The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Wednesday, April 21, 2021 — 9
The Instagram face and its implications
Do you remember the Kylie Jenner
lip challenge in 2015? The internet
went under her spell as countless teens
took to social media to share videos of
themselves suctioning their lips inside
a shot glass, hoping to recreate Kylie’s
voluptuous (and artificial) lips. The
results of the challenge were grotesque:
Participants would end up with
bloodshot, bruised and swollen lips, and
some teens were sent to the ER for their
injuries. Looking back on the challenge
six years later, I have come to realize
that a trend I initially found hilarious
as a child was, is in fact, a symptom
of a much larger issue: the mindless
replication of the Instagram look.
What is the Instagram face? Go on
the Instagram Explore Page, and you
will soon find out. Most women able to
garner fame and praise through their
appearance on social media have very
similar faces; it is as if their features
follow a specific template. Based on my
observations as an avid social media
user, the “look” often includes:
1.)
A
youthful,
heart-shaped
face; 2.) A small button nose with
an upturned tip; 3.) Full lips with a
defined philtrum; 4.) Full, but well-
groomed brows; 5.) Upturned, cat-like
eyes; 6.) A defined, forward-pointing
chin and a chiseled jawline to match;
7.) High cheekbones; 8.) Defined
lashes sometimes achieved through
extensions; 9.) Tan, dewy skin; 10.) The
length of the nose perfectly trisects the
rest of the face; 11.) Distance between
the eyes being equal the width of one
eye; 12.) Natural-looking makeup; 13.)
Voluptuous bust and buttocks; 14.) A
tiny waist with defined abdominals;
15.) Long, shiny hair; 16.) Never
repeating an outfit and always trendy.
The Instagram look is racially
ambiguous, as it includes many
features commonly found in Black
women, Indigenous women and other
women of color. However, BIPOC
women who naturally have these
features, compared to rich white and
white-adjacent women who have
gone through cosmetic procedures
to achieve the same features for
aesthetic’s sake, are rarely given the
same level of acclaim or endorsements
for their natural beauty.
The
Kardashians
are
known
for going under the knife and
appropriating ethnic styles to achieve
a racially ambiguous look, all the while
denying they have gotten cosmetic
procedures,
thus
further
raising
beauty standards for women. Kylie
Jenner underwent a lip-enhancing
procedure in her teen years that
broke the internet, making her the
pioneer of the Instagram face. She has
been able to market and create a lip
product line so successful it elevated
her to the status of a “self-made”
multi-millionaire. Through excessive
tanning, getting procedures to plump
their lips and creating a more curvy
figure, the Kardashians are effectively
appropriating
Black
and
brown
features as their own. By becoming
the trademarked beauty standard in
the 2010s, the famous family did erase
and is still actively erasing BIPOC
beauty and encouraging more white
and white-adjacent women to follow
suit in appropriating these features.
Consider how we take naturally full
lips on Black girls for granted,
but Kylie Jenner’s surgically
altered ones are admired
and emulated. White
models routinely use
fake or spray tan to
appear darker and
more exotic, while
darker-skinned
women are rarely
praised for their
natural skin tone.
BIPOC
women
often face colorism
and even sometimes
pressure to become
lighter. Also consider
how East Asians have
always
been
mocked
through the racist gesture of
pulling one’s eyes back, but when
white models are doing said gesture in
the name of fashion or a more “lifted”
look, they are deemed as beautiful.
The appropriation doesn’t end at
BIPOC features — Instagrammers and
celebrities alike are also appropriating
BIPOC styles and creativity. A lot of
the styles popularized by social media,
such as bandannas and streetwear,
were worn almost exclusively by Black
and brown people before the age of
social media. Through appropriating
Black and brown creativity, white
influencers
and
celebrities
have
commodified styles that used to
be more accessible to the general
public. For instance, certain Nike
sneakers used to be much cheaper
when they were much more popular
within minority groups. After the
popularization of sneaker styles such
as the Jordan Mids, resell prices then
skyrocketed
to
maximize
profit,
thus excluding the communities that
popularized the style in the first place.
The majority of society are viewing
these flawlessly posed and edited
images of Instagram models. Upon
being bombarded by these images
of beautiful women online, people
will subconsciously raise and isolate
the standard for what it means to
be feminine and attractive. While
cis-gendered, heterosexual men are
viewing these influencers for their
own enjoyment, as they are likely
attracted to the models’ physicality,
women and female-presenting people
are almost always viewing these
models for inspiration, in pursuit
of their beauty, which then turns
into critical self-deprecation. We
are socialized to view each other as
competition. The patriarchy
encourages us to center our
physical attractiveness
at the core of our
identities, and as a
result we often view
ourselves critically
and take actions,
such as putting
on
makeup
or
getting cosmetic
procedures,
in
hopes
of
becoming
more
“beautiful.”
Instagram
models prey on other
women’s
insecurities.
While
following
and
viewing
your
favorite
influencers can start out
innocently, it almost always leads to
some kind of comparative self-esteem
issue. The majority of women and girls
do not have the same access to makeup
artists, trainers or nutritionists as
these models. Therefore, women who
do not have these resources may feel
bad about themselves when compared
to the highly manufactured images
of Instagram models. Young women,
and especially teens, without a fully
developed identity and body image,
can easily develop self-image issues
and even eating disorders in pursuit of
the elusive ideal.
This beauty standard is so elusive
that the small fraction of girls who do fit
into it are getting brand endorsement
deals, which used to be unthinkable
before the age of social media. These
opportunities naturally invoke some
level of insecurity in other women.
Like the name “influencer” entails,
the influencers take advantage of their
followers’ insecurities and influence
them to purchase more makeup or
trendy clothes that often come from
unethical fast fashion brands.
Some women have gotten multiple
forms of cosmetic procedures to
replicate the Instagram look. Procedures
such as breast lifts and buttock lifts
have increased exponentially since the
beginning of the century, coinciding
with the rise of social media.
At “best,” men dismiss women they
find unattractive. At their worst, men
abuse women they find unattractive,
especially in romantic partnerships.
Because of how society treats beauty as
an integral part of a woman’s identity,
and if their beauty does not meet a
certain standard, they could face
professional and societal limitations,
in comparison to women who do fit
that standard. As beauty standards
become more particular and less
attainable, society as a whole becomes
more accustomed to the aesthetic
expectation of these women online,
and in real life, there will be a larger
bracket of women who they might
deem unattractive. To some extent,
this will lead to the mistreatment
of women who are deemed as
conventionally unattractive.
On most social media platforms,
once you interact with influencers,
the algorithm takes notice and pushes
more posts of the same genre to you.
Thus, Instagram models are gradually
becoming
omnipresent
on
most
people’s timelines and explore pages.
While viewing these carefully curated
images can be exhausting and make
us insecure, consider that nobody is
perfect in the way these images are.
The pictures you see on social media
are posed and edited: Sometimes even
with a team behind the model, helping
her create the best image of herself.
Knowing how harmful these beauty
standards are to young girls, there
are now influencers who are actively
defying them by posting untouched
images of their faces and bodies,
showing their authentic selves.
To whom this may concern: Please
do take social media breaks if you need
it! Unfollow the influencers and delete
the apps if that helps, and always
keep in mind that pictures posted by
celebrities are often as manufactured
as can be.
Mother tongue
Despite
being
surrounded by it for
my entire life, I am
not
entirely
fluent
in Arabic. There has
always been a twinge of
shame
underlying
that
fact,
breeding
a
strange
sense of inadequacy in me. No
matter how much I’d like for it to
be
different, my proficiency in the language is capricious
at best. I grew up immersed in my family’s colorful
Algerian dialect, utilizing it to communicate with my
grandparents or decipher the occasional scolding I
received from my mother. Beyond that, I’d always felt
that what was supposed to be my “mother tongue” sat
awkwardly in my mouth like dead weight. It fumbled
the pronunciation of Arabic words, distinctly marking
me as an imposter when communicating with my
friends who spoke the language with ease. They
watched as I struggled with the complex inflections
that the language demands, unable to muster the
skillful “-kh” sound or achieve the masterful rolling
of “r”s with any believable intensity. A red flush crept
across my face every time someone discovered my
descent and asked “Inti bthakee Arabi?” (Do you speak
Arabic?), as I knew that my response would have to be
a feeble shrug or a lackluster “kind of.”
That ambiguous “kind of” was qualified by a sizable
inventory of words and phrases I’d collected throughout
my life, furtively stowed away in my mind and ready to
be wielded at any moment that required me to prove my
validity. I’d learned enough Arabic to navigate family
situations or conversations with strangers, but never
enough to gossip about a teacher with my classmates.
Just enough to get to claim the identity, but never enough
to claim the language. Despite the looming presence
it had in my life, Arabic remained largely foreign; any
interaction I had with it left me feeling like a tourist in
what was supposed to be my own home.
For a long time, I felt such a strong disconnect
between myself and my identity — one that I was
convinced only fluency in the language could bridge.
I hated the way I sounded “American” every time
I attempted to slip into Arabic pronunciations or
the way that words clashed in my throat in frenzied
discordance. As I grew older, I gained the ability to
understand most of what I was hearing but could never
respond with the same ease. I coveted the beauty of
the language, the way it melted in mouths like butter,
effortless like silk or honey or true belonging. But with
each syllable and stressed note dying in my mouth, I
settled for the silence and languished in the listening.
While I viewed my lack of fluency in Arabic as a
deficit in the later years of my life, this was never the
case when I was a child. Rather, I was enamored by
the mystical nature of the language, deeming it a world
of opportunity and never considering myself to be
condemned from its gates.
I was particularly enraptured by watching members
of my family perform the five daily Islamic prayers, a
beautiful language in their own right. When I was old
enough to begin praying, I learned by mirroring my
mother’s movements; I followed each graceful bow of
her unwavering frame, eagerly awaiting the next cue:
a triumphant rise, a humble bend, an imperceptible
yet controlled sway. When it came time to attach
holy words to those movements, I had to resort to
learning the sounds of each Surah (prayer). Unable to
understand the words, I internalized the way they rose
and collided against each other like waves, committing
their dynamic movements to memory. I prayed through
mimicry, reciting a series of noises that had yet to have
any perceivable definition underlying them.
Everything about these daily prayers was steeped
in an indescribable divinity, a sacredness that was just
out of reach despite its warmth feeling unmistakably
close. I continued to pray, reciting the sounds from
memory, moving through the motions with a learned
knowingness that was tinged with a shadow of doubt
about the efficacy of my performance. Beyond that
doubt sat an even darker fear: Does this count? If I’m
just repeating from memory without knowing the weight
of the words I’m uttering… am I truly praying? Being
a stranger to Quranic vocabulary, there seemed to
be an insurmountable cleft between the words I was
whispering and the sanctity of the meaning they held. I
feared that I would fall into that dark chasm separating
practice and understanding — a fate that no amount
of mimicry could save me from if I didn’t possess an
inherent grasp of the language — dooming me to
remain suspended in my own muddied sense of self.
I knew that this fear felt traitorous and undeserved;
Arabic itself had never made me feel scared, only safe.
It was the language that wafted through my home,
perfumed with the wisdom of my grandmother and
tenderness of my mother. Knowing this helped diffuse
any trepidation that may have tainted such a meaningful
part of my life. I convinced myself that praying meant
trying — it was having faith in the words I didn’t
know and trusting that they would still be heard and
understood. Through reconfiguring what prayer meant
to me, I began to fill the gaps left by language on my
own; I didn’t know what my hums and recited whispers
meant, but I knew that they meant something.
Kneeling at a prayer rug, the language stopped
feeling foreign. While there was still a gnawing sense
of yearning for the concealed meaning tucked between
the unfamiliar words, there was also a whisper of
satisfaction in the fact that I did know them — that I
could conjure them with my own breath and make
them come alive on my tongue. They did not have to be
inaccessible or arcane; they could still be mine.
As I’ve gotten older and gained comprehension and
ability in Arabic through experience, the language
gap still remains. However, I’ve learned that I can
fill that language gap the same way I did during my
daily prayers as an 8-year-old, constructing my own
meaning from the pieces I’ve collected. I am not yet
fluent in the Arabic language, but the grasp it has on
me is unequivocal, inspiring a familiarity that could
only be felt by someone who has known it their whole
life and in all their lives past.
YASMINE SLIMANI
MiC Columnist
Disability in the time of climate crisis
The
student-organized
symposium, “Loving Our Planet
Like We Should Love Each Other:
Disability in the time of climate crisis”
took place on March 9. The symposium,
which offered live captioning and
American
Sign
Language-English
interpreting
for
panelists
and
attendees, was organized and hosted
by the students of the Linguistics 102
course, shedding light on the resources
and passions that can be mobilized
amongst the University of Michigan’s
student body. Though the focus was
on the climate crisis, the conversation
was particularly special in that it was
mindful of the intersectional effects of
racism, classism and ableism, and the
panelists were well-equipped to speak
on each matter.
The event opened with a land
acknowledgement, noting that the
broadcast took place from unceded
Anishinaabe territories of Osawa,
Bodéwadmi
(Potawatomi)
and
Meskwahki-asa-hina (Fox) peoples.
Additionally,
the
event
was
in
memoriam of the many disabled people,
Black and Indigenous community
members and people of color who
have died preventable deaths in the
disaster that has been the COVID-19
pandemic and in honor of the students’
class member Steven Halland.The
symposium featured four panelists:
Rafi Darrow, Izzy Laderman, Teddy
Dorsette III and Sarah Young Bear-
Brown.
Rafi explained that their experience
with chronic migraines while living in
a fire-prone area, amid climate chaos
and bad air quality, has limited their
access to the outside world, and has
forced them to be strategic about when
and how to go outside and engage.
Rafi has set an intention to nurture
solidarity between the chronically
ill, neurodivergent, mobility-disabled
and sensory-disabled communities
through the Bay Area Disabled
Dance Collective, of which they are
a founding member. As well, they
facilitate informative dialogue about
disability justice and dance through
the Sins Invalid Podcast, “Into the Crip
Universe.”
Izzy, who described her personality
as one of fairy lights and potted plants,
spoke to her relationship with Ehlers-
Danlos Syndrome. She attested to the
fact that many disabled or ill people
deal with more than just one disability,
and her experience with Ehlers-
Danlos Syndrome is accompanied
by over 10 additional diagnoses. Izzy
has embraced this indubitable pain
to mobilize a community and is now
the founder and director of Disability
Awareness Around the Climate Crisis
at only 17 years old. Through this
platform, she informs the public on
the intersections of disability and the
climate crisis, as well as sex education.
Teddy immediately acknowledged
his being Black and deaf are two
inseparable identities in his life, as
they are inseparable for all disabled
people of color who have been limited
by society and political authority.
Like Izzy and Rafi, Teddy has
dedicated his work to uplifting people
who have been provided similar
limitations as he. He is a social justice
advocate, an entrepreneur and a
filmmaker. As co-founder of Teddyboy
Entertainment and Def Lens Media,
he helps provide resources for others
to nurture their creative skills and
realize their dreams. For hard of
hearing and deaf youth, he established
Reel Def Entertainment, which is a
non-profit that helps the youth pursue
their creative arts interests. He is also
the communications manager and an
organizer at Detroit Disability Power.
Sarah is a member of the Fox Tribe of
the Meskwahki nation in Iowa. Sarah
is a social justice advocate, a political
figure and a businesswoman. She has
been an activist for the Indigenous
Deaf community since 2014 and
advocated for the No Dakota Access
Pipeline organization at Standing Rock
alongside 20,000 other advocates.
Sarah has taken her platform into the
political realm as the Vice-Chair for
the Native American Caucus for the
Iowa Democratic Party, and she is the
founder of Gathering of Deafatives, an
organization for the Indigenous deaf
community. And, as a businesswoman,
she creates and sells beadwork through
her small business SAYBB Creations
Beadwork.
Each panelist is active in their
respective
communities,
fostering
awareness and creating resources
for the issues enforced unto them
and their environments. Community
activism has long been an essential
part of safety and survival amid lower-
income and disabled populations.
This is largely because political and
authoritative figures have failed to
address disparities across all aspects of
life and have often been the root of the
matter. Though the plights presented to
the disabled community vary, climate
chaos is a frequent inhibition for those
with disabilities when it comes to
having access to day-to-day pleasures
or when it comes down to survival.
It has become apparent that the
climate crisis serves both as a genesis
for disability and as a worsening factor
of pre-existing conditions. Rafi spoke
to their friends’ experiences with tick-
borne Lyme disease, which they note
has been on the rise across the country
and is a result of climate change. Ticks
would normally be killed off in lower
temperatures; however, because of
global warming, ticks now thrive in
certain areas they didn’t used to inhabit.
Rafi further explained that this is not
new information, but that disabled
people are publicly responding to what
is happening around us all. Similarly,
though Izzy’s condition is genetic and
was not caused by the climate crisis, she
has many peers whose conditions do
lead back to the climate. She reiterated
the necessity of recognizing the
intersections of environmental racism,
ableism and classism, noting that the
people most oppressed by such systems
often reside in close proximity to toxic
pipelines, plants and other damaging
infrastructures and meanwhile have
less access to medical care. To reiterate
this, Izzy described her friend, who
lived near a trash-burning plant and
had highly active asthma. When this
woman moved to a middle-class white
neighborhood, her asthma went away.
People facing ableist conditions deal
with more dire impacts of the climate
crisis because of their proximity to the
infrastructures causing the climate
crisis, and because disabled people are
two times more likely to be in poverty,
this cyclic proximity to environmental
danger is inarguably biased against
their livelihood.
When
these
environmental
threats are compounded with racism
and ableism, there is often a lack
of information distributed to those
living amid the consequences of
such systems. Teddy addressed the
Flint water crisis as an example. He
reflected on his time as the president
of Detroit Black Deaf Advocates
—
during
which
the
advocates
sought access to clean water and
other scarcely provided resources
— noting that the deaf and disabled
communities in Flint had less access to
information and were more drastically
impacted. Teddy said that people did
not even know where or how to access
safe supplies. In this case, deafness
and Black-ness are simultaneously
weaponized
against
individuals,
limiting access to survival necessities.
Sarah added that Indigenous people
were struggling similarly amid the
Flint water crisis and that this is not
new; Indigenous communities across
the country, such as in the Navajo
Nation, have been suffering from
water scarcity for years. Within the
reservation, Sarah said there are
100,000 people living in extreme
poverty without access to clean water,
which further perpetuates disabilities.
People have to walk far distances to
get water bottles, and there are no
cars, so as illnesses increase, the lack
of accessibility to medical attention
factors into an exacerbating death toll.
Rafi affirmed that in their hometown
of Buffalo, N.Y., communities are
gravely affected by poor air and water
quality and that this is an apparent
trend
amongst
majority
Black,
Indigenous or otherwise systemically
oppressed
communities,
including
lower-income populations. They went
on to reference multiple environmental
determinants that have caused harm to
their community such as old factories
causing asthma and other respiratory
illnesses. Teddy notes that the impact of
this air pollution has caused particular
harm to Black women when considered
alongside the neglect of Black maternal,
physical and mental well-being.
ZOE ZHANG
MiC Columnist
GABRIJELA SKOKO
& ANCHAL MALH
Managing MiC Editor & MiC Columnist
D
e
s
i
g
n
b
y
Zo
e
Zh
an
g
D
e
s
i
g
n
by
J
an
ic
e
Lin
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com