinned Black woman played by Wunmi Mosaku) as a maternal or caretaker figure, often associating her more with Smoke’s mother despite being his love interest. Meanwhile, Mary, played by Hailee Steinfeld, was more quickly framed as a romantic interest. What’s striking is that this reaction often had less to do with the characters’ actual actions and more to do with how audiences expected them to function based on appearance. The darker-skinned Black woman is read as nurturing and motherly while the white passing woman is seen as seductive and romantic. This reflects a long-standing Hollywood pattern where Black women are desexualized or assigned emotional labor roles rather than love stories 

Another recent example that made these patterns painfully obvious was the backlash surrounding the casting of Francesca Amewudah-Rivers as Juliet in Romeo and Juliet with Tom Holland. Instead of the focus being on her performance or interpretation of the role, much of the conversation online turned hostile. She received intense racist abuse, much of it centered on the idea that a Black woman, especially a dark-skinned Black woman, was “unbelievable” or “unacceptable” as a romantic lead. The outrage wasn’t really about Shakespeare or historical accuracy; it was about who audiences are willing to see as worthy of love. 

What’s especially telling is that this reaction wasn’t new. Black women have historically been excluded from romantic narratives, particularly in prestigious or “classical” settings. When they are cast, the backlash often reveals deeply ingrained assumptions about beauty and race. Francesca Amewudah-Rivers wasn’t criticized for her acting, but for her existence in a role that many people subconsciously reserve for whiteness. This helps explain why Black women who express softness, vulnerability, or romance are so often labeled “whitewashed.” Traits associated with love and delicacy are still treated as belonging more naturally to whiteness. As a result, Black women are denied softness even in fictional spaces where imagination should allow for anything.