Melanin Melancholia

There isn’t quite a fashion trend that has entrenched itself so deeply in society, culture, race and politics than tanning; more recently the word is on our lips because the newest leader of the ‘free world’ is apparently incapable of feigning one.



Never has a skin tone been so in flux throughout history as tanned skin, apart from perhaps the early 20th century concept of black people, and culture, being a synonym for cool.


Mr. Armstrong, epitome of cool

Prior to the 20th century a tan was not the look du jour, to be seen with a tan was to be admitting that you spent you’re days toiling in the fields and not, y’know, crocheting indoors or something. While today women (and men) in the US, Europe and Brazil often strive for a tan, those in Asian countries, such as China, Korea, Thailand and India, use lightening creams and agents to look fairer and more pink in tone. Women have quite literally killed themselves in times past to attain a fair complexion by using tonics of lead and mercury. To be free of colour was to be free of the reigns of labour and an inherent sign of privilege. Then, in the 1920s, Coco Chanel popularised tanning. In a bizarre and ironic twist, what was once emblematic of hard work and endless labour became the symbol of wealth and leisure. Naturally this lifestyle was not easily in reach thus fake tanning was borne, and infinite, poor, copies emulated (see above).



Gyal like Malibu Barbie, sporting those on-trend tanlines

But, just as the tides come in and the sun rises every dawn, when something is no longer unattainable and exclusive it becomes deeply unpopular. That, and the added (surprise!) element of potential skin cancer. ‘Fake bake’ and tanning beds took something that was once aspirational and made it everyday, mundane. However, bad habits die hard and a tan is still a socially accepted look.

The complicated dichotomies of ‘light’ and ‘dark’ are systemically racist. ‘Fair’, ‘porcelain’ and ‘alabaster’ – notions and materials heralding luxury and esteem. Compare those to ‘honey’, ‘chocolate’ and ‘caramel’ – all words that conjure up edible consumption, something easily obtained and chewed up. This Guardian article referred to ‘Women with toffee-coloured skin (Jessica Alba, Beyonce, Halle Berry, Kim Kardashian) are at the forefront of definitions of 21st century beauty.’ To tan is to become darker, to be deeper in tone, but for those with white skin it is temporary. Much like black skin as a long-held synonym for cool, tanning is racial; one can achieve all the aesthetic qualities of a skin colour, but not the prejudices that come with. For all those attempting to achieve a tan there are those born with such that are desperately trying to scrub it away.

We’ve become pious worshippers of the sun eschewing lives of leisure for stringent asceticism, just for a tiny morsel of melanin.

Blay, Y. (2011). Skin Bleaching and Global White Supremacy: By Way of Introduction. The Journal of Pan African Studies, 4(4).

Gutiérrez, G. (2015). Black Culture Is Cool, So Why Aren’t Black People? – the #swag class. [online] Medium. Available at: [Accessed 25 Mar. 2017].

Sarnoff, D. (2011). The Tale of Tanning – [online] Available at: [Accessed 25 Mar. 2017].

Wilkinson, S. (2012). A short history of tanning | Sophie Wilkinson. [online] the Guardian. Available at: [Accessed 25 Mar. 2017].



Not Your Nanny

As a woman and a nanny with years of experience it’s quite interesting to note the general assumptions about nannying based on class, gender and race. These two articles highlight being a woman of colour who also happens to be the mother to lighter skinned children. I’m not a mother myself but certainly my own mum, darker in complexion than I, had her own parentage thrown into contention when out with me in public when I was small. It’s very interesting, and of course problematic, that almost all activities in daily life can be so easily racialised.

Why did people assume an Asian woman was the nanny?


Black Men Can’t Swim?

An ubiquitous trope, prevalent in many in an epoch and one that engenders disquiet in the life of many black people. Its cultural equivalent might perhaps be ‘white people can’t dance’, but it doesn’t quite capture the nuance and unease of this historically entrenched misconception. Its roots can be traced back to the Transatlantic slave trade, thousands upon thousands of slaves trapped in tight wooden ships, barely able to breathe, the sea thus water as metaphor for both freedom, and death. Yet it, like many the neurosis of the contemporary black person, still permeates, interwoven with a history and identity entwined within slavery. My black mother never learnt to swim out of her own mother’s prohibitions and fear, despite being from the tiny Caribbean island of Barbados, enclosed by miles of coast.

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