# data[].attributes.headline
When Black Girls Hear That ‘Our Bodies Are All Wrong’

# data[].attributes.subject
When Black Girls Hear That ‘Our Bodies Are All Wrong’

# data[].attributes.body
An article by the new York Times

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
With the deluge of imagery that associates beauty with whiteness, girls of color are primed not only to developing eating disorders, but also to see these disorders go untreated. Credit... Hassan Jarane/Photolibrary, via Getty Images Plus

Opinion
Insidious messages can contribute to eating disorders for women of color.

With the deluge of imagery that associates beauty with whiteness, girls of color are primed not only to developing eating disorders, but also to see these disorders go untreated. Credit... Hassan Jarane/Photolibrary, via Getty Images Plus

When I was in high school, I had an eating disorder, and nobody noticed.

Sure, I'd always been skinny, so perhaps my weight loss was undetectable at first.

Occasionally some shrewd person would pile more food on my plate after taking note of how little I'd served myself. But I could mostly avoid scrutiny by talking about having just had a big lunch or needing to save room for dessert. Sometimes I did go back for seconds. People really don't notice when you eat more fruit than anything else; they don't see that you're strategically piling on the low-calorie foods that will quickly fill up a plate.

If anyone did take note, it would have been easy for them to see my habits as "healthy." Americans live in a culture in which the line between "clean eating" or "detoxing," and a disordered relationship with food is blurry. At least when it comes to people whose body sizes conform to what we expect. This partly explains why I got away with living with this illness in plain sight.

But moreover: I was black. The societal narratives that position the curviness of black girls' bodies as a warning sign of future obesity mean that as young women, we're often congratulated for watching our weight when our food restriction might actually be the symptom of a real mental health problem.

That's why the lingering cultural myth that eating disorders are the province of white women isn't just misleading: It also keeps us from addressing the uniquely insidious factors that can cause black women to hate their bodies.

For women who are developing bodies that will most likely never assimilate into the mythical monochrome of Middle America, there's very little validation available in the media or anywhere else. Add the deluge of imagery that associates beauty with whiteness, and girls of color are primed not only to developing eating disorders, but also to see these disorders go untreated.

Although conventional wisdom says most eating disorders develop at the onset of puberty, for black girls I think the seeds are actually laid much earlier.

By the time I was 8 years old, I remember noticing that television shows rarely included girls that looked like me - and if they did, they were never the ones who were heroes or love interests. Those roles were largely reserved for white girls. Even the black actresses who were depicted as happy, successful and loved tended to be lighter-skinned with straighter hair and narrow noses - something that's still largely true today.

Like many other black girls, I learned early that when it comes to white-centric, unreasonable standards of beauty, I didn't measure up.

To be sure, every community has its own standards - and within the black community, we can find some affirmation of our beauty. As a teen, I remember seeing myself in Diahann Carroll as Dominique Devereaux on "Dynasty," the girls on "The Cosby Show," and the cast of "Waiting to Exhale." And yes, a handful of black women have always seen their appearances affirmed by popular culture. But these messages are harder to hear over the roar of the mainstream.

Then there are the commercials on TV, the ads on Facebook, the Instagram influencers, all pushing a never-ending stream of meal plans and diets and trendy new lifestyles. While it's true that there's more diversity in media and advertising now than ever before, the people in the images meant to represent ideal bodies and sell us on becoming our best selves are still overwhelmingly slim and white (not to mention, abled and cisgender).

When you are constantly bombarded with messages that tell you again and again that your body is simply wrong, it can make you desperate to control and change it.

Thankfully, there is a growing awareness that anyone, of any background, can have an eating disorder. But even professional organizations related to the treatment of these illnesses can fall short when it comes to contemplating the specific issues black women face.

Primary texts still in use largely ignore the impact of racial identity on relationships with food. "The Eating Disorder Sourcebook: A Comprehensive Guide to the Causes, Treatments, and Prevention of Eating Disorders" by Carolyn Costin addresses issues of ethnicity and gender in just 10 of its pages. "Eating Disorders: A Reference Sourcebook" by Raymond Lemberg and Leigh Cohn does mention race, but only to assert that black women have more favorable body images than other women.

On top of this, the mixed messages about race and beauty are deeply disorienting. We live in a country that loves the trappings of black culture on white bodies but not on the bodies of those who created these looks. When the singer Ciara's faux locs are criticized, but the same hairstyle is received as edgy and inventive when one of the Kardashians sports it, what message is being sent to young girls of color?

Similarly, fatphobia is an issue for everyone, but race impacts who is most likely to be supported by the general public when rightly challenging it. Black women notice when the white main character in the Hulu series "Shrill" is celebrated as an icon of body positivity, while every appearance by the artist Lizzo is accompanied by relentless attacks that focus on her size and shape.

These issues aren't just emotional. Being seen as attractive has well-documented professional and personal benefits. And while complexion can't change, weight can - at least temporarily. Obsessive dieting isn't just about being considered more attractive; for many, it could feel like the key to having access to quality housing, fair treatment by the legal system or simple respect in day-to-day interactions.

As a high school student surviving on salad, I couldn't have articulated any of this, but I definitely absorbed these messages. It's no wonder I wanted to shrink my body. If it couldn't be right in the other ways, maybe making it as small as possible was a way for it to be accepted. Not my best logic, but at the time it made a peculiar sense to me.

Our eating disorders can be one reaction to the messages we've received our whole lives: that our bodies are all wrong. When you're surrounded by constant reminders that the way you look is unwelcome, it's natural to develop anxiety about your body and to fixate on changing it. It's easy to understand why any black woman might think - as I once did - that the problem could be solved by disappearing.

Mikki Kendall is the author of the forthcoming book, " Hood Feminism," from which this essay is adapted.
The Times is committed to publishing Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. a diversity of letters to the editor. We'd like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here's our email: letters@nytimes.com.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Opinion | When Black Girls Hear That 'Our Bodies Are All Wrong' (Published 2020)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Opinion Insidious messages can contribute to eating disorders for women of color. With the deluge of imagery that associates beauty with whiteness, girls of color are primed not only to developing eating disorders, but also to see these disorders go untreated. Credit...