She recalls instances at dinner parties and the like where - when schmoozing with other smarty-pantses - her identity as a Black woman with roots in the American South proved to be insufficiently impressive to her peers.

In her book, McMillan Cottom touches on many of the complexities of existing as a Black woman in American society, be it the perils of delivering a Black child in this country or wearing one’s best camel-colored coat in the hopes of being treated with one iota more of dignity than what is typically afforded to an American with a Black vagina.īut the one topic in this collection that especially piqued my interest was McMillan Cottom describing her experience penetrating the upper echelons of academia. But then, when I stumbled across a passage in THICK wherein McMillan Cottom defiantly declares her disinterest in reading Wallace’s seminal work Infinite Jest - I couldn’t resist pretentiously cackling to myself. And though I rather enjoyed the book, I had to perform the prerequisite act of assuming Wallace’s male, midwestern, self-assured skin to better connect with his work. But still, in reading her work, I like to pretend our commonalities outweigh our differences.įor example: directly before picking up THICK, I read David Foster Wallace’s essay collection Consider the Lobster.

McMillan Cottom is far more accomplished than I could ever hope to be. As a Ph.D.- carrying university professor who has written for the likes of The Atlantic and The New York Times and hosts a podcast with Roxane Gay. Is this allowed? Are we, as Black women writers, allowed to see each other and write to and about each other this plainly?ĭon’t get me wrong, I don’t presume to be on the same level as 2020 MacArthur Fellow Dr. And, as I delved deeper into the book, I couldn’t help asking myself: Tressie McMillan Cottom in the opening pages of THICK, something instantly felt different about the reading experience.

This contortion act is a skill that I’ve had a lifetime to hone, though I know I’m not the only one.īut, as I oriented myself to the voice of author Dr. In the vast majority of stories served up to me as “classics” and “essentials” over the years, I’ve had to contort my reality to fit that of the traditional (read: not Black and not female) narrator. Nothing prepared me to be so directly acknowledged and addressed in a text. When I started reading THICK: And Other Essays, I had to keep putting it down to compose myself.

Thick essays