Who You Calling a Bitch?

One woman’s long, complicated relationship with the B-word.

Flickr.com (meddygarnet)
Flickr.com (meddygarnet)

Ignoring the invention of the perm, black chicks are rarely—if ever—susceptible to magic. We don’t go up in pillars of smoke. We don’t disappear down suspect rabbit holes. And we don’t walk into coat closets, never to be heard from again. But somewhere along the journey from slave to soul sister to single lady, we did learn how to shape shift. It all starts with the face—lips pursed, cheeks flattened and eyes like lasers

That’s the face the outside world gets when they call us from the corner (“Hey, shawtay”) or in the club (“Excuse me, miss”) or into an office (“Hey, can you pop in for a sec?”). It says you can’t talk to me, touch me or trap me. For some, it has become a coolness coat of arms, an impenetrable shield. I call it survival side-eye.

So in 2008, when comedienne Tina Fey declared, “Bitch is the new black!” in defense of presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, I decided she was on to something genius. Of course, at first, my reaction was more like, “How daaare you?!” but after a commercial break and as much thought, I realized being a bitch meant something more to the modern woman than just mean-mugging.

From the time the sixth-grader me first uttered the word “bitch” in a nerd’s attempt at bad girl in front of the girls, (who had secret sleepovers they forgot to tell me about on Friday but had no problem remembering the details of by Monday), I realized the power in it. The performance of it.  

As does Fey. Guesting on a special segment called “women’s news,” Fey settled into her old seat at SNL’s Weekend Update and began her fake newscast with a line that any woman could get behind: “… we can all agree that this is a great time to be a lady in America and not just because of that new yogurt that makes you poop.”

Then she seemingly went off the cuff, riffing on the inherent bitchiness of then-presidential candidate Clinton. She seemed genuinely pissed that anyone would dare declare “bitch” a bad thing.

“People say that Hillary is a bitch, and let me say something about that:,Yeah, she is, and so am I, and so is this one,” she said, pointing a sideways thumbs-up to her sidekick Amy Poehler, who nodded in approval. “Bitches get stuff done. That’s why Catholic schools use nuns instead of priests … At the end of the year, you hated those bitches, but you knew the capital of Vermont.”

Using Fey’s logic, bitches are not just venomous—they’re en vogue, too. They are the chosen. They are capable comediennes and political candidates. They are rappers and writers. Because no one has the monopoly on bitch. Bitches are a motley crew. From the outside looking in, their pants suits, habits and black-rimmed bifocals might appear severe, but beneath the surface stuff is getting done. And isn’t that the point? And like Fey said at the beginning of her most noteworthy contribution to pop culture to date, “this is a great time to be a lady in America.”