Silky, long hair automatically inspires a cluster of preoccupied gestures that are considered sublimely feminine because they are sensuously self involved: an absent-minded twisting of a stray curl, the freeing of loose ends that get caught under a coat collar, a dramatic toss of the entire mane, a brushing aside of the tendrils that fall so fetchingly across the forehead and into the eyes.

I grew up believing that grease grew hair and if I could just find the magic brand I'd be Rapunzel's twin sister.

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When we were on tour promoting our first book, The Color Complex, we made some startling discoveries about each other's cosmetic practices and beauty concerns. The revelations began on a cold February night, in an overheated motel room in Omaha, when Kathy asked Midge whether she had any skin lotion she could use. As Kathy rubbed some of the lotion into her skin, she casually commented, "White women are so lucky their skin doesn't ash in winter." "What do you mean?" asked Midge. She raised her pants leg to show Kathy her own dry, chapped skin, and Kathy leaned back in surprise. "It never occurred to me that White women's skin could get like that." Nor did it occur to Midge that dry skin was a problem for African American women. She simply assumed that all Black women had skin as smooth and glistening as that of African American models.

As the tour continued, Midge was surprised to learn that Kathy could go up to a week without washing her hair. Midge watched curiously as Kathy wrapped her processed hair in a scarf every night. To Midge, it seemed a real time-saver, especially in the morning. Kathy, on the other hand, believed it was easier to have short, straight hair like Midge's, but she had never before seen how much time it took to wash and blow-dry even short hair every morning. At times, even their choice of what to wear for a particular occasion seemed shaped by different cultural norms. The more Kathy and Midge observed each other preparing to face the world every day, the more they realized how dissimilar were the private cosmetic practices of Black women and White women.

Shared concerns over beauty and style both unite Black women and White women-if only because they commonly live in a society that defines and even restricts them according to their looks-and divide them. Most White women and Black women, of course, look very different. Without some understanding of the historical, cultural, and social forces that shape and influence each other's beauty and fashion choices, women are at risk of alienating one another, passing unfair criticism, and judging one another on the basis of stereotypes. These judgments are further confounded by race and class, thus giving appearance a political charge, as well. Issues of beauty and style undermine women's interracial relationships in ways that never apply to men and their cross-race relations. As poet and feminist Adrienne Rich once observed, "Black women and white move as myths through each other's fantasies," myths that include perverse ideas of beauty created by White society at large.

Skin Color

Within this mythology, the most obvious physical difference between women of European descent and women of African descent is skin color. Throughout history, the relative lightness and darkness of skin color has affected the status of women of both races. Until this century, women with lighter skin tones were generally more revered in terms of status and beauty. This was true even in regions of Africa and South America, where indigenous populations are fairly dark-skinned. The preference for lighterskinned women was strongest in agricultural societies, though. Daughters of the wealthiest families were typically spared from doing outdoor labor. Their skin, being shielded from the sun, was therefore paler; the skin of poor women who worked the fields was darkened by the sun. In that way, the relative lightness and darkness of a woman's skin came to play directly into perceptions of her wealth, class, and marriageability. Eventually, light skin also came to be associated with femininity, youth, and even virginity.

In America, too, White women with the palest, creamiest skin were usually praised as the most beautiful. It was not until the arrival of the jet age, when only the well-to-do could afford to travel to sunny climes in winter, that the desirability of pale skin began to lessen. The glow of a healthy tan, especially during the winter months, came to symbolize wealth and luxury-the luxury of having nothing better to do all day than lie about in the hot sun. Concurrently, less privileged women left the farms to work indoors in factories, offices, and the homes of others, and they began to look pale, even in summer. The result was a 180-degree shift in attitude. Pale skin became undesirable, something to avoid. And while dark tans are currently undergoing re-evaluation by health-conscious White Americans, most Whites in this country still associate "having some color" in their skin as a plus. After a day in the sun, a young White girl is often affectionately told that she looks "as brown as a berry." In contrast, a young Black girl who spends too much time in the sun may hear, "You're as black as a skillet."

To understand why such cultural differences exist in this country it is necessary to return to the antebellum South. As we more fully discussed in The Color Complex, the origins of colorism can be traced to that era. On the large plantations, slave owners accepted what is called the "mulatto hypothesis"-that an infusion of White blood would lift Negroes out of their base inferiority. As a result, they began selecting lighter-skinned female slaves, some of whom were their own offspring, for the high-status household jobs of nanny, cook, and seamstress. Owners further believed that slaves with darker skin were stronger and better suited to tolerate the hot sun, so those who were racially pure were sent to the fields to perform the most physically demanding jobs, such as plowing, planting, and harvesting. In essence, White slave holders equated lighter skin with intelligence and darker skin with strength, and their attitudes became adopted by the slaves themselves. Light-skinned slaves, returning from the "big house," started to imitate the genteel ways of the White families, believing themselves superior to their dark brothers and sisters.

Light-skinned slave women were particularly valued for their exotic beauty, in part because of the high prices they could command when sold. White owners and traffickers began specifically to breed "quadroon" (one fourth Black) and "octoroon" (one-eighth Black) slave women as concubines to be auctioned off at special balls held in New Orleans and other cities throughout the South. Although they were still slaves, these women were valued because of their lighter skin and mix of Caucasian features.

Light-skinned Negroes, both men and women, had other advantages as well. Before Emancipation, many light-skinned Negroes lived free. When the Civil War ended, the mulatto elite, as they called themselves, sought to maintain their status by doing business only with each other and establishing preparatory schools and colleges that denied admission to applicants who were dark. They even restricted their marital choices to those who were light-skinned; the goal was always to lighten the line, never darken it.

But it was African American women who were the most negatively affected by the preoccupation with skin color. It was much harder for them than for Black men to improve their social standing, unless they were born into the mulatto elite. A Black man, no matter how dark his skin, could find a way to earn money and improve his lot in life. He could also marry someone much lighter than himself, thereby "improving" the skin color of his offspring. But no such opportunities existed for women. A woman's social worth was determined solely by her marriageability, and if she was very dark, her prospects were poor. In a society controlled and dominated by White men, dark-skinned Black women found themselves at the bottom of a cruel color caste hierarchy.

To deal with this, many dark-skinned Black women did what women everywhere have done-they attempted to change their looks. In their efforts to become lighter, nineteenth-century Negro women rubbed lye and other acidic products, used to remove dirt from floors, directly on their skin. Homemade blends of lemon Juice, bleach, and urine were smeared on faces and limbs; some women swallowed arsenic wafers, and others took bleach baths, all in the pursuit of making their dark skin turn light.

Fortunately, within today's African American community, negative attitude toward dark-skinned women have lessened. Following the Black Pride Movement of the sixties, women of all shades began to be appreciated for their ethnic beauty. However, it would be misleading to conclude that the chant of "Black is Beautiful" completely eliminated the long-standing preference even in the African American community for lighter-skinned women. Recent surveys indicate that a majority of African American men prefer to marry a woman as light as, or lighter than, themselves. This is particularly true among those who are successful. One look at the wives and girlfriends of the most powerful Black men in this country, be they politicians, businessmen, athletes, or entertainers, confirms that lighterskinned Black women or, in some cases, White women are preferred.

Culturally based differences in the value of light or dark skin color is a potential source of conflict for Black and White women, particularly when it comes to getting a tan. White women, ignorant of their skin color privilege, may unknowingly insult a brown-skinned African American woman by saying something like "You're lucky. You never have to worry about getting a tan." Of course, many African American women are quick to dismiss White women's reasons for wanting to stay out in the sun all summer, and especially for paying to go to tanning salons in winter. Ironically, if the two groups of women were better informed of each other's beauty issues, they would realize that their seemingly contradictory attitudes about tan skin were actually driven by the same underlying concern: improved social status.

Another beauty issue related to social status is that of dry skin. As Kathy and Midge discovered, Black and White women alike suffer from dry skin in winter, but there are important race-related differences in attitude. Because the white residue of dry skin is far more evident on dark skin than light, the condition among African American women is vaguely linked with concerns about color and class. By elementary school, most Black girls arewell aware of the need to cover themselves with Vaseline or another lubricant to avoid ashy-looking skin. Kathy recalls that, when she was Young, her grandmother used to smear Vaseline over her legs, which would make her tights stick and cling uncomfortably. Kathy envied the White girls at school for not having to contend with this problem.

Among White women who are aware of attitudes about dry skin in the African American community, some report that they learned of such concerns from reading African American novels and books of nonfiction. For example, in The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison makes several references to the need to be vigilant about dry skin. One passage is:

Now this was an old white woman, and white women tend to show their age. Mrs. Barthaleme Finster was no exception. Wealthy. Widowed. A string of pearls around her neck- A white-powdered face dotted with vermilion rouge. And an absolute fascination of lines colliding, splitting off, and colliding again, beneath that carefully applied cloud of expensive, smelly, desperate dust.

Compared with Black women's hair, White women's hair turns gray earlier. On average, White women start to become noticeably gray around the age of thirty-four, but the hair of African American women doesn't gray, on average, until the age of forty-four. As a result, more White women than Black women use hair-coloring products to hide the gray. Observed race differences like those above do not necessasarily create conflict between African American and White women. Who could blame Black women for pointing proudly to the fact that they age more slowly than White women? At the same time, a preoccupation with aging on the part of so many Black and White women distracts them from what should be a larger common endeavor: challenging the double standard in society whereby men who grow old are distinguished and respected, while women who grow old turn ugly and invisible. No woman, regardless ofrace, should have to hide the natural effects of aging on her body.

Hair Texture and Styles

A far more divisive issue concerns racial differences in hair texture. The hair follicles of women of African descent emerge from a slanted or oval shaft, which causes the hair to fold over and curl into a tight or loose spiral as it grows out. In most Caucasian women, however, the hair follicles emerge from a rounded shaft, growing flat or straight against the scalp. Although some White women have hair that is just as tightly curled as that of any woman from Africa, and many African American women, particularly those of mixed White or Native American ancestry, have hair as straight as any White woman's, there remain fundamental differences in the texture of hair of most White and Black women in this country. Unfortunately, in a society with a strong history of racial prejudice, such differences are not without social and even economic consequences.

Historically, within the African American community, hair texture was very much linked to the concerns about skin color. According to the standards of beauty set by the mulatto elite, who were in turn influenced by White society, a Black woman with straight or wavy hair was considered more attractive than a woman of the same color whose hair was tightly coiled, nappy, or kinky. Straight hair was declared "good"; nappy hair was deemed "bad."

As a result, hair products and techniques were developed to "fix bad hair." Even during slavery, women used to put hog lard on their tightly curled hair to make it lie flat like "Miss Anne's." Later, hot combs were invented, and various formulas, including that of Mme. C. J. Walker, were concocted to help tight curls relax. Until the sixties, it was assumed that any Black woman whose hair was "bad" would have to perm it straight. The Afro was the first natural hair style for Black women, but it was just a fad, and by the mid-seventies most women returned to routine processing of their hair.

White women's notions of good and bad hair have never been as clear cut, nor the consequences of "good hair" as important. To White women, good hair means hair that is thick (but not too thick), shiny, rich in color, long or short, but bad hair is either too thin or too thick, too curly, dull, and mousy brown in color. Good hair can also be naturally wavy or bone straight, depending on the style. Within the White community, however, hair is generally not categorized as "good" or "bad." Many White women may have "bad hair" days, but they do not have "bad hair" lives.

For most Black females, concerns about hair begin early. By the age of four or five, a Black girl typically knows how her hair is going to be. If she is "unfortunate" enough to be cursed with "bad hair," she learns what she must do. A Black girl also knows that her mother will strictly oversee what she does with her hair. Whether it's nappy or not, she will usually be allowed to grow her hair long. Black mothers almost never cut a daughter's hair short. Still, conflicts over hair style are common between Black mothers and their daughters. An African American woman named Dorothy recalls the hair battles she had with her daughter Lynn, now twenty-eight years old.

Today a growing number of African American mothers are determined to raise their daughters with a sense of pride in the texture of their hair. But even with the generally more positive messages about nappy hair currently circulating in the Black community, many girls with such hair still go through at least a phase when they secretly long to have hair that is straight and flowing, like the hair of models in beauty magazines.

For most Black girls, the fantasies begin when they see what the hot comb can do to flatten out their curls. Hot combing can hurt, leaving painful burn marks on ears, foreheads, and especially along the nape of the neck, known as "the kitchen." But the desire to have straight hair is so strong, and the pressure to conform to the White ideal so effective, that most Black girls learn to put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of hot combing. They know that having straight hair requires discipline. By the time she seven or eight, the Black girl is ready for her first hair-straightening perm; it is a big event, a day that will mark her entry into the world of adult women. The perm holds the promise of turning the young nappy-headed girl from what she considers an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. As Caroline, a Black woman we interviewed for The Color Complex, recalled of her first perm, "It changed my whole life."

In order to maintain a perm's soft curl, every night the girl's hair must be put in rollers or wrapped around her head with a scarf. Also, once a girl gets a perm, it is hard to go back. Each six to eight weeks she will need a touchup to avoid having her hair begin to break at the point where the permed hair and new hair growth meet. Sadly, the end result of all this attention to hair maintenance is the girls do not feel good about their hair. As Black feminist bell hooks notes, "Most of us were not raised in environments where we learned to regard our hair as sensual or beautiful in an unprocessed state."

In contrast, a White girl is exposed to very different lessons about her hair. She learns that a girl's hair issomething to fuss over- certainly more than if she were a boy-but whether it's straight or naturally curly, most girls enjoy playing with it, wearing it long and down, in ponytails or braids, or held back with barrettes, headbands, or bows. In the White community, where there is no history of class difference linked to hair texture, mothers tend to give their daughters more leeway in how they wear their hair. And for White females, a, perm usually means adding curls, rather than straightening hair, and it is something that can be done, or not done, at any point in their lives.

Unless they happen to have an interracial childhood friendship, White girls generally do not know that the feelings they have about their hair are any different from those experienced by Black girls. For Hillary, a White woman, it took having her hair braided by her best Black girifriend's mom to realize the difference.

It is during the teen years that race differences in hair texture and style also turn political. Among White girls, seemingly every major hair decision -whether to perm, dye, or cut-requires constant feedback and reassurance from closest friends. An unwritten social rule in the White community seems to be that whatever a White girlfriend does to her hair, however it may look, it is essential to tell her, "It looks great!" Privately, one may think the friend is vain, insecure, or silly for experimenting the way she does, but one must never question her decisions or motives. Among Black teenage girls, however, hair decisions are subject to more critical feedback from friends, because hair styles are laden with political overtones. Anxiety about differences in choice of style may cause rifts in friendship. One thirteen year-old Black girl, Janie, described her experiences this way:

Hair also has the power to create conflict between Black and White women. When Eurocentric standards emphasizing long, flowing hair are the cultural norm, it is difficult for African American women with short and nappy hair not to feel resentful. Some, not surprisingly, lash out against White women whose hair does fit the norm. They may feel that White women who wear their hair that way do so just to flaunt it. But most White women who keep their hair long do it because of the high sexual appeal placed on long, flowing, disheveled hair a la Farrah Fawcett in the seventies or Cindy Crawford in the nineties. White feminist author Susan Brownmiller mentions the "long hair mystique" in the epigraph to this chapter.

Actually, the constant hair stroking and head tossing of those whose hair is long annoys many women, White and Black alike. Columnist and author Erma Bombeck is among those who poke fun at women who can't keep their hands out of their hair. Secretly admitting to fantasies of wanting to do the same, Bombeck fears, after watching supermodels Cindy Crawford and Christie Brinkley push what appear to be pounds of hair off their face over and over again, that if she did have long hair, there would be no time to do anything else. She quips, "These people can't carry a package, eat hot dogs, wave, or shake hands. Every second of their lives is consumed with raking their fingers through their hair and getting their sight back." African American poet Gwendolyn Brooks similarly derides White women for not being able to "keep their hands out of their hair."

It especially bothers African American women, though, to see other Black women fall prey to the "long hair mystique," especially when they seek it artificially, with a weave or a wig. Whenever a "sister" is spotted in public with unusually long hair, she is scrutinized. If there is evidence that her hair is not natural, those around her may make derisive comments, such "That bitch has a weave." White women who get weaves-and more of them are opting to do just that-are never held politically accountable for the decision. However, for many African American women, it is a badge of honor not to attempt anything so obvious in pursuit of White society's ideal. Unfortunately, this leaves a Black woman whose own hair is short and nappy in somewhat of a dilemma. On the one hand, she knows that long hair in today's society has undeniable feminine appeal, but if she uses a weave or wig, she may suffer accusations of "selling out."

African American stand-up comedian Rhonda Hansome, better known to her fans as Passion, describes the complex psychology behind her own recent decision to "go long." Rhonda grew up with a light-skinned cousin who was constantly praised for having "good" hair and being pretty, while Rhonda, who had darker skin, was said to have "bad" hair. She was considered smart, but no one ever told Rhonda she was pretty. Rhonda was able to use her considerable talents and quick wit to make a successful career on stage and television, and, in doing so, turned her "bad" hair into a signature trademark-short, spiked, multicolored hair that sat on her head like a satellite dish. Then one day, to the enormous disappointment of her friends, fans, and family members, Rhonda abruptly switched from that distinctive style to hair that was long and straight, with bangs. She explained what had happened.

I was in L.A. and it rained. It ruined my hairdo, so I went to a store and tried on a wig. Then I decided to buy it, because I loved the way it made me feel. I felt so sexy and glamorous.

Whenever I see the ideal White woman with long blond hair and blue eyes, I acknowledge her beauty. And I say I am her equal and perhaps more extraordinary. I would say she is the prize, but I am the treasure.

Today, a growing number of African American women are deciding to throw away their wigs and weaves, and no longer manipulate their hair with chemicals or heat. It can be a big, even a traumatic, step, although the majority of African American women who do decide to go natural wonder why they hadn't done it sooner. African American author Lonnice Brittenum Bonner, in her book Good Hair. For Colored Girls Who've Considered Weaves When Chemicals Became Too Ruff, encourages Black women to move beyond attitudes about "good" and "bad" hair, and replace them with notions of "healthy" and "unhealthy" hair. Once the chemicals are out, Black women have the choice of keeping their hair short, usually in a short natural, or growing it long, either braided or in dreadlocks.

Short hair on women has a long history of being shunned, in large part because such styles were viewed as powerful political statements of defiance against accepted feminine appearance and behavior. Perhaps that's why some African American and White activists who have short hair are more inclined to feel unified by their shared style than divided by their different hair texture. It is curious to note, however, that many of today's leading White feminists, including Gloria Steinem, Germaine Greer, Betty Friedan, Andrea Dworkin, Catharine MacKinnon, Susan Faludi, and Naomi Wolf, choose to keep their hair long. Perhaps they do so purely out of personal choice, or, perhaps consciously, they realize that having long hair makes their radical words somehow more palatable to the mainstream society they knew they must impress.

Today, most women who keep their hair short do it more for convenience and fashion than for politics or homosexuality. Diana, a Black woman, confessed there were times when she had to sit for four hours just to get her hair "fixed." Now she proudly proclaims, "It takes me exactly five minutes to brush and lightly spray my short Afro with an oil sheen. I wouldn't change my new style for the world." Still, some women, Black and White, who keep their hair very short may have their sexuality called into question or find themselves perceived as trying to make some kind of radical statement when they are not. Jean Norris and Renee Neufville of the soul duo Zhane love their short hair, but complain that others often try to read something into it. Jean explains, "We just like short hair-it's easy to take care of on the road." And Renee adds, "As African American women in this society, we're told we need long hair to be beautiful. It's when we cut our hair, though, that you can really see our full lips, the strong cheekbones, features we were taught are so ugly." Interestingly, Susan Brownmiller also had a small revelation when she finally cut her long hair. She proclaimed, "It looks smashing! I now realize I've been a fool not to have it this short for the last decade. The heck with what men think."

Of course, it is much easier for White women to say "The heck with what men think" than it is for Black women to say "The heck with what all of White culture thinks." This is particularly true when it comes to some of the longer natural Black hair styles like dreadlocks and braids.

Traditionally, dreadlocks are associated with the Rastafarians of Jamaica, and for that reason alone have been viewed as vaguely dangerous by White culture. Because few White women know an African American woman with dreadlocks, most are too embarrassed or intimidated to ask how the style is created and maintained. White women can be kept at a distance by their ignorance or unease, but there is nothing inherently threatening or mysterious about hair fashioned in dreadlocks. Tightly curled hair naturally "locks" if it is left uncombed. It is washed just like other hair, only the dreadlocks do not come "unlocked" when wet. It doesn't smell any more than other hair. One common question is, How do you change the style if you tire of it? Usually the hair has to be cut off and grown anew.

Dreadlocks have become more acceptable in recent years as a growing number of African American celebrities have allowed their hair to grow that way, people like actress Whoopi Goldberg, singer Tracy Chapman, author Alice Walker, and former talk show host Bertice Berry. For many with dreadlocks, the experience is joyful and even spiritual, as Alice Walker wrote in her essay "Oppressed Hair Puts a Ceiling on the Brain." Walker confessed that for years she and her hair were not friends. Finally, she realized that the problem lay not with her hair, but with the way she was relating to it. She began to see that her hair was blocking her path to inner peace:

The other popular choice for Black women who wish to keep their hair both long and natural is braids. Elaborate braiding originated in Africa, but the style is now very much "In" as part of American hip-hop culture. One of the most popular looks today is long hair, or short hair made long with extensions, plaited into as many as fifty to four hundred tiny braids all over the head. Ever since Bo Derek wore her hair that way in the 198o film 10, even some White women have embraced cornrows and multiple braids, a fact that, not surprisingly, annoys many Black women. But on the whole, African American women view braiding as a positive reflection of their African heritage, and are glad to see the style gaining acceptance. The braids are easy to maintain and, according to the women who have them, just plain fun to wear. This is especially true for Black women who use extensions, of real hair or synthetics, to make their braids longer. Extensions for braiding are far more accepted by the Black community than extensions for making hair unnaturally long and straight.

One White woman who recently decided to take the plunge was Siobhan R., a thirty-one-year-old woman of Irish descent with naturally wavy, long, auburn-colored hair, working in the music promotion business. For about a year and a half, Siobhan wanted to get multiple braids, but family members and friends kept talking her out of it. Finally, she went to the home of two African women and over the course of five hours had her hair carefully braided.

Siobhan experienced varying reactions to her new look. Some of her White friends liked it, but most were puzzled that she wanted to do something so extreme to what they thought was beautiful long hair. Siobhan found herself a conduit for White women's curiosity about Black women's hair styles. Strangers would walk up to her and ask personal questions about the maintenance of her hair. Among African American women, the reactions to Siobhan's braids varied. Some Black women, particularly those who had, or had once had, their hair in braids, respected Siobhan for having such "hair discipline." They knew how long it took to have one's hair fashioned that way. Siobhan also experienced some not quite so friendly looks from mostly young Black women, although no one was openly hostile to her.

Siobhan did find, though, that the new style was not appreciated at work, but for entirely different reasons. Although she was involved in promoting African American musical acts on tour, Siobhan had to meet occasionally with White executives to convince them to sponsor a certain concert event. In the weeks following her braiding, it dawned on Siobhan that she was no longer being introduced to the "stiff shirts," and was, in fact, being actively excluded from meetings that earlier she would probably have attended.

After about six weeks, Siobhan took out her braids, partly because the style was wreaking havoc with her hair. And once her braids were removed, Siobhan discovered the true extent of her all-White supervisors' disapproval. In retrospect, Siobhan realizes that she was naive to think that her employers wouldn't react politically to an ethnic hair style. But at least she did not get fired for it, something that has happened to some African American women who dared to show up at work with their hair in braids or other styles deemed "too ethnic."

Within the last few years, there has been a flurry of lawsuits against major corporations for hair policies that discriminate against African American female employees. In order to conform to corporate definitions of appropriate grooming, a Black woman must typically perm her hair straight, an expensive and time-consuming process for which she is not compensated. To keep the perm looking good, she must pay anywhere from $40 to $100 every six to eight weeks for a touch-up. In comparison, White women spend roughly half that much to maintain their hair. Given a choice, many Black women would prefer to wear more natural hair styles, like dreadlocks and braids, but in today's climate, their jobs could be at jeopardy.

In 1987, an African American woman named Cheryl Tatum (now Tatum-Tandia) worked as a cashier at the Hyatt Regency outside of Washington, D.C. After she showed up for work with neat cornrows, her immediate supervisor, a White woman who did not understand that cornrows are intended to last several months, asked Cheryl to take out the braids before work the next day. When Cheryl refused, she was told she was in violation of the corporate hair code, and was forced to resign.

The following year, another African American woman, Pamela Mitchell, was asked to leave her job as a reservation agent with the Marriott hotel chain in Washington, D.C., for refusing to remove her braids. And in i988,a nineteen-year-old African American woman named Renee Randall was fired from Morrison's Cafeteria, in Annapolis, for wearing a long multicolored braided ponytail. Randall's ponytail was said to be extreme; she, however, claimed that no customer had ever complained about her hair, and that she should not have to change her looks to satisfy a White employer ignorant of her culture.

These are only a few of the cases in which African American women have been either harassed or fired because of their "offensive hair." Fortunately, because of the lawsuits they and other Black women brought against companies, many major corporations have since modified their grooming codes to allow cornrows and braids at work-as long as they are "neat and professional-looking." It is hoped that this trend will continue, and that white women, especially those in executive and managerial positions, will support African American women who seek greater tolerance, recognition, and understanding of Black hair styles, fashion, and culture in the workplace.

Most African American women at the executive level would not dare to wear long natural hair, though. In the conservative world of business, it is widely believed that such a style would threaten a Black woman's job security or hinder her chances for promotion. An article in the Wall Street Journal, "Braided Hair Collides with Office Norms," confirms that only one percent of Black women managers currently wear their hair in braids. According to White 'Journalist Patricia McLaughlin, braids have an "in-your face" quality, in effect saying to Whites, "This is the kind of hair I have. Get used to it." It is exactly the sort of message that strikes fear into the hearts of many White managers, male and female, who would rather see ethnic differences in the workplace muted or glossed over.

In some fields, such as journalism and academia, where the expression of personal freedom is valued, attitudes toward natural hair styles, including braids and dreadlocks, have become far more tolerant. But as recently as the early eighties, when bell hooks was preparing for a job interview at Yale, she recalled a White female adviser suggesting that she take out her braids. The message was clear: her ethnic appearance was not appropriate for an Ivy League university. Fortunately, hooks did not take out her braids and did get the job. Today, in fact, ethnic styles like braids, dreadlocks, and short naturals are practically de ri'gueur for radically chic African American female college professors, especially those teaching Black or women's studies. Ironically, it is White feminists who sometimes erroneously believe that African American women who don't wear a natural style are somehow lacking in Black consciousness. Pamela, an African American psychology professor at a large urban university, after cutting her shoulder-length, processed hair and getting a short, natural "finger wave" style, recalls just such a comment from a women's studies colleague:

I have yet to see a Black woman who I would say really had blond hair. It always seems more gold. Next to dark skin, real light hair takes on another look. It's not really blond, though. So if two women walk in a room, one Black and the other White, and they both have "blond" hair I don't see that as any real competition. So-called blond hair just doesn't create the same effect for Black women as it does for White women. I think it looks rather weird. I really wonder why they do it.

Social psychological research on how White women are stereotyped by their hair color reveals that, while brunettes are seen as more intelligent, ambitious, and sincere by men and women, blondes are thought to be more beautiful, delicate, dangerous, and unpredictable. Blondes are also thought to be dumber, a stereotype buttressed by the recent rash of "dumb blond" jokes. Cultural critic Camille Paglia believes that the enormous popularity of these jokes can be understood as a political effort to rectify the many social advantages and privileges conferred on the blond-haired woman today.

Not all White women who go blond do so to attract men, though. Hair experts believe that blond hair softens the face of White women, thereby reducing the aging effects of fine lines, small wrinkles, and slight complexion flaws. Thus, many White women begin to dye or streak their hair lighter as they get older, at a time when they first feel the need to mitigate the effects of aging. Older women with blond hair are rarely accused of cashing in on the privilege of youth, though. In fact, a White woman today can generally dye her hair whatever color she wants, and few will question it. Such is not the case for the African American woman who dares to color her hair
lighter; her motives are nearly always suspect. Predictably, the main accusation hurled at a Black woman who dares to dye her hair blond is that she is trying to be White. Erica, an African American art student at a Chicago suburban community college, lamented after she went blond:

The Black community is not very accepting of change. If you change your eye color or your hair color, it always means you are trying to deny who you are. But I'm not. This is just about fun, about fantasy. I know that dyeing your hair blond is not embraced by my community, and that other Black women look at me and sneer or make snide remarks, but it's my hair and I like it. That's really all that matters to me.

Certainly not all the African American women who dye their hair blond cite such obvious reasons as Erica. Nor do all Black women with blond hair project the same sort of image. An African American furniture designer, Cheryl Riley of San Francisco, readily admits to dyeing her very short natural hair blond for the "vanity" and "drama" of it, but she defends her choice by pointing to the ancient practice by African women of manipulating their hair color with ocher and wax. Cheryl views her near-platinum hair, which she pays $65 twice a month to maintain, as a positive expression of her ethnic pride. Mentioning Africa is, of course, a common means for some Black women in this country to counter the "wannabe" accusation. But whether Cheryl's real reason for going blond is ethnic pride or not, there is no denying that she looks striking. Had her hair been long, and especially if it had been processed, the blond effect would have been entirely different.

Negative attitudes about long blond hair on African American women stem in large part from the association with prostitution. It used to be that a Black woman standing on a corner with a big, blond wig was selling but one thing: her body. Even today, one of the hazards for African American women who dye their hair blond is that they may be propositioned while just walking down the street.

Insulated from the hazards of the street, African American celebrities are better able to "get away" with having long blond hair, even weaves and wigs. The practice became popular during the seventies, when top recording artists, including Aretha Franklin, Donna Summer, and Tina Turner, began wearing blond wigs on stage. Selling sex appeal is a far more legitimate enterprise than selling sex, and a blond wig has come to be viewed as just another playful accessory for Black female entertainers. The blond wig may even enhance their crossover appeal for White audiences. For whatever reason, the trend remains. Among the current generation of African American celebrities who have, or have had, long blond hair are rapper Yo-Yo, actress Toukle Smith (from the Sitcom "227"), and supermodels Naomi Campbell and Shari Belafonte.

Why do so many women of European and African descent continue to dye or perm their hair? The answer is that we are a hair-obsessed society, and the way a woman wears her hair says a great deal about who she is and what she believes in. Women are bombarded with commercials and print ads that not only prey on their insecurities about their hair, but also promise "good things to come" if only their hair looks better. These campaigns are highly effective. In 1991 alone, Americans spent more than $16 billion on hair products and at beauty parlors. It is estimated that Black women spend as much as three times as much as White women on their hair care.

The politics of beauty for White and Black women hardly end with skin color and hair care. In a country where "blond hair and blue eyes" go together like salt and pepper or bacon and eggs, eye color assumes almost as much importance as hair color in judgments of beauty. Not surprisingly, the ideal is tilted in favor of women of European descent whose eye color ranges from blue to brown. Since the vast majority of African American women have eyes that are brown in color, they are somewhat at a disadvantage. Of course, with the invention of tinted lenses, eye color too can be changed for a fee. And once again, because women of both races are more likely to replace dark eyes with light ones, this unidirectional preference is fraught with social and political implications. This is especially true for Black women. As Elsie B. Washington, senior editor of Essence, notes in a 1988 essay, "The wish to acquire what we were not born with, to adopt the coloring that has .for centuries been touted as prettier, finer, better, carries with it the old baggage of racial inferiority and/or superiority based simply, and simplistically, on physical traits."

Knowing that they will be accused of wanting to be White, it is often with mixed feelings that African American women pop blue or green contact lenses in their eyes. Even those Black women Whose eyes are naturally light in color can find themselves being chastised by the cultural police. Yet, as hurtful as such accusations may be, the practice of wearing tinted lenses continues within the African American community, both for prescriptive lenses and for cosmetic lenses.

For the most part, White women don't worry about what others may think about their eye color, even if it varies from one day to the next. Nor are other cultures necessarily restricted. When figure skater Kristi Yamaguchi, a brown-eyed woman of Japanese descent, proclaimed in a national television spot for DuraSoft tinted contact lenses that she enjoyed changing her eye color "just for the fun of it," she suffered no political condemnation by Asian Americans for doing so. But the general feeling is that if an African American female celebrity were to participate in such an advertising campaign-and it is hard to imagine anyone who might-she would never hear the end of it from her community. Taken together, the politically charged, often status-driven, beauty concerns of skin, hair, and eye color create a great deal of tension between White and Black women in this country.

Although hair styles and eye color still clearly shade toward Eurocentric standards, there is one positive facial feature that is found more often among women of African than of European descent: full lips. Larger lips have not always been valued. While growing up in the seventies, Kathy Russell remembers how much she hated the size of her lips. She attended a predominantly White grade school, and the other girls considered lips that were more petite than hers to be beautiful. Kathy recalls trying to hold her lips tight together to create the illusion of thinner lips. It was not until she attended a predominantly Black high school that she began to re-evaluate the appearance of her lips and come to think of them as beautiful. Society later caught up, when thin lips came to be viewed as a sign that a woman was uptight and sexually aloof, and a woman with fuller lips was seen as more seductive and desirable.

In fact, it has been rumored that actresses like Cher, Barbara Hershey, and Michelle Pfeiffer have had their lips given a more pouty look through the surgical technique of collagen injection. In recent years, many less famous White women have also undergone the procedure. But collagen treatments cost anywhere from $700 to $1000, last on average only about three months, and carry with them the risk of autoimmune disorders, such as lupus.

African American women have varying reactions to White women enlarging their lips. While some Black women are proud to see their culture affecting notions of beauty, others are suspicious of the practice, and even a bit annoyed. There is also a double standard in the way full lips are described. On Black women, full lips are "big and thick," but on White women, the same size lips, whether natural or augmented by collagen, are pouty, sexy, and voluptuous." African American print model Tammi expressed genuine resentment at what she saw as the appropriation of Black features by White women for cosmetic purposes.

Black people aren't the only ones with full lips. Many White women also come by them naturally-just look at comedienne Sandra Bernhard or actress Kim Basinger. Believe me, the White woman who gets collagen injections to make her lips larger is not trying to look Black. Besides, don't Black women hate it when others accuse them of wanting to be White just because they wear blue contact lenses or perm their hair straight? It's the same ridiculous thing, only in reverse.

The recent popularity of ear, nose, nipple, and other body piercings can similarly cause consternation among some African American women, who view these practices as yet another appropriation of their Black culture. The first examples of ear piercing are seen in artifacts from the twelfth century B.C., showing African women with ears pierced for purposes of decoration. More than a thousand years later, the practice was brought to America by African slave women. Poking holes in one's skin was originally viewed by White women as vaguely primitive and certainly "lower class."

Attitudes toward ear piercing changed dramatically during the sixties, however. Hordes of young middle-class White women suddenly began clamoring to get their ears pierced, despite their mothers' resistance. Natalie, a White woman from Delaware now in her early forties, remembers her own battle to get permission. Her mother categorically refused, claiming that pierced ears would turn gangrenous. The mother would intone, "Our poor maid once tried to pierce her ears and ended up with only half an ear left. You want that to happen to you?" Natalie couldn't have cared less; she just wanted her ears pierced like everyone else at school. She finally had it done when she went off to college, in 1970. Ironically, about five years later, her mother also had her ears pierced, admitting that it was much easier and less painful than wearing "those damn clip-on" earrings. Comfort and convenience are two factors that will override resistance to the cosmetic practices of those with "lesser status."

While pierced ears today are common among both White and Black women, there remain certain cultural differences associated with the practice. The average age for getting their ears pierced is younger among Black girls than White girls, although this too appears to have class implications. Middle-class Black girls are often forced to wait, like the majority of White girls, until they are near adolescence; poorer Black girls and White girls may get their ears pierced earlier. Another difference is that an African American woman is more likely to point to her heritage as a primary motive for piercing her ear multiple times. White women do it for fashion purposes, simply because "it looks cool." Finally, when it comes to getting other parts of the body pierced, White women seem to be taking the lead.

While piercing noses, navels, tongues, cheeks, and nipples is gaining in popularity among an urban subculture of middle-class White women (as well as some Black teenage men who are into rap and hip-hop culture), middle-class Black women remain hesitant about embracing this particular fashion trend. When Yvette, who was considering getting her navel pierced, told a Black girlfriend, her friend dismissed Yvette's suggestion with the comment: "Girl, that's for White women."

On a recent "Day One" (ABC magazine show) feature about the phenomenon of body piercing and tattooing in today's youth culture, all the women except one were White. The only African American on the show was a young woman about to pay a surgeon a lot of money to have her tattoo removed. She warned, "I wouldn't advise anybody to get a tattoo. I got one when I was eighteen and now I'm twenty-four, and it has been an embarrassment ever since." While those interviewed on a TV magazine show can hardly be assumed to be representative, her comment raises interesting questions. Do middle-class, college-educated White women, with multiple ear piercings and tattoos, worry less about how their unconventional appearance may affect job prospects than middle-class Black women? Is the freedom to experiment with one's body and appearance greater for White women than for Black women? It is certainly a possibility, and if it is true, is yet another wedge between Black women and White women- even those from the same economic background.

Body Size

Difference in body size is another beauty issue that can divide White women from Black women. In a 1994 survey of over six hundred college students, African American women were found to weigh ten pounds more than White women of the same height. The same study also found that significantly more Black women than White women are satisfied with their body image. And in 1995, anthropologists Mimi Nichter and Sheila Parker interviewed teenagers in focus groups to find that go percent of White girls are dissatisfied with their bodies, while 70 percent of Black teenage girls are proud of the way they look. Black teenage girls also overwhelmingly agreed that it was better to be little overweight than underweight, but the White girls believed the exact opposite. There is also evidence that White women get many more liposuctions and undergo more potentially dangerous cosmetic operations, like breast augmentation or reduction, to alter their natural shape. An African American psychologist, Roy Allen Roberts, analyzing the ads and articles in White and Black women's magazines, found that publications aimed for the Black market (for example, Essence) contained significantly fewer articles and advertisements dealing with weight loss than similar publications aimed at White women (such as Vogue and Cosmopolitan). And Carolyn West, another African American psychologist, reported that Black women's magazines are more likely to include ads for "butt pads" and actual weight-gain products to help "get rid of those skinny legs"-, such type ads were quite rare in primarily White magazines. In presenting her findings at the 1993 American Women in Psychology conference, West noted, "White people are hard on their large women."

Why is there greater acceptance of large women in the African American community? Certainly one explanation is that in traditional African societies, full-figured bodies were valued as symbols of health, wealth, desire, prosperity, and fertility. This cultural ideal was brought to America by the slaves, and may continue to influence standards of attractiveness among Black women in America today. The slave plantation system, too, encouraged Black women to be large, to help better in the field, and perhaps in the home to present less of a temptation for the male plantation owner.

On the other hand, according to prevailing White Victorian standards of attractiveness, the ideal woman was delicate, with an abnormally small waist tightly corseted to keep its shape. Her thinness and frailty were considered essential to her femininity, potent reminders of a woman's constant need of masculine protection. The value of thinness is reflected in a saying commonly heard in the White community, "You can never be too rich or too thin."

Despite the dominant society's ideal of thinness, many Blacks retain negative attitudes toward women who are too skinny. This is reflected in a saying popular in the Black community, "Don't nobody want a bone but a dog." Madeleine Nelson, an African American woman from Virginia, has experienced the cultural disparity in her modeling work and participation in beauty pageants. "When I competed in black pageants in D.C., I never won a swimsuit competition . . . I was told by Black-owned companies that I was too skinny. But in competitions with white women, I did very well. I either won or got first runner-up." Nelson further observed, "Black women don't strive to be very thin. And black men don't want their women too thin. Even with black men who date white women, you'll notice that the white women tend to be more voluptuous." A White woman named Yvonne Neil-Powell noted, "If you are white and weigh 105 or 110, you've got the perfect shape. If you are black and weigh that much, you're too skinny."
Cultural differences in body size can make it difficult for White women and Black women to feel comfortable in each other's presence. A White woman of normal weight, used to complaining to her White women friends about how fat she is,. may suddenly feel self-conscious in front of African American women, who possess the very body type she disparages. Of greater concern, some African American women, previously content with their substantial size, may, following exposure to White women's ideals of thinness, start to question their attractiveness. The reflections of one thirty-four-year old Black woman are quite telling:

Like the emphasis on straight hair and light skin, the preference for a slender body has class connotations. Jocelyn, a Black woman, recalls that when she was younger, signs of her working-class family's doing well included serving big meals, having chubby children, and keeping plenty of food in the house. As they started to "move on up," however, these values changed. According to Jocelyn, "When my father's business be an to bloom and my father was interacting more with white businessmen and seeing how they did business, suddenly thin became important. If you were a truly well-to-do family, then your family was slim and elegant."

Kim Chernin, author of The Obsession: Reflections on the Tyranny of Slenderness, draws an important distinction between fears about being fat and fears about being perceived as lower class. Chernin, who is White, grew up in a predominantly Black neighborhood in Los Angeles during the 1950s, a time when women's bodies tended to be larger on the whole than they are today. She was comfortable with her breasts and hips, curves and softness, until she left that community at the age of seventeen. In White society, Chernin began to think of herself as overweight and, in a desperate attempt to make herself thinner, ended up anorexic. After recovering and becoming a counselor for others suffering from eating disorders, Chernin realized the extent to which negative images of fat women underlie racial hatred and negative stereotyping. In an article in Essence magazine, she commented:

At the other end of the spectrum, obesity affects twice as many Black women as it does White women. An estimated 35 percent of Black women between the ages of twenty-two and forty, and nearly 6o percent of those over forty, are obese. The pattern is most common among poor, working, single Black mothers. For many, the stress of trying to live and cope in neighborhoods that are often crime-ridden is enough to trigger compulsive eating behaviors. Food becomes the drug of choice; it is cheap and does not cause a hangover.

In addition to the obvious medical risks associated with being overweight, such as diabetes and hypertension, obese women suffer from a reduction in their earning potential. A recent study in the New England journal of Medicine documents the social and economic consequences of obesity. For the years between 1981 and 1988, a team of researchers tracked a representative sample Of 10,039 young adults, including 145 White women (of whom 44 percent were overweight), and 42 Black women (of whom 67 percent were overweight). They found that weight alone has the power to adversely affect the quality of a woman's life. Compared with women who were of normal weight, those most overweight completed four months less of school,
had household incomes averaging $6710 less, were 20percent less likely to be married, and had rates of poverty 10 percent higher. These differences held even when the social and economic backgrounds of the overweight and normal weight cohorts were the same Contrary to prevailing assumptions that socioeconomic status influences rates of obesity-these findings indicate that being overweight by itself can lower the socioeconomic status. This is of special concern to Black women, given their already high rate of obesity and low earning potential.

Instead of judging themselves, and especially each other, on matters of weight, White and Black women would do better to spend their energy fighting fat prejudice in society. Women of both races should challenge the use of unnaturally tall and slender women as fashion models, and the insulting advertising campaigns for weight-control products and programs that equate being obese with being unloved.

Body Hair

Another potentially alienating difference between Black and White women has to do with body hair. Psychologist Susan Basow found that among White women, close to 8o percent regularly shave their legs, but only half of Black women do. White women's reactions to Black women's hairier legs can range from indifference and puzzlement to curiosity and even disgust. The comments of a thirty-four-year-old White businesswoman named Linda are typical:

Clothes

Cultural differences in the clothes that White and Black women wear is another potential source of conflict. While similarities in dress codes and style are certainly far greater than differences, women of both races agree to always like the same fashions. In recognition of these differences, Spiegel recently joined with Ebony magazine to create E Style, a new mail-order catalogue specifically designed to reflect the fashion tastes and trends of Black women. E Style fashions tend to be brighter in color than similarly priced items and styles in catalogues marketed more for White women (such as Tweeds and J. Crew). The oranges, reds, purples, and fuchsias of E Style fashions better complement the darker skin tones of many African American women; many of the earth tones so popular today tend to look better on lighter-skinned women, both European American and African American. The size charts also reflect race differences in average body size. Not all Black women are pleased by the development of E Style. Linda Williams protests, "I feel kind of insulted that they would have to segregate me." But another African American, named Paula Raspberry, said: "Why do they have to come up with clothing just for us? We're being labeled again. But as I thought about it more, we are different. We do have different tastes and we like different colors."

Many of the fashion preferences of White women and Black women may reflect class differences rather than racial or cultural differences, although these factors are never easy to disentangle. For example, one stereotype is that Black women dress more flashily than White women. But is this really a difference characterizing the clothes of women who are poor-proportionately more of whom are Black-as compared with those who are well-to-do -proportionately more of whom are White? Possibly. Nonetheless, it also seems that even at formal events like weddings and "black tie" fund raisers attended by solidly middle- and upper-class Black women, the women get more "dolled up" than White women of comparable backgrounds. This cultural difference seemed particularly evident to us when we attended the 1994 Chicago Ebony Fashion Show. The Black women arrived in big fur and leather coats, and many wore sequined dresses and fancy outfits of gold lame. Others wore elaborate accessories-big hats, colorful scarfs, and large pieces of jewelry complemented by what looked to be expensive but rather impractical shoes for a cold winter's night. Most of the White women in attendance wore far fewer accessories, and some even wore pantsuits instead of dresses. Also, many of the White women wore comfortable flat shoes that better enabled them to negotiate the snow outside. At times, different cultural norms appear to shape what is deemed appropriate for White and Black women, and this difference is bound to lead women of the two races to question who is overdressed or underdressed.

Why are middle-class African Americans more inclined to dress up than middle-class White women? One reason may be a response to race. Black women in expensive clothing are able to communicate effectively to others that just because they are Black does not mean they are poor. This is why African American women are typically more dressed up than White women when they go shopping in upscale department stores, like Bloomingdale's, Saks, and Neiman-Marcus. Because of prejudice, Black women know that unless they look tastefully and expensively attired, their credit may be questioned and the service they receive may be poor. White women, even those who walk into such stores in torn jeans and baggy T-shirts, can still expect to be politely waited upon by most salesclerks, White and Black.

There is feeling among some in White society that Black women have less of a sense of "boundaries" or appropriateness of attire for specific situations. This can be a problem in the workplace, as reflected in the following comments by a White bank teller named Crystal about the attire of another teller, who is Black:

College-educated Black women are well aware of the stereotypes drawn about the dress of members of their race, and properly resent the assumption that they don't know how to dress correctly. Sondra, an attractive young African American woman, recalled an experience with this kind of subtle race prejudice in an early job interview.

Yet many White women are shy about wearing clothes that might create undesirable sexual stereotypes about them. Ellen, a White woman from a Southern socialite family, recalls that when she was growing up in the seventies, her mother absolutely refused to let her wear anything that was form-fitting. To Ellen's mother, tight clothing meant one thing-you were advertising to men that you were sexually available. Today, in her thirties, Ellen has a slender body, but still struggles to feel comfortable wearing stretch pants, a popular look in the nineties. She explains why.

The fashion preferences of White and Black female activists is another area where the casual observer is apt to find difference as well as tension. During the sixties, when activist White women traded in their feminine dresses and high heels for more comfortable androgynous clothes, African American women took to the streets wearing dashikis and other fashion items inspired by African culture. Today, White women continue to fight for the right to wear pants and flat shoes in the workplace, while a growing number of Black women are once again embracing an Afrocentric look. At academic conferences and political rallies, Black female scholars and activists are apt to be dressed in beanie hats, draped scarves, and wide woven belts of green, black, gold, and red-the colors of Black liberation. Curiously, those who don't wear such attire report that it is "politically correct" White women who put the most pressure on them to conform to the exotic image of the "radical woman of color." One possible reason for this is that other African American women are more understanding of the various practical factors, such as job security and housing concerns, that a Black woman may have to take into account before adopting such a radical look.

Clearly, appearances are heavy with political meaning, but issues of beauty are so subjective that they are extremely hard to address and change. While legislation can be passed to help ensure that White and Black women are paid equally for the same work, reactions to attractiveness and presentation cannot be legislated. Marcia Gillespie, a former editor of Essence and current editor of Ms., states that as long as the ideal beauty image in Western society remains Eurocentrically biased, Black women, as well as other minorities, will "bear a greater burden than their White counterparts as lookism combines with sexism and racism to stigmatize them as unattractive."

Unfortunately, this extra burden sometimes means being used as the yardstick by which ugliness is gauged. Nationally acclaimed poet Maya Angelou once found herself the reluctant savior of a White girl simply because the latter found Angelou "uglier" than she. But what is astounding is that African American women still manage to feel more positive about their looks than most White women, according to numerous polls and studies. It may be that Black women are so far from the White communities' ideal that it is easier for them to summarily reject society's judgment. Increasingly, Black women proclaim, "I know that I'm beautiful." In some cases, the statement may smack of defensiveness, but by and large African American women seem to mean it. The following poem by Eke Omosupe describes the journey of one African American woman in accepting her physical appearance:

       IN MAGAZINES (I FOUND SPECIMENS OF THE BEAUTIFUL)

People will always respond to others in terms of their physical appearance. That, too, is perhaps natural. But it is also important that, as a society, we expand notions of what we call attractive, especially for women. In some ways, the process has already begun. Compared to only a few years ago, there are significantly more women of color gracing the covers of fashion magazines and walking the runways of fashion shows. The expansion continues through the power of single individuals. Certainly Barbra Streisand and Whoopi Goldberg are not traditionally beautiful, yet each has successfully managed, through her inner beauty and personality, to enlarge ideas of attractiveness in ways previously not thought possible. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but it is also in the psychology of the beheld. Still, there is much work to be done in the area of beauty, and in stopping the damage that restricted definitions do to individual girls and women and their relations with others. No child should have to endure a phase of growing up during which she feels ugly; no teenager should have to starve herself because she believes herself unacceptably large; and no break-down in communication between Black women and White women should have to occur simply because we don't understand each other's beauty practices and fashion concerns.