by Tyra Banks
But if I call her Rainbow or Panda or Smiles—or whatever she’s nicknamed herself—she’s reminded that she’s in a safe place. I still think this is good advice for moms, parents, friends, teachers, everyone. Just like you know you’re about to get a verbal whipping when ya mama calls you by your full name—“TYRA LYNNE BANKS, GET OVER HERE NOW!”—a nickname sends the opposite signal, like “Don’t worry, boo, everything’s gonna be all right. Let’s talk.”
My TZONE sisters. What’s up, what’s up, what’s up!
Each night, I would focus on a different subject, like gender stereotypes, sex and relationships, or body image. What surprised me is that the body image night was the most emotional—and the feeling of “I’m ugly” got real specific.
We might as well have just passed out a multiple-choice quiz:
Q: Which body part do you hate the most?
A. My boobs
B. My butt
C. My stomach
D. My thighs
E. The whole darn thing
Seven out of ten girls would have circled E.
Carolyn: Tyra came up with something she called the Mirror Exercise. I thought it was pretty clever.
Tyra: “Close your eyes,” I’d say to the girls, “and imagine you’re standing in front of a mirror, in the raw. There’s no one else around, just you. You’re in your bedroom, and you can really look at yourself.”
I’d lead the discussion and call on girls to share. There were a lot of tears, as people talked about their eyes, their hips, their noses, their biracial features they disapproved of, and other things they wanted to change. But strangely, that was the easy part. I’d then ask them to pick something they liked. I went around the room, called on girls, and . . . crickets. Finally, with some prompting, a few girls started to speak up. They liked their smile, or their eyes, or their hair when they rock a high ponytail. It was contagious, and more and more girls started to speak up.
Just doing this started to heal so many of those negative thoughts they had, and you could feel the energy in the room lift as the girls jumped in to back each other up. I was giving myself major props.
Wow. My girls were feeling better about themselves already! Full steam ahead.
“Rainbow,” I said, turning to the next girl, “do you want to share the one thing you found that you love about yourself?”
“No.”
“Oh, you need more time? No prob, we can wait.”
“No, I mean I don’t have anything.”
“You don’t want to share?”
“If I had something to share, I would, but I can’t find anything I love about myself.”
I started to feel my heart sinking down into my trail-dirt-caked shoes. Even when I tried to prompt her by telling her what I saw—“I think you have the most wonderful smile, and I know women in Hollywood who would run someone over with a car to get cheekbones like yours”—she wouldn’t take the bait. She hated herself from hair to toenails, and nothing the rest of us said could change her mind. I was crushed.
Rainbow was the first, but she wouldn’t be the last. And get this. She was a counselor!
My jaw dropped when even more of our counselors—I’m talking women from twenty-one to forty years old—admitted that they also couldn’t find anything about their bodies that they liked, much less loved.
That was when it really hit me: It’s not just young girls who have serious self-esteem issues; it’s women of all ages.
Every day in every way, from school hallways to fashion magazines, TV shows, and billboards, these girls and women were bombarded with the idea that females had to be perfect to even be counted. If you weren’t skinny/stereotypically beautiful/rich/white with long hair/tiny waist/slim thighs et cetera, then you didn’t matter. They felt like they’d never measure up, and they were crumbling under the pressure of perfection. My heart would ache for these girls who were so beat down by the world that they couldn’t even muster a smidge of self-love.
As a model, I knew the publications and products other models and I were involved with contributed to girls not always feeling their best. I felt like it was my duty to be open about the smoke and mirrors that went into creating these images, and also give young women the tools to feel a lot better about themselves. I also wanted to remind them how unfair these pressures and expectations put upon them were. For instance, when you go to a concert and see Céline Dion on the stage belting away as her heart goes on and on, you don’t go home feeling bad about yourself because you can’t sing like her. When you see Steph Curry kill it on the court with a triple-double, you don’t go home thinking you suck at life because you can’t sink that three. But when you see a woman in the media whose physicality is just as hard to obtain as a blindfolded half-court shot, society makes us feel like we’re not good enough if we don't look like that, too. And that ain’t fair.
It’s hard out here for girls. And I think over the years, I have done a decent job uplifting a lot of women who just feel pushed down. And some of these out-of-the-box TyTy tactics were straight-up stolen. Yeah, I lifted some of them from my mama. And the learnings usually came when my signature Smize was on an extended vacation. Whenever I was down on myself, she would ask me a ton of questions.
“So, he didn’t call you back, huh?”
“Now, why does that bother you?”
“Did you really like him all that much?”
“Well, if you liked him that much, why didn’t you call him?”
“Oh, you don’t think you really liked him all that much? So hmmmm, perhaps this is an ego thing? What do you think?”
And on and on, until I’d looked at all sides of a situation and was feeling better. She didn’t just up and solve my problems for me. She pretty much forced me to solve ’em myself.
Carolyn: Years later, when I saw Tyra up on that white couch for her talk show, talking to women about jealousy, high school popularity, the concept of “good” hair, or kissing her fat ass, I had to laugh.
It was a straight-up flashback to her night talks at TZONE. People always talked about how my baby girl seemed like a natural therapist—but honey, she learned it all from those camp crisis counselors.
TZONE planted the seeds for The Tyra Banks Show and her whole career, because this was where she began to see what her personal brand was all about: validating girls and teaching women to recognize their own beauty and self-worth. And to think all that can be traced back to cursing out cabin critters, rocking musty armpits, and dodging Yogi Bear!
I don’t think I’d ever been so tired in all my life as I was after that first camp session. When Tyra and I were driving home, we pulled over at one of the first restaurants we saw, salivating at the sight of that red and yellow sign. It may have just been Golden Corral, but it was about ten steps up from the mystery meats and crazy casseroles we’d been chowing down on at camp for the past week.
After we went to town on that buffet spread, we sat in the van, rolled our windows down, and reclined our seats a little bit so we could talk while we digested our food. We both agreed that as exhausting as it was, and as hard as we’d worked, it had all been worth it.
Next thing I know, I’m blinking my eyes open and it’s dark outside. I sit up in my seat—every store in that strip mall is closed and we’re the only car in the massive parking lot. “Ty,” I said, “what time is it?”
She groans. “I don’t know, Mommy. I think it’s . . . ten o’clock?”
We’d passed out right there and snoozed away for about six hours on the side of the highway! It’s amazing we weren’t robbed! Though I’m sure anyone would have taken one look at two dirty women snoring away in a van full of stuff and thought, “Nah, I ain’t messin’ with that trash!”
THE 3H TRIFECTA
Yeah, many of us know 5H stands for Fifth Harmony, even though they are just four now, but the 3H Trifecta is li
ke a confidence rocket launcher that can send someone’s I-am-in-love-with-me levels soaring into the Milky Way (the galaxy, not the candy bar, though that’s good, too, if you’re into chocolate. For the record, I am not. And don’t get it twisted. I’m talking cocoa powder, not cocoa men).
FIRST: HUMOR: Jay Leno once told me that there’s nothing you can’t laugh at—eventually. But back during those night talks, I didn’t even know I was doing that. I was just tryna get Caterpillar (or Daisy, or Pickles) to stop worrying about her buck teeth and have some fun! If you can make ’em laugh, you make ’em smile, and that’s a step toward getting their minds off their drama, trauma, or psycho mama.
SECOND: “HEY, HOT HONEY!”: Kick off internal self-esteem boosting with a lil external validation, even if someone is reluctant to accept it (sometimes it takes a while to sink). People with low self-esteem often don’t trust themselves, so knowing that someone else thinks they’re all that and a bag of salted caramel corn is like a jump start that can get the self-love buzzing.
THIRD: HARSH TRUTHS: This always comes last, after you’ve dissected the problem. “So yeah, one of your eyes is a little smaller than the other,” I’d say to a girl after I’d just told her how stunning her eyes were and she pushed back. “So what you gonna do about it? Is that something you can change? No, right? Well, Imma show you what you can do about it, and child, it’s called strategic eyeliner. Ever heard of that? No? Well you’re about to become a master at it!”
Carolyn: Tyra can come up with some crazy mess. The 3H Trifecta? Lord. But she knows how to make something catchy so that people connect to it and repeat it over and over. I’m Smizing while booty tooching just writing this.
Tyra: Then Coyote Ugly called. The film was almost in the can, but they needed me back for one last scene with all the bartenders dancing together. I didn’t understand why they needed my character back.
“I’m at my TZONE camp. I can’t come. And anyways, my character, Zoe, went away to law school,” I argued. “It doesn’t make sense for her to be in that last bar scene prancing between whiskey bottles.”
“Tyra, please,” they begged. “Jerry really wants you in the scene!”
Finally, I agreed, but on one condition: I had to be able to leave straight from the TZONE grounds and be back before anybody even noticed I was gone. I’d made a commitment to these girls to be here the whole time, and I didn’t want them to think I didn’t take that commitment seriously. “OK,” they said. “Helicopter coming your way.”
It was a stealth mission. I took a bumpy-ass golf cart as far away from the campground as I could, then jumped in a helicopter and flew back to L.A. to film this final scene. For camp, I had really long cornrows, but in the film, my character, Zoe, wore a deep brown lace front wig. The hairstylist tried and tried, but no amount of cramming got my cornrows under that wig. “Ty, we’re gonna have to cut ’em,” she said. So we chop-chopped my braids, I danced on the bar one last time on camera, and then I choppered back to camp, all without the girls knowing I’d even been gone.
But the next morning in the dining hall, I’d barely dug into my bacon when I heard from across the room, “Hey BBQ, why’d you cut your hair?”
“Oh, ya know,” I said, nervously sprinkling too much salt on my eggs, “change is good.”
(Side note: Jerry Bruckheimer talked me into being on the Coyote Ugly poster by promising me the lead in one of his movies. Seventeen years later, and I’m still waiting. Yo Jerry, what’s up! I’m still waiting, and you never called! I thought Captain Tyra Sparrow had a pretty good ring to it, too. . . .)
TZONE was just the beginning, and with everything I’ve done since, I’ve wanted to create spaces—mental, emotional, and physical—where women can boost their confidence and come together to support each other while having a heck of a lot of fun. When you start talking, heads start nodding, ’cause no matter what you are saying, someone in that room has been there before, and knows exactly what you’re talking about.
THE WE’RE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU CHANT
That first summer of TZONE, I wrote a chant as Mama and I were pulling up to camp. I’d use it to greet the campers every time we all got together, and to this day, I’ll occasionally be in a grocery store or at an airport, etc., and hear a voice start chanting:
My TZONE sister, what’s up, what’s up, what’s up?
I got your back, girl; you know I’ll back you up.
I’ll be there for you, no ifs, no ands, no buts.
My TZONE sister, what’s up, what’s up, what’s up?
This sentiment still holds true in every single thing I do. I got your back; I support you. No ifs, ands, or buts (but lots of butts. And period talk, too). You can substitute whatever you want for “TZONE sister.” The only important thing is to chant it loud and chant it proud.
Carolyn: I had a dining room table in my life.
Sure, lotsa people have those, but mine was darn special. The people in the chairs, that is. Friends, cousins, aunts, neighbors, sisters—a support group where we cried occasionally but spent most of our time laughing our asses off.
We’d talk family, men, relationships, work, our children. Often, our kids were there, too, playing off to the side, putting together a dance routine or drawing with crayons. They heard everything, because the dining room table was out in the open, and we had nothing to hide. These were women who didn’t necessarily have men in their lives, but they took damn good care of their children, and we took damn good care of each other.
TZONE was one of the most difficult projects I ever did with Tyra. But it was all worth it—even the bear scare!
I could not have done a lot of things that I was able to accomplish in my life if I had not had the support that came from being surrounded by these women.
Tyra grew up seeing that, and her whole career has been her way of taking that dining room table and adding a whole lot of extra chairs. Starting all the way back with that autograph table at Walmart. Like one of those Outstanding in the Field dinners she’s so obsessed with (Google it; you’ll see what I mean), she’s tryna build the biggest table the world has ever seen. Usually only females are invited, but woke men . . . there are an unlimited number of seats for you to sit your butt down with her, too.
Tyra: Whenever I hear a woman say, “I don’t trust girls; I can’t stand girls,” I just think, “Girl, is it ’cause you shady?” What kind of women are you attracting that you can’t trust? And don’t even give me that “I’m just so pretty that they’re all jealous” BS. That just makes me roll my eyes so hard they might fall right out my head.
I’ve been a supermodel and I have been surrounded by wonderful, super close female friends my entire life. In the modeling world, I always looked up to Cindy Crawford because she was a girls’ girl just like me. Even throughout her career, she had all these guys salivating after her, but she still got major cosmetics contracts because she appealed to women as well.
I recently had dinner with her at Shutters in Santa Monica, and I could see the whole restaurant freaking out and craning their necks because there were two supermodels having dinner, just one-on-one. I have to admit—I was kinda freaking out, too, because she’s been my idol for decades and she’s still warm and supportive and giving me advice.
Contrast this with another girl date I went on with Ms. WhoShallRemainNameless, but let’s just say she was the wife of a well-known person. People had always told us that we would get along, so we finally met for dinner at a restaurant in Beverly Hills.
From the minute we sat down, we were hootin’ and carrying on and hitting each other on the shoulder ’cause we were laughing so hard. I walked out of that restaurant thinking, “I just met my new best friend.”
So I was texting her.
And calling her.
And texting. And calling, tryna set up our next hang, and getting nothing. Finally, I called our mutual friend.<
br />
“Oh my God,” I said. “She disappeared. Is she OK?”
My friend hemmed and hawed for a minute and told me the woman was fine. “It’s just that, after you guys had dinner, she said, ‘There is not that much coolness and niceness in the world. I don’t trust nice girls like Tyra. At least with a bitch, I can see what’s coming.’”
Now, who knows if she’d just been wronged by wolves in sheep’s stilettos too many times, but when I heard that, I was pretty hurt. I was always taught to put the sisters ahead of the misters, so bumping into a sister who didn’t share this POV was always painful.
So what do I ask women who say they don’t trust other females?
“You ever been hurt by a guy?”
“Yeah, girl, my last two boyfriends cheated on me.”
“And you have a new man now?”
“Yeah, he’s my soul mate! I’m soooo in love with him!”
“So you can trust men again and again and again! Why can’t you do the same for girls?”
’Cause we’re all rooting for you.
BITCHES AND BULLIES
Tyra: I was the leader of the pack and the queen of the four-square court, and I wanted everyone to bow down.
This was fifth grade, and my clique of bossy, bratty girls ruled the playground like the cornrowed, pigtailed mafia. Every week, we’d kick someone out of our clique if they got on someone’s (usually my) bad side; they’d spend recesses all by their lonesome, swinging on the swings and draggin’ their feet in the sandbox.