Before “good girl” was a phrase unimaginative, shirtless men smirked on social media, it was something else. Sometimes praise, a gendered version of “good job! Not only have you done this thing well, but you have pleased me. You are a success.” And sometimes, it meant “don’t make me prioritize you.”
Stick with me.
The memes are funny now, but us GenX’ers were often left home alone at young ages. The Latchkey Kids. Our parents and guardians would leave home or prepare us to come home from school to an empty house by saying stuff like “don’t open the door for anybody. Be good.” It wasn’t just a plea not to tear up the house or to be wise in the face of stranger danger. It was also a hope that nothing would go wrong the parents would be blamed for. An unattended kid burned down the house by playing with matches… Well, where are the parents? They must be bad.
You have to be good so no one else looks bad.
Be a good girl and sit there and be quiet.
Don’t remind anyone of your presence. Don’t make us have to acknowledge you.
Here’s a gift that doesn’t fit or suit your tastes. Be a good girl and say thank you.
Don’t remind me I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. Don’t make me feel bad for not caring. Just be grateful you got anything at all.
Good girls don’t complain or cry.
Don’t make me have to consider your feelings or try to make you feel better.
Don’t ask why mommy or daddy didn’t do the thing they said they would. Good girls don’t ask nosy questions.
Let me disappoint you in peace and without responsibility.
To be a good girl is to allow yourself to be neglected or overlooked.
You know I listen to a lot of erotic audio and read a lot of “spicy” romance. I also enjoy dirty talk in my own private GrownUp Time. In the freaknasty context of “good girl,” it often means “you let me do anything I wanted to you without asking me to consider if this actually feels good to you.”
You were choking and crying and gagging and sometimes you even looked a little scared. Good girl.
Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you in the ass? Are you gonna be a good girl and let me overlook that you don’t really like it, haven’t done any prep, and it causes you discomfort for the next day or two?
A while ago, I was listening to an erotic audio, and the guy said something along the lines of “you don’t have to be a good girl for me. You can be bad and ask for what you want…”
Do you see? To be bad is to make yourself, your desires known.
Sometimes the adult version of being a good girl is to be the cool chick.
You’re so cool. You don’t ask me why I haven’t texted in days and let me pop up whenever I remember you exist, like when no one else is available.
We saw you from across the room and thought you seemed really cool…
Yeah, she’s pretty chill. She never asks “what are we?” or tries to put a label on anything, even though we’ve been hanging out forever and she does all this cool girlfriend stuff for me. It’s just so chill, you know?
The cool chick lets life flow as it will and never gets upset or asks anyone to consider her needs. She’s so laidback and never makes anyone feel bad for not treating her better.
Yes, sometimes The Cool Chick doesn’t want attachments and enjoys her freedom as much as anyone else, but I’m asking you to think about when and why The Cool Chick most often gets praised. What happens as soon as she expresses herself in a way that makes someone else uncomfortable? What happens when she asks for accountability?
I thought you’d be cool with this. I thought you’d let me do whatever I want. I thought you were a good girl.
In 1999, my college boyfriend of 4 years broke up with me, and Angie Stone’s “No More Rain (In This Cloud)” came out. I latched on to the song, of course, especially the second verse, because he basically told me he needed to have his ho phase.
So you want to live and to you I shall give
All the space that you requested
Hope you don't live to regret it
So you say you're in your prime
Baby, don't waste your time
Remember my love
It's only a thin line…
In July 2000, I watched Angie Stone perform the single at Essence Fest.
I am not good with grief. I resent its uncontrollable, sneaky nature. I isolate myself to deal with it. That summer, I still felt stuck in a kind of mourning. It wasn’t just the relationship that was gone. It was all the plans I’d made for my life. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time.
Angie Stone performed to a packed room full of people- but especially women- of all ages. She sang the verses mostly by herself, the audience letting her beautiful voice shine, but when it came time to the chorus and that closing bridge… The song became gospel. Everyone joined in…
Spring has come and winter's gone, my love
But don't look around for me, child
I'll be gone, gone, gone, gone
Not afraid
Because the seasons have changed
I'm gonna count my blessings
And just follow the sun…
Hundreds of people raising their heads to the sky, throats shaking not only from lost love’s mourning and the pain of healing, but also from the determination to keep going. I was moved to tears. It had been a long time since I felt that hopeful.
In a dark room in the New Orleans Superdome, a community of Black women from all over the world called down the sun, and I thank Angie Stone for that. May she be at peace.
Please, listen to me. You can still enjoy being called good girl or good boy. No one is telling you to remove it from your praise bank. Good boys go in my Hall of Fame. *looks at the camera* I just be thinking sometimes.
No, I still haven’t seen Babygirl, starring Nicole Kidman. Once I realized her character would lose her mind over young dude, as opposed to reveling and growing in the freedom of sexual pleasure, I lost my taste for it.
Since I’ve moved back home, my language has changed, morphing back into the cadence and poetry of the south. The other day I thought “I gotta pee so bad, my eyes are swimming.”
My father is in hospice care now. Thank you to everyone who sent kind thoughts my way. As you can imagine, I’m having a lot of complicated feelings, especially as I look through stuff to find ways to mark his life. I had forgotten that my father used to email me song recommendations. Sharing music is one of my love languages, as many of you may know, and I guess that’s something else I got from him. Here is a playlist of all the music my father suggested to me. It has over 10 hours and 10 years of recommendations. There’s a wide range of music and I didn’t try to make it make sonic sense, so just hit shuffle. I hope you enjoy it.
Today I woke up from a dream, the sort of which I've been having more often lately, wherein my brain was processing the ways that adults decided I was a "bad kid" as a child because I wasn't a "good girl".
This felt like the right thing, and a comfort to read today.
This is so good and I really feel it.