How One Photo Of Toni Morrison Shifted My Self-Perception
Onemorningthis past September, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my face was no longer as slender as it once was, and the area under my eyes showed hints of puffy creases a shade darker than the rest of my skin. The small mole on my right cheek seemed a bit more pronounced, and little gray hairs sprouted from my hairline.
I stared at myself for a moment longer and, for the first time, found that I was not the same girl I was a year ago, when I turned 30. At that moment, I decided that a new hair color would be a fun way to celebrate the beauty of maturing — and, since I was long overdue for new professional headshots, a photo shoot to capture my new look.
Leading up to getting these pictures taken, I was simultaneously processing the evolution of my facial features and reflecting on what feels like the never-ending stop-and-go of my writing career. For so long, I’ve chased a dream that hasn’t panned out exactly as I’d imagined it.
In the years after I graduated college when I was still so adamant about landing my “dream job,” my mother would say, “Your job doesn’t have to define you. Don’t put yourself in a box.” As a 21-year-old dead set on girl-bossing her way into a corporate baddie, I didn’t want to hear it.
But now, at 31 and still figuring out the balance between corporate America and loyalty to my creative passion, I know better. I know my mother was giving me sage advice that could only come from her awareness of what it is like to be a Black woman finding her way.
While thinking about how challenging it’s been for me to land even a full-time entry-level position, I found myself meditating on this Toni Morrison quote: “You are not the work you do; you are the person you are.” I realized that although I had been taught not to, somewhere down the line, I’d started to squeeze myself into societal definitions that I am now outgrowing.
Ihave come to realize Black women’s willingness to constantly learn and evolve is one of our greatest survival skills. A willingness to absorb as much information as possible about the world around us is how we create a path when one doesn’t exist. We learn early on that no one will save us, and the better we are at honing our skills and understanding who we are, what our needs are, and how to communicate those things, the better positioned we are to survive.
And while this realization is empowering, it’s also daunting. This level of awareness can sometimes fester into anxiety and high-functioning depression without the proper outlets and support. This is why it is so essential that we foster a sense of grace for ourselves that matches our insatiable thirst for knowledge.That’s why, when I decided to do a vision board for my new headshots, it was not surprising that one particular image of Toni Morrison stood out to me.
It was a photo of her taken by the photographer Jill Krementz in the winter of ’74. It was her, leaning on the railing of a brownstone on a New York City street, her slightly smug expression, even her jacket, felt beautifully familiar to me and made my dreams feel all the more real. So I pinned it to the center of my vision board next to a photo of bell hooks posing comfortably on a couch alongside various Trace Ellis Ross style references.
Toni Morrison did not write her first book until she was 39, but by that point, she had been in literary spaces long enough to see that the expansive beauty and complexity of Black womanhood were missing from popular literature. She was also certain of herself enough to know she had the language, insight, and creative intelligence to tell those stories just as they should be told. Through her celebrated body of work, she told those stories to preserve Black experiences for future generations.
“The Bluest Eye,” her first novel, validates the trauma caused by Eurocentric beauty standards, sexual violence and the overall lack of protection of Black girls in public and private spaces. This trauma continues to rear its ugly head all while getting swept under the rug in the present day.
Her work has provided essential language and popular cultural references to generations of Black women who otherwise might not have had access to it. Whether through the characters she brought to life in her writing or viral clips of her interviews, Morrison continues to allow me to deepen my understanding of the world, myself and my humanity outside of how society has defined it.
Coming into my 30s has sparked reflections on what has kept me from becoming the person I thought I was supposed to be. This person was not purely imagined by me; she consists of a cluster of tropes about Black womanhood, excellence and respectability. I had been robbed of all the power of showing up in the world on terms defined by me and only me.
The image I pinned to my vision board of Morrison offered me a window into a new vision for my womanhood. Emulating this photo for my headshots felt like pressing restart. It’s an opportunity to harness the power that comes with authentically giving so much of yourself to others, which was something Morrison did so effortlessly.
In preparation for the shoot, I curled my hair and asked my friend to do a natural makeup look on me. I went into my closet, found a dress I’d worn many times before, and asked my aunt if I could take photos on her stoop. It was important to me that I matched the aesthetic of Morrison’s photo and the glorious self-assurance it conveyed.
When I get my picture taken, I tend to feel like a deer caught in headlights. But that day, I knew that feeling comfortable in what I was wearing and my familiarity with my surroundings would help keep some of my anxiety at bay.
During the shoot, I experienced a stream of thoughts about the awkwardness of posing, strangers judging me, and other random stress-sweat-inducing moments. But, I had Morrison’s image at the front of my mind for reference. Being seen can make us feel raw and vulnerable — but sometimes, therein lies our greatest superpower.
Her smirk, as if to say, “I know something the rest of you don’t,” came to me as I thought through my poses. Focusing on Morrison’s confidence — which I’m sure, at the time, was intertwined with other emotions — allowed me to cut through the noise in my head. I did not let the imposter syndrome that was working overtime hijack the moment.
In the days following the shoot, I went back to my job search and the dread that comes with the depressing cycle of applying for jobs. It was just when I felt like giving up that Naima, the photographer I worked with on the shoot, sent me the photos. I opened the folder, and there I was, so much more than what I had previously imagined. Inspired by Toni, but an image all my own.
