Black Women & Misogynoir in the Olympics
by Sasha Estrella-Jones
July 2021
With the Tokyo Olympics scheduled to start in a couple of days, I have yet to come to the conclusion as to whether I will be watching this year's games; or “canceling” them altogether. If you have watched or read any news this month, it has been almost inescapable to not see something about the Olympics.
Stories that have dominated headlines include: the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency’s (USADA) suspension of Sha’Carri Richardson over the use of marijuana; backlash Gwen Berry has faced since she protested the national anthem during the Olympic trials; Naomi Osaka’s returning debut to tennis after taking a break to focus on her mental health; and the decision by the Court of Arbitration for Sport to uphold the five-year suspension of Brianna McNeal, who had an abortion that led to her missing a doping exam.
Then there is the International Swimming Federation (FINA) rejecting the application of Soul Caps, swim caps for swimmers with “thick, curly, and voluminous hair,” with some, including me, crying foul as this decision alone could push particularly Black women out of the sport of Olympic swimming.
For this reason and the others above, I believe we are witnessing a deep-seeded misogynoir, a hatred, dislike, distrust, and prejudice directed toward Black women. Women of color, particularly Black women, are uniquely targeted, as we stand at the intersection of race and gender discrimination. How Olympic governing bodies are treating Black, female Olympians reflects the cost and consequences of rampant racism and sexism that has become so normalized, especially as we see it acted out in greater society.
During my junior year of college I had, what I initially thought was, a brilliant idea -- to start swimming as a fun way to exercise. I was looking for a way to make it through miserably cold Ohio winters, while getting in some cardio. Swimming seemed like the perfect activity. I could be in a heated pool, where once I started my laps, the chance of being harassed by unwelcomed male eyes were slim to none, all while burning calories. It was a no brainer, swimming was the sport for me.
I hopped in the car and drove to a small strip mall nearby. The quest to find a swimsuit in the dead of winter, while living in the middle of nowhere, could have seemed daunting, but I was alive with excitement and optimism about starting something new. I watched the Olympics, like many of you; so, I knew the protocol for proper athletic swimwear: a one piece swimsuit, check; top notch goggles, check; a swim cap, check; and a duffle bag, double check. Luckily, the sports and camping store had everything I needed. I was ecstatic!
Then the day for my first swimming session arrived. I started the trek from my apartment to the on-campus pool. The walk was only around 15 minutes; but that frigid cold had me feeling like an Antarctic explorer. As I braved the Ohian tundra, I fantasized about how my first swim session would go. Me, looking fabulous and strong, in head to toe pink “Speedo” brand gear, eating up those laps like it was my breakfast; and being bothered by no one. I was in pure bliss, when I arrived at the pool, that is, until I tried to put the swim cap on.
Now, admittingly, I could and should have tried it on at home. Beginner’s mistake, I will give you that; but, what did not make sense was why this swim cap was so small and hard to put on. All the other women, who happened to be white and have straight hair, easily slipped their swim caps on and better yet, the caps stayed on their heads! After multiple failed attempts of trying to stuff my voluminous curly hair into what had become a tortuous and painful contraption, I had become visibly frustrated, and even embarrassed.
I wanted to “look the part”, but I never got the memo that the standard swim cap was not designed for women who rocked their natural curls. Knowing I only had so much time before class, I was stuck at a crossroad.
After having braved arctic temperatures to be there, my journey had to go on, I was getting in that pool. I said a prayer that by some miracle my swim cap would stay on and out of the locker room I walked, head held high and more determined than ever to make swimming my new sport.
After a lap and a half the entire swim cap was off and my poor curls had succumbed to the chlorine. Since there was absolutely nothing I could do to unwet my hair, I continued swimming; but I was defeated. I could not swim three to five times a week for my cardio, as planned, if it meant wetting and washing my hair after each swim to get all of the chlorine out. When you have textured curly or coily hair, you can quickly damage your hair by stripping it of its natural oils through over washing and frequent chlorine exposure. I left the pool, swim cap in hand, with sadness and resentment.
I share my story, because that is the lens -- the lived experience, from which I read FINA’s decision not to approve Soul Cap. Since its release, it has revolutionized swimming for thousands of individuals with natural and curly hair, Black swimmers in particular, and could have been a step toward inclusivity and acceptance. Instead, the FINA decision to not allow Soul Caps continues to feed the irrefutable connection between Black hair, discrimination and politics, with Black women at the center.
Black women in particular have had their hair politicized more than any other group. In the United States, misogynoir regarding Black women and their hair has led to the legal necessity to protect Black women and how they decide to wear their hair, because of discrimination based solely on hair styles and texture.
The state of California was the first state to pass the CROWN Act, which protects the rights of Black women and all Black people to wear their hair however they see fit without persecution in the workplace, and at school. That happened in 2019; and since then, only twelve other states have passed the CROWN Act.
I have read many articles that discuss how the treatment of Black Olympians are examples of systematic racism. I have also read a fair share of articles that explain the sexism in the way female Olympians are treated. Yet, there are but a few that discuss how the plight of Black, female Olympians is exceptionally difficult, because they encounter both racism and sexism simultaneously. This is misogynoir.
Oftentimes discussions around racism and sexism happen in their own silos. For those of us who are a part of multiple marginalized groups, women and people of color in particular, it can feel like spaces are not designed to hold room for the fullness of who we are and the inherent struggles that come with those identities. Conversations on race and gender that do not actively and intentionally prioritize intersectionality are not only frustrating, but harmful.
The fight against racism and sexism must center Black women. It must center Black Trans and Queer women, Black women currently and formerly incarcereated, Black women who are survivors of assault, Black women who have dark skin, Black differently abled women, Black women who are plus size, Black women living in poverty, Black women who are homeless, Black women struggling with mental health, Black women who are undocumented, Black women who are sex workers and every single Black woman who has an intersectional identity.
Whether or not you watch the Tokyo Olympics is your choice alone to make, but what I do ask of you is this: protect Black women, believe Black women, support Black women, love Black women, invest in Black women and call out all forms of misogynoir, every time, without apology; for true change requires it.