Quitting hip-hop

After years of building a career around hip-hop culture, Michaela angela Davis can no longer reconcile her love of a great rap beat with the derogatory images of women pervasive in much of today's music and videos. And as the mother of a teenage girl, she has learned that some things are worth giving up all the cool points in the world.

I am a 40-year-old fly girl. My 13-year-old daughter, Elenni, and I often look for the same next hot thing--that perfect pair of jeans, a she's-gotta-have-it shoe, the ultimate handbag and the freshest new sound in music, which is, more often than not, hip-hop. Though we are nearly three decades apart in age, we both feel that hip-hop is the talking drum of our time; it teaches us and represents us. But, just as some of our African ancestors sold their people to European slave traders for a few used guns and porcelain plates, it seems as if the images of women of color in much of today's hip-hop music have been sold off to a greedy industry for a few buckets of "ice" and a stack of "cheese."

Recently while watching a new video in which yet another half-dressed girl gyrated and bounced, Elenni turned to me and asked, "Why can't that girl just have on a cute pair of jeans with a halter top? Why does she always have to have on booty shorts? And why can't she just dance instead of grinding on the hood of a car? What does that have to do with the song?" I had no easy answers. Although the images of the women were both demeaning and predictable, the beats were undeniably hot. Therein lies the paradox at the heart of my beef with hip-hop: Songs that make you bounce can carry a message far and wide, irrespective of what that message is. And far too often the message is that most young women of color are "bitches" or "hoes." I was backed into a corner, forced to choose between my love for hip-hop and my need to be respected and to pass the ideals of self-respect on to my daughter. No contest.

Look, I'm no finger-wagging conservative outsider. I was one of the founding editors of Vibe, the first national magazine dedicated to hip-hop music, style and culture, so it's really hard for me to hate. I also worked as a fashion stylist, helping to create looks for everyone from LL Cool J to Mary J. Later I landed at Honey, a magazine for young urban women, and eventually became its editor-in-chief. I wouldn't have had my career if it weren't for hip-hop culture. And that goes for lots of Black folks. In addition to its music, hip-hop has journalism, film, fashion and other lucrative by-products that have employed and empowered hundreds, if not thousands, of us. So clearly I'm not one of those out-of-touch mothers who won't listen to current music or who espouse corny cliches like "in my day, we knew what real music was."

Today is my day, too. And the danger with what's currently going on in hip-hop is not as simple as a mere generation gap. Increasingly, the male-dominated industry tends to view women as moneymakers (as in the kind you shake). Few of us are in a position to be decision makers. As a result of this imbalance, many popular hip-hop CDs and videos feature a brand of violence and misogyny that is as lethal as crack and as degrading as apartheid. And though I would love to maintain my "flyest mom ever" status, my daughter's self-esteem and that of every young sister in the world is at risk. I'm willing to risk my public image to help recover theirs. If there's not a shift in how the hip-hop industry portrays women, then our 20-year relationship is officially O-V-E-R.

I've since found creative ways to deal with my daughter's dilemma and my heartbreaking breakup: I ask Elenni why she likes a song, then I suggest alternative artists who might have a similar vibe. We look for videos that feature more progressive acts like Floetry, Jean Grae and Talib Kweli. We listen to classics such as Public Enemy and MC Lyte, so she knows that hip-hop does have a positive history. We also participate in other urban-culture activities that affirm and satisfy us, like art exhibits, poetry slams and yes, shoe shopping.

It's not going to be easy, leaving hip-hop behind. But I can no longer merely take what it dishes out and blame it on the boogie. The cost is just too great.

Michaela angela Davis is the ESSENCE fashion and beauty manager.

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