Written by: Ciara Celeste| Reporter
Gracing the stage in a nude-colored bodysuit, black head wrap, and an exaggerated bottom area was the icon herself—Erykah Badu.
The audience had mixed reactions: some interpreted the outfit as a playful jab at BBL culture, while others—like TikToker and fashion historian Shelby Ivey Christie—believed it was a bold statement on how society continues to police Black women’s bodies. Let’s dissect this.
On March 29th, Erykah Badu accepted the Icon Award at the Women in Music Award Ceremony. She wore what Complex called a “thought-provoking bodysuit,” created by designer Myah Hasbany. The now-viral “Booty Suit” sparked widespread discussion across social media, with many assuming Badu was poking fun at BBL culture. For context, a BBL, or Brazilian Butt Lift, is a cosmetic surgery procedure that enhances the size and shape of the buttocks.
But some spectators, especially on TikTok, saw something deeper. Shelby Ivey Christie shared a compelling think piece, proposing that Badu’s look wasn’t mocking—it was mirroring. A reflection of how society consistently scrutinizes and controls the appearance of Black women.
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This issue isn’t new. It dates back to the 17th and 18th centuries, with the tragic story of Sarah Baartman, a South African woman who was publicly displayed and exploited in Europe because of her naturally large bottom. After her death, her body remained on display until it was finally returned to her homeland in 2002—centuries too late.
Shelby also referenced the Tignon Laws enacted in 1786 by the Governor of New Orleans, which forced Black women to cover their hair with headscarves. This law aimed to suppress self-expression and control the visibility of Black beauty, as natural hair was seen as “too alluring” or threatening. But even under these restrictions, Black women found ways to reclaim their dignity—adorning their tignons with vibrant patterns and cultural pride.
Fast forward to today, and the story continues.
In 2018, Serena Williams spoke out about how her curvy, powerful physique was policed on the tennis court. She began designing custom bodysuits and athletic gear to support her form—only to have her catsuit banned by the U.S. Open.
And then there’s Megan Thee Stallion, whose curvaceous figure became a cultural talking point. The violence she endured was publicly downplayed by many—her body hypersexualized, her trauma minimized.
So yes, Badu’s outfit may have been a nod to BBL culture. But the bigger picture? It’s a mirror reflecting the continued pressure Black women face to conform, contort, and conceal their bodies. The same features we’re born with—our lips, our hips, our hair, our nails—are deemed “ghetto” on us, but “edgy” or “fashion-forward” on others.
Black women aren’t the trend. We are the blueprint.
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And the sooner society accepts that truth, the better.
