‘Tenderheaded’ is a memoir about Black identity in the world of glamour
Fashion editor and celebrity stylist Michaela angela Davis was working at Vibe magazine in the 1990s when her white editor accused her of being “hyper-Black.” Davis had voiced concern over bumping Eddie Murphy off the cover of a magazine devoted to Black culture in favor of featuring then-couple Madonna and Dennis Rodman. The Vibe editor ultimately resigned and Eddie Murphy graced the cover of the summer 1994 issue.
In “Tenderheaded,” Davis’ revealing and riveting memoir, the author hashes through her bone of contention with Madonna for appropriating Black culture to get ahead. Madonna’s practice of “feeding on Black and gay people’s creativity held a stench,” Davis writes in one of a few pieces about the iconic singer.
As a Vogue contributor, CNN correspondent and fashion editor at Vibe and Essence magazines, Davis has worked with a veritable who’s who of celebrities over her 40-year career. Detailing her experiences with everyone from Anita Hill to Michelle Obama, Beyoncé to Prince and Diana Ross to Oprah, Davis delivers a stirring chronicle of her journey to be “in active service of Black people even in the polarizing, elitist, sexist, racist world of mainstream fashion.”
A conversation early in her career sparked this mission. The influential editor-in-chief of Essence magazine, Susan Taylor, asked Davis what she was doing to help her people. “I received her question not like an inquisition, but rather as a divine invitation,” writes Davis about her calling, both personally and professionally.
Davis’ narrative spans from her formative years in Washington, to the painstaking steps it took to build her illustrious career in New York City. She touches on everything from motherhood to her struggles with alcohol to dalliances with exciting men. Many of her chapters and “tangents” (as 20 of the book’s 49 sections are titled) include a healthy dose of history to “provide fortification to the fragility of the public and political identity of Black women and people.”
The author admits she can indeed come off as hyper-Black. She is proud of her identity and clarifies that in certain contexts, the label isn’t an insult and can sound “kinda dope.” In truth, Davis said she was relieved when Taylor received her as a person of color, because that hasn’t always been the case. Davis was born with blond hair into a light-skinned family. Quick to clarify that she isn’t mixed-race, she writes, “My kind of skin holds a particular complexity.”
Davis analyzes the history of colorism in America in a tangent titled “The Mulatto Tragedy.” Her knowledge of history is comprehensive as she details how legally sanctioned sexual assault led to a population of mixed-race slaves whose descendants remained lawfully defined as Black as the generations unfurled.
The chapter opens with a chilling quotation Davis labels “Antebellum Rape Law.” Presented as a statute, it states that “no white could ever rape a slave woman,” mandating that white laws pertaining to sexual intercourse do not apply to enslaved people. In truth, the incendiary quote originated in the 1996 law textbook “Southern Slavery and the Law” and was never an official law. This is one of a few instances where historical facts could have benefited from better documentation.
Davis explores the concept of “passing” and asserts that using her lightness to advance is not only her privilege but her duty, a way to leverage her skin to serve her people and honor her ancestors who were denied equal access. Her family has used their skin tone for generations as an undercover act of rebellion by “smuggling people who passed for white into schools to get a particular kind of education,” she writes.
As much as Davis tackles the complicated multiverse of race in America, her autobiographical account also delivers a celebration of Black womanhood in its intricate fullness. Nothing exemplifies her dedication to representing the “whole Black girl” like her elegy to “Black girl hair” that is threaded throughout this memoir.
Davis dedicates three pages to her childhood experience of having her hair styled by her grandmother. It’s a touching segment in which she attributes the love and acceptance she felt during these sessions as the foundation of her self-esteem.
Her imagery of hair is vivid and lush, as illustrated by her description of a woman’s “sprouting, spiraling, curly chrysanthemum of light browns, dirty and bright-blonde coils.” She opens a chapter titled “MAD Free” about her lecture series on image, beauty and power with a poem that is an ode to the magic contained in Black girl hair.
The “MAD Free” speeches led to a 2022 Hulu documentary series titled “The Hair Tales.” Co-developed with actor Tracee Ellis Ross, the show collected intimate stories about hair from a cross section of women to create “a national conversation about Black women’s identity.” Drawing from a lifetime of celebrity relationships, the co-creators compiled captivating stories about how their subjects live, create and strategize through the way they style their hair.
Named after the Renaissance artist Michelangelo, Davis has left a profound mark on American culture and style. By sharing the intimacies of her fascinating life, she has knit together her struggles and triumphs to reveal an immersive portrait of a captivating figure.
NONFICTION
“Tenderheaded: A Memoir”
by Michaela angela Davis
Simon & Schuster
304 pages, $29
