We can’t always count on social media’s response to a celebrity happening, but this time, it was *chef’s kiss.*
Last week, Keke Palmer’s boyfriend Darius Jackson tweeted a sexist comment about a stunning outfit she wore to a recent concert, where Usher serenaded her during his performance. We don’t need to revisit the contents of the first tweet and then the ignorant doubling down, but it’s all here if you’re curious.
And the internet came for him immediately.
Jackson could have simply been cool about what appeared to be a playful moment between two legends and then expressed his discomfort with it at a later (much more private) time. Instead, he learned that airing out what turned out to be some mom-shaming thoughts is a great way to get dragged across several social media platforms.
Palmer’s fans made it abundantly clear that in 2023, we’re not here for this behaviour — especially from a romantic partner. The backlash was enough to make anyone deactivate their account, which Jackson apparently did. Look, you are not going to come for anyone in the Sisterhood in public — let alone the self-made actress, singer, TV personality and mother, Keke freakin’ Palmer — and not hear how you got us F’d up.
We’re angry about what Jackson said, but whatever happens in their relationship is their business. His comments, however, reflect two widespread injustices that we have to address: The policing of Black women’s bodies and mom-shaming.
His “you are a mother” comment is rooted in outdated gender norms that control how we think about Black women and our bodies. If we are not held to an unachievable standard of respectability, we are mammy-fied, deemed undesirable and reduced to identities shaped by bearing and raising children. These arguments hold no weight in modern relationships and seriously need to be thrown out. It’s time for society to catch up and realise our bodies and identities cannot and will not be policed.
And the mom-shaming (a term typically used to highlight harsh judgment of birthing people for their parenting choices) here is reflected in the belief that once you birth a child, you have to cover your entire body and behave as a chaste zombie in public. Since becoming a mother, I’ve actively decided to continue to be the person I’ve been and lean into who I am becoming.
But it’s not easy to retain your sense of self. I sometimes teeter between worrying I am too matronly or too provocative. But I’ve realised these worries are from external patriarchal pressures to conform and relinquish my authentic self. Over time, I’ve learned I have the right to reject these pressures and embrace myself for all I am.
I also have the right to choose how I use, present and experience my body. Dressing in ways some may call immodest is one way I tap into pleasure. That right doesn’t disappear because I am a mother. This might upset some people, but that’s not my problem or Palmer’s. As a hard-working woman, she deserved all of the pleasure that came from that moment. As journalist Ernest Owens wisely tweeted, “Men never have their fatherhood weaponised when having fun compared to mothers.”
If men are concerned with preserving Black motherhood, as Palmer wisely pointed out in an unrelated conversation with Vice President Kamala Harris, I suggest they start tweeting about the Black maternal mortality rates because that’s something actually worth being upset over.