PDF Ebook , by Robinson, Phoebe
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, by Robinson, Phoebe
PDF Ebook , by Robinson, Phoebe
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Product details
File Size: 6637 KB
Print Length: 318 pages
Publisher: Plume (October 4, 2016)
Publication Date: October 4, 2016
Sold by: Penguin Group (USA) LLC
Language: English
ASIN: B01CZCW30A
Text-to-Speech:
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Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#664 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store)
You Can’t Touch My Hair and Other Things I Still Have to ExplainBy: Phoebe RobinsonI am a 52-year-old white woman and I have never asked a “POC†(person of color) if I could touch their hair. It’s just never occurred to me to do so. I mean, how weird is that? Imagine my surprise when my granddaughter—a 10-year-old bi-racial beauty—came home from (a predominately white) school recently and told me that her friends all “love touching my hair.†I asked, “whyâ€. She said, “I don’t know. They think it’s cool I guess. Still…it made me feel weird.â€That was about three weeks ago. One week ago, I opened the People Magazine, to their book recommendations page, and saw Phoebe Robinson’s book, YOU CAN’T TOUCH MY HAIR AND OTHER THINGS I STILL HAVE TO EXPLAIN. I bought it without blinking.As a woman, I’ve always assumed that ALL women shared—for the most part—the same kinds of experiences. I mean, we have all experienced the same physical experiences, right? And, as a group, we’ve all experienced the same kind of gender bias experiences. You know what I mean; the whole, “stand back and let the men handle this, little lady†thing. We’ve all been undervalued, underestimated and mis-understood. Right? Yes. However, what I guess I didn’t realize was that African-American women have had a whole other set of experiences… That makes me either ignorant, self-involved or just…unaware. Maybe a little bit of each?I want to understand—as much as I can—what my granddaughter may have to face as she gets older.Phoebe Robinson’s book, YOU CAN’T TOUCH MY HAIR AND OTHER THINGS I STILL HAVE TO EXPLAIN, opened my eyes to quite a few issues I never realized existed for women of color. I now know that my Lizzie might always have to have an answer ready for the question, “can I touch your hairâ€. She might always have to be “the token black friendâ€. She might always be subjected to stupidity, ignorance and oblivious obtuseness from silly white folka who just don’t get it. That sucks. But, I also now know that she’ll live through it, no matter how awful it might be and be stronger for it.I’m glad I read Ms. Robinson’s book. I appreciate the new insight into my granddaughter’s possible future.As far as the book and the writing within goes… This book is made up of a series of essays on the different issues a woman of color has or may face. As an older woman (translated not-hip, cool or with it), I didn’t appreciate the vulgarity in these essays—especially toward the end of the book where the last chapter was written as a series of letters to the author’s toddler niece, Olivia—this seemed not only unnecessary but also VERY inappropriate. I, too, am an aunt and would never talk to any of my nieces like that—and they’re all adults. Nor did I get many of the pop-culture references and/or all the abbreviations (POC, BPS, OBL, etc.). Again…I’m an old, white lady.However, I understand that the author was just being herself.This is an enlightening and titillating (if somewhat filthy) commentary on our world and the way it treats African American women and African Americans in general. It’s not flattering to white people. But, it’s real.I would recommend it to anyone who needs to see life from someone else’s eyes.
You know how you read Bossypants and then were like, I need more funny and inspiring memoirs RIGHT NOW? So you read Amy Poehler and hers is solid, thoughtful - but not nearly funny enough; and then you read Rob Lowe's first memoir and you're so happy and surprised that the most perfect male specimen ever to walk the planet earth also writes well and is funny and insightful? So you breathe a sigh of release and then Amy Schumer's memoir comes along and you pre-order it and whip that baby open the moment it hits your kindle and you laugh at some of it but then the book takes a weird and not at all funny turn and you realize that it's actually a protracted therapy session in which Amy comes to realize that she kinda hates her mom and is pretty dysfunctional and you sort of want to start a GoFundMe.com site for her so she can get the help she needs or at least hire a better editor next time? Well, Phoebe Robinson is right up there with Tina Fey. I don't say that lightly because I adore Tina Fey and she is a kickass writer and comedian and woman and owns her own life experiences and she can rock a red carpet dress like nobody's business even though she probably prefers jeans and a tee. So, this is serious business.I picked up Robinson's book through some convoluted means - it was on a list or in the recommended reads after a book on some list somewhere or just ran across it randomly...I really don't know. I'd never heard of Phoebe Robinson before (sorry, Phebes) but that, of course, would never stop me from trying out a book. I'm so glad I'm open minded like that because Robinson made me laugh a LOT (even woke my husband up once due to shaking with laughter in bed), but it also made me cry from time to time. AND...it left me a more educated, thoughtful person than I had been before I began. Robinson writes about the black experience and the female experience - one of which I know a lot about, and one about which I know jack, because I am white; even with a tan I just look like Wonder Bread left in the toaster for about 25 seconds. Nada. I grew up in the suburbs of Illinois, Indiana, and Long Island, New York. You can't get much whiter than that.So Phoebe Robinson shared some BPS (Black People Secrets) and, more importantly, she shared her own life experiences, which hit me like a ton of bricks and opened my eyes to perspectives to which I was so blind, I didn't even consider to consider them. Her discussion, for example, of the guilt and responsibility to white people that she felt as a young adult about every word she uttered really forced me to reconsider and reframe the experience of middle class black people (Robinson makes it very clear that she is not speaking for all black people, and as a woman and especially as a cancer patient, I totally get that... so I don't want to make sweeping generalizations). I feel stupid even saying this and I'm sure any POC (person of color) reading this is rolling their eyes and thinking, wow, "Dr." J, you are a moron. Which is true. But at least I'm trying my best to look beyond my own sheltered existence.Anyway. This book is very well written, extremely funny, and offers some really extraordinary insights. I'm so glad it tumbled into my hands, because Phoebe Robibson, you have yourself a new fan for life. Thank you for going all in and sharing so much of yourself with the world.Now quit reading my review and get to the bookstore or Kindle or the library right away!
I relate to each situation in this book because like Phoebe, I am a Black woman. Phoebe is ethnically African American, I am ethnically African American so I understand the linguistics of this book, to the point that it annoyed me. Even when African American's speak AAVE they are not saying hash tag every other sentence and making played out color purple references. I'm glad for her and her book, but any average Black girl could have wrote this because the book is so all over the place it felt like an outline/diary and not an actual book. One chapter she's talking about her hair and then the next chapter she has a list of old white men she want's the sleep with from greatest to least, then she's talking about colorism, after that there is a chapter that is dedicated to the future woman president; it makes no sense. There was nothing about this book that stood out because every other sentence there was a pop culture reference, pun, similes, onamonapia's and more name dropping than a Lil Wayne track. This book is for liberal non Black audiences in cities like Portland Oregon and gentrified Brooklyn. This was long form rambling/ranting in my ear, because there wasn't anything I gained from this, besides 3 chuckles here and there. Kudo's to her for knowing her target audience, because I cringe at the level of assimilation that she talks about is in this book, but get your check. I hope this book sells because her experience's as a Black women are very real, this may be her personality, but it still reeks of performatism.
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