in defense of black mediocrity
Click here to read this essay on Substack.
I.
About a month ago I saw a tweet that broke my brain. It read, “Self-sabotage is often masked in perfectionism, and perfectionism is ultimately a form of procrastination.” This tweet spoke to me on a number of levels, and I knew as soon as I read this theory that I wanted to write about it. True to form, I spent weeks theorizing, journaling, and pondering every word in the tweet, refusing to put pen to paper until the moment I felt I could articulate my words just right.
That moment never came. Most psychologists define perfectionism as a personality trait, though it can also be accompanied by more serious mental disorders like severe anxiety or OCD. Though I’ve never been formally diagnosed, I’ve identified as a perfectionist, for better or for worse, for about as long as I can remember. It’s something that’s always been difficult to talk about, as perfectionism is one of those flaws that’s always framed as an asset. Who doesn’t want to be perfect? Depictions of perfectionism in popular culture, like Monica on Friends or Annie on Community, portray perfectionists as anal yet quirky white girls who make daily to do lists or can’t sleep if things aren’t clean. Their perfectionist tendencies, though occasionally inconvenient or annoying, also drive their character, give them loveable personalities, and even help them achieve their goals. But, as the above tweet so astutely points out, the constant strive towards perfection, an elusive goal in and of itself, is a task that always sets us up to fail. And the road to this imagined “perfect” lifestyle or outcome is fraught with many perils––anxiety attacks, self doubt, self hatred––that are rarely spoken of, and do not resemble any “perfect” ideal in the slightest.
A lot of my perfectionist tendencies are self imposed, but many also stem from social and environmental factors. As the oldest child, I was held to a higher standard than my younger sibling. As a Black woman in white spaces, I felt the pressure to perform as a “model” for my race and gender. As I grew older, I was able to shake or at least recognize a number of these cultural expectations. But I also grew more attune to them––in the wake of the pandemic and current racial unrest, for example, I see variations of the phrase “Black women will save us” every time I log onto social media. This expectation that Black women, arguably one of the most affected groups by both the virus and the ongoing spectre of racism, will rise above their own anguish to save the human race from unprecedentedly miserable circumstances they had no hand in causing illustrates how some people or groups are more tied to the expectation of perfection than others. Sitting with this current cultural expectation––that Black people in this moment will be leaders, saviors, have all the solutions and guide society to safety––I can’t help but think on how my social and environmental circumstances forced me to embrace perfectionism in order to feel worthy and in order to survive.
II.
Perfectionism is certainly not a mentality that only afflicts Black people; young people of all backgrounds struggle with an urgent desire to not make mistakes. Popular culture often likes to portray one’s teen years or early 20’s as a time to be selfish, take risks, or make crazy decisions you might later regret. In reality, this is rarely the case for young people today. Generation Z is reportedly the most anxious generation in history, and according to 2018 data from the American Psychological Association, some 54% of workers under age 23 said they felt anxious or nervous due to stress in the preceding month. These statistics are perhaps unsurprising: between the spectre of climate change, the tanking economy, increasing gun violence in schools, and of course the recent pandemic, we live in a moment where time is of the essence. There is no room for mistakes––we must make every second count before the inevitable and ever looming apocalypse.
Perfectionism can be external, caused by social or political circumstances outside our control, or internal, caused by negative thought patterns that fuck with our sense of self, reallign our priorities, and erase the boundaries between reality and an ideal. In my personal experience, perfectionism guides how I think about myself and how I move through the world every day. Many psychologists would agree. One study, for example, found that perfectionists “don’t believe in unconditional love, expecting others’ affection and approval to be dependent on a flawless performance.” Apparently to combat this, they are meant to “let go of the comparison mindset,” which “can help people achieve at a high level without being beholden to some impossibly perfect ideal.” I find this definition of internal perfectionism particularly relevant when thinking about race. In America, Black people are expected to be flawless, to overcome oppression with grace and dignity, to achieve artistic or athletic accomplishments higher than any of their peers. If they do not fit into this model of perfection, if they have a drug dependency for instance, or a history of crime, they are shunned, jailed, or even killed by the state. This tension illustrates how the ideology of perfection is often used as an institutional tool, ensuring that Black people conform to or fall short of a standard of excellence that is entrenched in and defined by white supremacy. But this too makes letting go of perfectionism more complicated: How can we absolve this “comparison mindset,” when a comparison to whiteness is the very thing keeping us alive?
The standard of perfection is so imposed onto Black people that it becomes difficult to define our prosperity, success, or joy without it. Often, when Black folks reach a certain level of notoriety or success, we define it by the term “Black excellence.” While the phrase is sometimes used to describe regular Black people, it is most often used to reference Black celebrities such as Beyonce, Laverne Cox, Issa Rae, Maya Angelou, and Jesse Owens. While the aforementioned people are diverse in many ways, spanning different genders, careers, and time periods, they are alike in a few important lights: each broke the mold by entering a historically white space such as major league sports, Hollywood, or publishing, and each amassed generous wealth and social capital despite their race. Once more, Black excellence, success, and worthiness is defined by a Black person’s ability to imitate whiteness.
III.
The standard of Black perfection has been with us for about as long as Black people have existed in America. When Africans were brought to the United States as slave chattel in the 1700s, most Americans believed––cruelly and irrationally––that Black bodies contained superhuman strength, that they could jump higher and run faster, that they felt less pain. These beliefs, though never definitively proven, have persevered in many forms: many white athletes today still subscribe to the “slave genes” myth, which postulates that Black athletes are more successful because of the strength of their slave ancestors. Many Black people further face medical discrimination today, as doctors refuse to take a Black person’s physical pain as seriously as that of someone of a different race. Undeniably, the “slave gene” theory and this medical treatment is proof of how Black people are seen as beings who are untouchable, inhuman, incapable of feeling physical pain. While certainly a form of oppression, this treatment also demonstrates how the ideology of perfection––being untouchable, never feeling pain––can have dangerous results, stripping someone of their humanity, or their ability to be flawed.
But the ideology of Black perfection is more than a colonial tool used to justify institutional racism: Black people too have claimed the notion of flawlessness, an aura beyond human understanding or limitation. Common terminology like “goddess,” “king,” “queen,” and “Black girl magic” illustrate how many Black people hope to reclaim the indignity they have faced throughout history and instead adorn themselves in language that is powerful or even regal. I would never police Black people on what they want to call themselves or each other, but this language has always made me uncomfortable. I find it’s a different side of the same coin: why must we be regal? Why can’t we be flawed?
Black existence has always hinged on the necessity for Black perfection. In recent months of anti-racist protests in America, we’ve seen the police and mainstream media attempt to discredit Black victims of police violence in any way possible: Louisville police tried to paint Breonna Taylor as a drug dealer post-mortum, while others have dismissed Tony McDade’s memory because of his gender identity and history of mental illness. Meanwhile, in light of actor Chadwick Boseman’s recent passing, the media erupted with praise of Boseman’s ability to act in several films while silently battling cancer, with many outlets likening him to his superhero character in the seminal film Black Panther. While Boseman’s feat was undoubtedly incredible, the public’s characterization of him in death proves two things: firstly, that wealth and notoriety allow famous Black people a respect that regular folks could never achieve; and secondly, that society only respects Black people in death if they fall into a “perfect victim” category––in Boseman’s case, he died of a disease rather than homelessness or drug use, and he suffered in silence while providing for his community while doing so. Public reaction to Boseman’s passing also contrasts sharply with recent deaths of Taylor and 19-year-old activist Oluwatoyin Saalu, two Black women who were effectively killed by the state. For doubly marginalized Black folks––Black women, Black queer people, Black drug users, etc––it is almost impossible to achieve a stamp of “perfection” as the state criminalizes so many of these identities. And so for these victims, the label of perfection can arrive only in death. As writer Danie so eloquently put it in her self published story on Medium, “In death, Breonna and Toyin are queens, they are angels, they are saints, they are cover girls and muses, they are regal and chic and beautiful, they are merchandise, they are screensavers, they are profitable. Their stylized images afford them a bizarre posthumous social capital they were denied while they were alive. They are everything, but done justice.”
IV.
This essay is not perfect and I can feel it as I type. It’s too short and some sentences don’t flow well. I rushed the research to get the story out on time and I still published it super late. I could push so many of my ideas a lot further. Everything within me is screaming, don’t go to bed, spend some more time polishing section three, but I am going to ignore that feeling because I want to go to bed.
I’d like to return to the tweet from part one, which states that perfectionism is a form of procrastination. The innate need to reach an imagined level of “perfection” is but a fruitless task that keeps us from pursuing the more important things in life, like pleasure, art, or rest. I need this essay to be perfect, so I will not go to sleep. I need to continue working, so I can’t go see my friends. If we are focused on seeking perfection, we will only spend our time and energy on various forms of capitalist production, rote labor or chores that are entirely disconnected from passion. If we spent our time in leisure or pleasure as we deserve, perfection would be the furthest thing from our minds. Though deep down I’m plagued with anxieties that this essay would be “better” if I had spent more time hunting for inconsistencies or flaws, I am learning that perfection has no place in art. Publishing this story in its imperfect form is in a way a promise that I will keep reading, keep thinking, keep asking questions of my friends. That I might return to this essay and add to it, as proof of how we learned or grew together from those conversations.
Perfectionism is a tool of white supremacy that is so ingrained in the way I live my life that I am wholly uncomfortable without it. I don’t know how to move through the world without the internal expectation that I will hold myself to the highest possible standard and punish myself for any perceived flaw. I don’t know if I’m built this way because I’m Black, or a Virgo, or just type-A at heart, but I do know that I’d be happy if I never heard the words “Black excellence” again. This past year, I was blessed in the deepest way by spending so much time with my sweet Black friends who encouraged me to be messy, who readily accepted every one of my flaws, and who taught me my mistakes can reclaim my humanity.
Thank you so much for reading! If this story spoke to you, please consider sharing with a friend or two. If you have the means and would like to support me, feel free to do so through Venmo (@Mary-Retta) or Paypal (maryretta33@gmail.com). If you’d like to see more of my work, you should subscribe to this newsletter or follow me on Twitter (@mary__retta.) Be well and more soon!
xoxo
mary <3
*Photo credits to Yume Murphy