by Fantasia
I have been fortunate to travel around the world, and although I don’t know much about the cultures of other places, I do know that women everywhere want the attention of a man and they show it by the way they dress. In the ghetto where I come from, big butts and tight jeans are the way to get (certain) men’s hearts, but the need for love is something that has no specific neighborhood or language.
You may be wondering why I would even put this chapter in my book. Who cares about hootchie mamas anyway? I care. And this chapter—and this book—is for everyone who thought they had me and other hootchie mamas figured out because they thought they knew about us from the media. But they don’t know our hearts. I want everyone, especially young people, to know that every human being is not necessarily what they look like. I named this chapter this way to get your attention. This chapter is not about hootchie mamas, really; this chapter is really about how they came to be and who they are on the inside.
The name “hootchie mama” comes from TV. Hip-hop and R&B videos always have the girls who don’t have on enough clothes, shakin’ their butts and hanging all over a man who has three other woman hanging on him too. In the videos, it seems that none of the women are upset about the other women hanging on the man. This image is what makes a hootchie mama think it’s OK to share their man. It isn’t.
Hootchie mamas are women who are wearin’ too few clothes and too much jewelry. Hootchie mamas were put into those music videos to make the men in the video feel like they are desirable. Hootchie mamas ain’t real. They ain’t real people, they’re just an image that has been taken too far. Hootchie mamas come in all colors, shapes, and sizes. When I’m on the road, I see lots of young girls wearin’ tight stuff and showin’ too much skin. Their boyfriends seem to like it, but I’m sure their fathers and mothers don’t. I have heard little girls tell me that they had to sneak out to go to my concert and that their mothers would die if they saw what they were wearing. I used to think to myself, I’m not happy with what you’re wearing either, but it’s not my place to say anything. Except for in the pages of my book!
I don’t even like the term “hootchie mama” because a lot of people using that term could be called the same thing. It’s a term that’s based on the way someone looks—how they are dressed—but I know a lot of hootchie mamas and I know what is in their hearts. Most importantly, I know myself and I ain’t no hootchie mama—but some people would have called me that back in the day. The hootchie mamas I know are kind and generous. They are funny and optimistic. They are concerned about their kids as much as anyone else is. They just think that they don’t have any other way of gettin’ attention and making things better for themselves. Hootchie mamas wish that their children could become doctors and lawyers, just like every other mother wishes for her child. A hootchie mama’s problem is that she probably doesn’t know any doctors or lawyers, and if she does, it’s usually not in a social way. The doctors she knows may be the ones who told her that she was pregnant for the first, second, or third time. The lawyers she knows may be the ones who defended her baby daddy. These lawyers are the ones who break the news that her baby daddy is going to prison because of what he did last year.
The hootchie mamas that I know from back home are proud, despite what they look like to everybody else. Despite that they have always lived in the projects, and always got welfare and can’t get off it because they have no education, it seems smarter to not work and keep havin’ babies, then going to get a minimum-wage job. The cost of day care is more than a minimum-wage job earns. These women stand tall and proud and most of them have found some level of self-esteem despite their circumstances. They believe that they are as good as anyone else. Very few hootchie mamas realize that they are not just like everybody else, or maybe they are. I think the truth of being a hootchie mama is not even the way that you dress or how much skin you are showing. I think being a hootchie mama is an attitude. It is a way of thinking about men and how much we think we need them to feel good about ourselves.
My days of being a hootchie mama started probably in the eighth or ninth grade. Those are the days that I was friskin’ around and trying to get the attention of other guys, but mostly B. From me watching those music videos, I could see what all girls at that age see—to get a man you have to be sexy and being sexy meant taking off your clothes, or wearing as few clothes a as possible. I was fourteen and watching those videos instead of listening to my mama. I was seeing those handsome, well-dressed, cool men on the TV and wishing that they were real. I was wishing that they lived in High Point, so I could see them and experience them. I was feelin’ frisky and wished for them or anyone who looked like them. Every teenage girl has the same problem. The magazines and the TV shows are always promoting sex—even down to the commercials. When you see a commercial for acne cream, they show the girl with acne and they show that she is home alone and doesn’t have a date. Then they show that the acne cream has taken all the acne away and then the next couple of seconds the girl has dates and a bunch of cute guys around her. What message is this sending—that you have be attractive and perfect to get dates and to get men to pay attention to you?
The term “hootchie mama” started in the ghetto with R&B and hip-hop music, but it is a mainstream idea. It is the physical presentation of women and our deep need for attention from men.
When I was fourteen years old, I started being more daring with my clothes. I was buying my tops a little tighter and wearing my skirts a little shorter. When I would buy jeans, I would buy jeans one or two sizes too small. I remember being in the store with my friends and overhearing all kinds of conversations with mothers and daughters about how tight the jeans were and I could hear the mothers saying you can’t wear those, they are too tight. The girls were desperate to get those tight jeans so they could wear them to school. What is so funny to me is that you never hear a conversation like that in a store for men. Men for some reason are not trying so hard to get our attention. Why is that?
Because I was always shoppin’ with my friends when I would get a few extra dollars from singin’, I didn’t have those disputes. Because I spent so much time away from home, my mother was always shocked when she saw me, but there was nothing that she could say. Those too-tight jeans would hug my butt and make it look so much bigger than it was. Remember that song by Sir Mix-A-Lot, “Baby Got Back”? Well, that is how girls like us started cravin’ a bigger butt. That song, which was a top-selling song, is how I learned what to wear to make my butt look bigger than it was. And I’m sure that I’m not the only one who got some tips about what to do to get their men.
I knew I was successful when I started getting looks from men when I walked past those guys who hang out at the corner gas station or those guys driving through the projects. They were checkin’ me out and that is what I wanted.
When I think back on it, I used to think I wanted attention, but what I really wanted was love and acceptance. I wanted to be loved by the boys because that’s what those videos promised. I thought that if I looked like those girls, the men who I liked would like me too. What I really wanted was all the love that my boyfriend was not givin’ to me. When you spend your whole day watchin’ music videos, your world gets real small and all you can think about is gettin’ a man or losin’ your man and everything in between that. That’s the case for girls all over the world. Those videos are such a constant companion, and you can get really sucked into them. And that’s what I see when I’m on the road. I see little girls with clothes that are too small, too tight, and too short. I see T-shirts that say things like “My boyfriend is away,” which suggests that it is OK for her to be with someone else in her boyfriend’s absence. Young women seem to think this kind of attitude is good and gives them freedom, but what it really does is further bad relationships between men and women, and that is goin’ on all over the world, not just in the ghetto.
Another reason that I became a hootchie mama when I was younger was that all of my friends looked like that. I was ti
red of not being accepted. Dressing like a hootchie mama made me feel included. I looked like the girls in the video and the ones down the street:finally I felt like everyone else. I’m sure that happens to a lot of young girls who don’t quite know how to fit in. It’s the girls who are getting attention from men that make the other girls want to be like them andthat is why there are more hootchie mamas around than we can count!
When I was being a hootchie mama, I was goin’ against the voice inside my head that kept telling me I was different from everyone else and didn’t need to try to be like everyone else. It was God’s voice telling me that, but at that age, I insisted on being the same as everyone else—no matter how bad I looked and no matter what God was tryin’ to tell me. That is just part of being a teenager, y’all. You can’t help yourself.
Just because I used to be a hootchie mama doesn’t mean I couldn’t change, and that doesn’t mean that you can’t change either. You can change your clothes, but more importantly, I hope you change your mind about boys and wantin’ their attention so bad. I hope this chapter inspires hootchie mamas to think again about who they are. And I also hope that this makes a difference for those people who judge all the hootchie mamas that they see. There is more to us than those clothes. We are still people underneath the tight shirts and short skirts, and as I always say,people are people.
Unfortunately, there are not a lot of ways to speak on this topic, without it sounding like a lecture. But because I am ’Tasia and I have lived it, I think that I’m in a better position than most to speak about it. I know that once upon a time, I needed to hear every single word that I’m sayin’ and there was no one who was in the same position that I am today—someone who hadtruly been there. I needed some straight talk without fakin’ or holdin’ anything back. I wanted to make my life better, and most importantly I wanted to know how to change, so I could love myself, finally. I wanted to have the love and respect that I deserved in a world that sometimes forgets that people who don’t finish high school, go to college, or have important jobs are stillgood people.
I am an ex–hootchie mama, and I always will be, no matter what happens with my music. And I will always speak up for the girls who are like I once was, because they can change too, if they really want to. I am hoping that you do.
One thing that you all need to understand is that a hootchie mama really thinks she looks good when she sees herself in the mirror. That’s the first thing anybody who is judgin’ needs to know. Most hootchie mamas want to live in the world they see on the television screen. Besides dressing like what they see in the videos, they think differently than most people outside the TV screen. When everyone else thinks that the hootchies have a big butt and should hide it, hootchie mamas think the exact opposite. They think the bigger the better and the more you can show a man, the more men you will get. It’s as simple as that. When you think you’re judging them, they are judging you for not being sexy enough. Being sexy and desirable is real important in this society, and it’s even more so in the ghetto, because if you succeed in being sexy and desirable, people think it means that you will never be without a man.
It may have been boredom that caused me to get up so early in the morning and get all dressed up like a hootchie mama just to walk my baby through the projects lookin’ for attention or just “somethin’ to do.” I didn’t think that I was lookin’ for a man, but when I think about what I was wearin’, I know deep down that I was looking for a man. I was that girl walkin’ the projects and hollerin’ at every man hoping to get a little somethin’ extra—an extra wink or a special touch or a promise that the guy probably couldn’t even keep. I used to look for the guys with the nice cars and the nicknames that described who they were. Those guys with names like T-Money or Ace-Love or Grip were the guys with the reputations. People were talking about them. They were legends in the ghetto. That was the kind of man I was trying to get. And when I walked through these projects I wanted to stand out from all the other girls, so I would put a little rhythm in my motion when I knew the guys were watching me. I would slow down my pace a little. I would wink at them and make sure they saw my butt. And if I had gotten their attention, they would call me over or take the cell phone out of their ear or put their car in park. Putting their car in park was showing that I was worth stopping for. That would excite me.
The conversations with those guys were always the same.
“What’s up?” I would say.
“Whatcha doin’ you? You look good, baby,” they would say. “When can I take you out?” they would then ask.
“Whenever you want,” I would answer.
I knew if one of these invitations really turned into a date, I could just get one of my girls to stay with Zion. That’s the silent code with single women all over the world: whenever a man wants to take you out, your girls will help you make arrangements to be able to go. These conversations would all end with “I’ll call you, baby,” and I would wink at them and know that they would never call me. Most of them didn’t even have my phone number or they couldn’t give a home number of their own. When they couldn’t give their own home number, it was obvious that they lived with some woman. The thing about those kinds of guys is that they were always slightly distant. Most of them sold drugs, and the others sold stolen electronics. They called it “stuff that fell off the back of a truck.” Because they were involved in these “businesses” they didn’t like a lot of people knowing where they were or where they lived. They usually lived with different girlfriends so they were not easily found. They talked to a lot of different girls, so they would have a group of girls to choose from if they needed to leave their current girlfriend’s home and get a new one quickly.
Those conversations usually never amounted to much. But they were something I had to do. These conversations were “something to do.” At the end of the day, my girls and I would compare notes and see how many of us had the same conversations with T-Money, Ace, or Grip. Usually, by the end of the day, we had all been promised a call. Those guys would never call, but we walked the next day, looking slightly sexier than the day before, hoping that someone really would call. Or that someone really would ask for our number. Or that someone really would call the number that we gave them. We just kept tryin’, believin’ that some day we would meet someone who would spend some time and get to know us. We hadn’t considered what we were wearing might be why we just kept having those conversations and gettin’ no calls. Isn’t that how it is with women—we just keep hopin’.
I was settling for all kinds of bad imitations of men. The truth is that most of those guys were the same. They were the sons of unmarried mothers and none of them had daddies. The fathers in their lives had been high or drunk or “uncles” who were not their fathers but the boyfriend of their young mothers. These men that I was choosing from didn’t know how to treat a woman except for what they had seen in the videos. They wanted us if we looked good and they didn’t have to get to know us. They never make videos about getting to know someone. I’m telling you about those times because what I learned from them is simple: The way you dress determines the kind of man you are going to attract. You never really “get” a man looking like that because he is not looking to be gotten. Guys like that are not really looking for a woman. They are lookin’ for hootchie mamas. Remember, hootchie mamas are not real. They are just video stars.
If you are an outrageous hootchie mama, if you go out with your body parts hangin’ out, just know you are leaving nothin’ to the imagination of a man.Everything you have is already out there. There is nothing to dream about or even to call about. If you have enough clothes on, then a man has the chance to see the other parts of you: your inner beauty and your personality. If a man isn’t attracted to you because of those things, you probably shouldn’t want him. The problem with being a hootchie mama is that you’re creating relationships that are based only on your physical appearance. When you gain a few extra pounds or don’t wear a short skirt one day, your man will
be able to say, “You don’t look the way you used to,” and then he will eventually leave you to find someone who looks like you used to, because he wanted only one thing—a hootchie mama—which is what you were when you met him.
If a guy chooses you for something inside of you, he wants to be with you long enough to keep finding out who you really are. He cares about your personal characteristics, things like your smile, your sense of humor, the things that you dream about, the things that you want for your life, your children, your family—the things thatmatter. Instead, if you’re behaving and looking like a hootchie mama, he’s just thinking about how to take the rest of your clothes off.
I can’t say that I don’t understand this. I understand because I used to dress like that. Although I had so much more to offer, I wasn’t sure it was enough to get a guy. I had my sweet spirit, my open heart, my generosity, my love of music, my vocal gift, and my special relationship with God. But I still thought I needed to dress sexy to get attention. The attention I was getting was crap. It was a whole bunch of bulls**t. Excuse me for my language, but it just makes me mad that I wasted so much of my time when I was younger trying to find a relationship, and I was goin’ about it all wrong. No one told me—or maybe they did and I didn’t listen (again!).
I remember the exact day that I wanted to stop being a hootchie mama. I was visiting a church with my grandmother and she asked me to please dress right. She said, “I don’t want to see you in those crazy clothes you wear!” Although I knew what she was referring to, I didn’t want to think of myself in those “boring” clothes that my grandmother had asked me to wear. Because my grandmother is a minister, she forgave me for a lot of stuff, but she would never tolerate my wearing hootchie clothes and “being nakit” as she called it. When we walked into the church we were visiting, I noticed several men lookin’ at me. They were lookin’ at me in a way that I didn’t know how to handle. They didn’t have gold teeth or cell phones. They were proper gentlemen. They were church-going men. One of them came over to me and asked if he could help me in the door by carrying my bag. My grandmother seemed used to it. I had never seen a man act like that in my life. I was in shock and I didn’t know how to handle it. I just said yes quietly, not even knowing what I was agreeing to. When we sat down on the front row with all the other ministers and their families, I just sat there realizing that although the man was lookin’ at me, he was lookin’ at me in a way that I had never experienced. It made me feel better than all those useless conversations put together. I sat in that prayer service and promised God that I would put my clothes back on.