Growing up as a model, I had so many people ask me if I would go into another facet of the fashion industry when my modeling days came to an end—I was like, “My modeling days are going to come to an end (?)!” Many people just assumed that I was only interested in the industry. And while I definitely enjoy the creative outlets those pursuits allow me, I always understood that there was more to life, and frankly, more to me.
So when I started Model Behaviors, I made sure to carve out a space where we could talk about difficult but important issues like racial inequality, violence against women, human trafficking, and much more.
The following are the words that were spoken over me when I first entered the world. “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and Muhammad (SAW) is His messenger.” Malika, they named me. It means “queen” in Arabic.
“Bulaong, if and when you get married, promise me that you will hyphenate your name. Ramiz is a noble, royal name. Ramiz is a name used by important and influential people in Africa, Middle East, and Asia. Ramiz means symbol of God; dignified one who’s indicated by sign. Ramiz has origins in Africa. It is a highly respectable name. Never forget that you are royalty, you’re noble, you’re a princess of rich stock. You will always be Bulaong Malika Ramiz. Love, Dad.”
My name has always been my most consistent connection with Islam. Well, that and my eating “restrictions.” I never prayed five times a day or wore hijab, but being raised Muslim has always been a part of my identity that I’ve claimed, critiqued, honored, and appreciated. In my growth as a social justice educator, I’ve become more and more critical of organized religion—seeing the value in it while also seeing how dangerously indoctrinating it can be. As I continue to learn more about myself, my relationship with religion wavers.
Born to a Catholic mother and a Muslim father, raised by my Muslim grandmother while attending Catholic school, I tried my best to both fit in and stand out during my formative years. I had confusing interactions and deeply transformative experiences.
I am a Black American woman born Muslim. I am weary, I am frustrated, and I am disappointed with the selective memory and selective compassion of many of my fellow Americans. I’ve watched videos of Black men shot by police, and I’ve seen photos of Syrian toddlers drowning while seeking refuge. Yet our profile pictures do not display #blacklivesmatter or the flag of Syria, Beirut, Turkey, and the countless other countries that have fallen victim to senseless, violent terrorist attacks.
This observation is not intended to create a hierarchy in the violence happening around the world but rather to call attention to what we mourn and what we choose not to mourn as a nation, as individuals, and in the media.
Courtney: We’re talking about hair. And we’re talking about race. Two things that might not immediately strike someone as being related. But lately there’s been a lot of discussion about the natural hair movement and white people appropriating black culture. One instance I’m thinking of in particular is when Amandla Stenberg—the actress who portrayed Rue in The Hunger Games—called out Kylie Jenner, who posted a pic of herself with cornrows yet never acknowledges any other aspects of black culture on her profile, in particular movements like #BlackLivesMatter.
On top of the racial implications, hair has long since been a complex source of both power and objectification for women. The way we fashion it or don’t fashion it. If we wear it up or down, curly or straight, covered or uncovered, long or short or completely shaven, or blonde or brunette or redhead. Our hair says things about us, whether we want it to or not.
When the world sees you, Bulaong, what do you want your hair to say?
Bulaong: Oh my hair! We’ve had such an interesting twenty-six years together and the messages I’ve sent with my hair have changed over time. I’ve absolutely fallen in LOVE with my curls over the past year and have immersed myself into that natural hair community to learn more about growing and maintaining healthy hair. I’m a wash-and-go kind of girl, literally meaning that I wash my hair, detangle it in the shower, toss some organic coconut oil or shea moisture product on it, and head out the door. I set a goal to have a year of no heat—no straightening or blow-drying my hair.
I guess if I would describe my hair in one word, it would be “carefree.”
When I was first asked to write about the topic of the confederate flag, I was thrilled. Then after some time, I started thinking, “What would I write that hasn’t already been said?”
From Rep. Jenny Horne’s impassioned and tearful speech about why the flag needs to go to the courageous act of Bree Newsome scaling the pole and taking down the flag herself, I felt the weight of a debate that has been going on for decades and written about extensively. What more would I have to contribute?
But, I have my own relationship with that flag, so that is what I know best to write about.
