If I hear one more person justify Beyonce’s increasing whiteness by saying “she’s not getting white, she’s just Creole!”, I am going to murder every single person I meet for the next hour.
The term ‘Creole’ was originally used to describe olive-skinned folks from Louisiana who had some mixture of French, Spanish, Black, and/or Native American ancestry, and spoke a language of the same name. More recently, ‘Creole’ has become a moniker used by pompous light-skinned fucktards to justify buying into and promoting caucasian standards of beauty.
Figure 1: Shrimp Creole – the only acceptable form of Creole
Some of these motherfuckers running around calling themselves Creole have no ancestral ties to Louisiana. They don’t speak Creole. They’ve never even BEEN to Louisiana. But that won’t stop the local resident douchebitch who happens to have ‘good hair’ from dying it blonde, getting Japanese straightening or whatever the fuck it’s called, throwing in green contact lenses, and running around claiming (implicitly or directly) to be better than ‘regular’ black people.
If she’s a REAL cunt, she’ll give the name some weird spelling like ‘Kreyole’ or ‘Creyol’ when she fills out some government form that asks for your race. She won’t check black, or white, or native american – NOPE! She’ll check the ‘Other’ box and write ‘Kreyole’ in the space next to it because she’s way too exotic and special to be a nigger, redskin, cracker, or some combination of these played out races.
The following is the internal monologue of the fake Creole chick:
“If I say I’m Khreyowle, then people will think I’m sophisticated! They’ll think I’m descended from French people and drink martini’s with extra extra dry vermouth while speaking a combination of French and Spanish to my friends while cruising on my superstar athlete husband’s yacht.”
Figure 2: Delusions of a pompous shit-brick
“They’ll think that my freakishly straight blond hair with pubes that don’t match is somehow natural! I’ll also have skin that’s tan but not niggerish, and I can lighten it with makeup JUST enough to rise above my blackness, but fall short of being considered white! Yay, racial purgatory! They’ll fall for this even though I can’t distinguish between Creole and Cajun, have no idea that Creole is also a language, and couldn’t point out Louisiana on a map OF Louisiana.”
The following is the internal monologue of the pompous real Creole chick:*
“Mmm mmm mmm, I sure am FINE. I’m kinda black, but my hair is naturally straight, my skin and eyes are light, and the media has decided that I’m what everyone wants. Oh I know! I’ll leverage my blackness and start a music career! Just for good measure, I’ll make sure my backup singers are darker than me in skin tone and/or hair color so that little nappy headed girls all over the world will know that light skin and long light straight hair comes first.”
Figure 3: In case you hadn’t figured out who I’m talking about yet…
As I reach a wider and wider audience, I’ll lighten myself just slowly enough so the average idiot won’t be able to notice. This will make me more acceptable to white and international audiences, and I’ll just ignore the collateral damage it does to the body image of the black adolescent girls that got me where I am in the first place. I’ll contribute further to the decline of black people by encouraging use of the word ‘conversate’ and being in a relationship with a man whose success was built on encouraging young black men to be promiscuous, experiment with cocaine, and kill people. After all, the ends justify the means! TEE HEE! Despite my active and conscious participation in the erosion of the black sense of self, people will ignore and even defend my behavior because – GASP – I’m just Creole!”
I can’t write anymore. There’s a fucking fire alarm going off in the office, and the blood vessel above my right eye is about to burst. I fucking goddamn hate everything.
*No, I do not think all Creole women are pompous. Please get off my nuts.