Annie helped me think about how I view myself as a woman who never fit a size 2. (Photo credit: Warner Bros., my photographs)
Sinners has changed the game for Hollywood in many ways, and one of the most talked-about is how it elevated plus-sized women to a place of desirability.
I recently made a reel about my views on Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) in Sinners. My vulnerable admission about how she made me feel as a plus-sized woman was not lost on viewers.
One viewer wrote, “I loved her! As a bigger woman myself, I was shocked to see her and Michael B. Jordan as a couple, but loved every single minute of it! She’s brilliant and beautiful and [Ryan] Coogler is a genius! He did something new and inclusive and I just can’t put into words how much love I have for this film.”
And other Sinners fans have also expressed their love for Annie.
Annie is much needed. Not only are Black plus-sized women starved for characters who make them feel less invisible, but we’re also facing internalized misogynoir from our own Black female collective. If you’ve been keeping up with the disconcerting discourse around the 12-foot statue of a Black woman in Times Square, you’ll know that too many Black women have been calling the statue ugly, mammy, and even a monster. Meanwhile, the statue looks like any regular Black woman you might see on the street or is part of your family. She might even look like you.
Is Lizzo problematic herself? In my opinion, yeah. But she did her big one by showing everyone who is casting shame on this statue that a lot of Black women, including her, look like this statue and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
We need to unpack what we’ve been made to believe about bigger Black bodies. I include myself in that number as well since I had a fascinating reaction to the steamy sex scene involving Annie and Smoke (Michael B. Jordan)
Face to face with toxic narratives
Smoke (Michael B. Jordan) and Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) before the big sex scene starts. (Photo credit: Warner Bros./screencap)When I got to that part between Annie and Smoke in Sinners, I distinctly remember turning my head at first. Some of that was only because it’s a sex scene, and I still have the childish habit of turning away as if I’m not old enough to watch it. But I realized a bigger, more toxic reason for turning my head—the scene was going against my internalized narrative about who can be beautiful and loved on-screen.
Even though I love movies and television, I can tell you the media hasn’t helped me at all with body issues. I might have been able to find representation and belonging when watching films and TV shows about race. But when it comes to feeling good about being “plus size” (especially back in the ’90s, when “plus size” was not being a size 6)? The media has failed me and others like me. Society at large has failed many of us who don’t classify as “skinny.”
I distinctly remember being about 15 or 16 years old, and my sister, mom, and I were shopping at Goody’s. While my mom was busy shopping with my sister in the juniors’ section, I meandered over to the Juniors’ Plus section, which Goody’s called something like “Just My Size” or “Just For Me.” A sign at the top of the section had a chubby (for the ’90s) girl smiling with the caption, “It’s just my size!” or something like that. The clothes weren’t as cool as those of the “regular” juniors- tons of peasant tops, ugly jeans, and character shirts. I was disgusted–not just with the choice available to me, but with my own body for not being able to fit in the cool clothes. I felt like my body had betrayed me. The truth is that society betrayed me by making me feel like I was the one at fault.
From the advent of big box store fashion, women and girls of a certain size were advertised to in the same, patronizing way–“You can be just as beautiful as the skinnier girls!” Note how many of these “plus” girls aren’t even plus–they’re just kids. (Photos from Google and Pinterest)Television and films reinforced this idea hardcore. From “heroin chic” being a thing on the fashion runways during the mid-to-late-’90s to rom-coms routinely having female love interests who are always size 2, the idea that skinniness equals attractiveness was steeped into the mindset of the time. TV and film showed the skinny love interest as “the girl next door,” or the girl who every other girl wanted to be and all the guys wanted to be with. She was fun and creative, had tons of friends, and loved by everyone. However, if a plus-sized girl was among the cast, she was either the quirky best friend, loud and obnoxious, painfully unfunny, or comically desperate for male attention. We weren’t supposed to identify with her, even if some of us looked like her.
If she’s Black and plus-sized? Forget about it. She’s just the best friend and with a sassy attitude to boot. The trope gets even more pronounced if the Black girl is darker-skinned. Cue the latent mammy tropes that Hollywood still hasn’t gotten over.
Hollywood’s complex history with body types
There are some bright spots. B.A.P.S. Natalie Desselle-Reid played Mickey, who has a vibrant and dramatic love story arc in the film. I didn’t expect it since she’s opposite Halle Berry, the more modelesque of the two. But I appreciated it because it was like a small oasis in a desert of poor body representation.
The Parkers also have a place in this conversation. However, Mo’Nique’s character, Nikki, does play into some stereotypes about bigger women being desperate to keep a man no matter the cost. Even though Mr. Oglevee (Dorien Wilson) never said he liked her at all, Nikki kept harassing him until the final episode, when they, for whatever reason, got married, with Mr. Oglevee professing his undying love for her—love that didn’t exist throughout the majority of the series.
Mo’Nique also made content that aimed to uplift plus-size Black women, like her film Phat Girlz, in which she gets finds love with an African man who states how Africans idolize bigger women. Is that true in some cultures? Yes, if my college anthropology class is to be believed. But it’s not a hard-and-fast rule, I’m sure. I don’t know if the film elevates the conversation around plus-sized desirability. But if the critical response is anything to go by—21 percent rotten on Rotten Tomatoes–it doesn’t.
Queen Latifah’s rom-coms, such as Just Wright, are probably the best films when it comes to showing Black plus-sized women finding love in the late ’90s and early ’00s. Queen Latifah is always going to kill it in her roles, and as a fan of hers, I was happy to watch her charm her way into the leading man’s heart. But unfortunately, Queen Latifah rom-coms were just too few and far between.
As you can see, the ’90s and the ’00s weren’t kind to bigger people. Even one of my holy grail films, Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, starring Brandy, hits a pain point for me regarding bigger women wanting love. Interestingly enough, Desselle-Reid comes back into play as she and Veanne Cox sing the song “Stepsisters’ Lament.” The two stepsisters sing about why the Prince (Paolo Montalban) didn’t fall in love with them like he did with Cinderella (Brandy). Calliope’s (Cox) issues revolve around her being clumsy, tall, and lacking grace. Minerva (Desselle-Reid), on the other hand, is also awkward and unrefined, but she’s plus-sized. Minerva specifically sings the line, “Why can’t a fella ever once prefer a solid girl like me?” And by ’90s standards, I was somehow considered “solid.”
As a young teenager, I viewed that scene and felt complete kinship with Minerva in that moment. I wanted to believe I was more like Cinderella (Brandy), and in truth, I connected with her more than the stepsisters overall. But what if the world saw me as someone who would always be second best like the world (and the audience) saw Minerva and her sister? What if I would always hope for the guy I liked to like me in spite of my appearance, including my weight?
In an interview I did with Montalban a few years ago on this site, he gushed profusely about how talented and beautiful Desselle-Reid was and how he hoped she would be able to have her big breakout role one day. In his view, she could have been the next Bridget Jones. Unfortunately, outside of B.A.P.S. director Robert Townsend, Hollywood didn’t view her that way.
(By the way, the Bridget Jones series is viewed as a positive body representation on the whole, but it still required that a skinnier actress, Renée Zellweger, put on weight to “bravely” assume the position of a plus-size woman living her life. What about the plus-sized actresses they could have cast?)
Nowadays, there’s a little more variety in the women we see on screen and in the media, but there is still a lot of work to do to make things on par with how we view skinnier women. Plus-sized models are more commonplace, even if they stick within socially acceptable body types like hourglass or pear. Series like Michelle Buteau’s Survival of the Thickest, which gives voice to plus-sized Black women, and Bridgerton, which recently celebrated its “Polin” season, exist. But they are still few and far between. Or, in the case of Natasha Rothwell’s How to Die Alone, they get canceled after their first season.
Thankfully, plus-sized fashion influencers help fill in some of the gaps left by Hollywood and society. But I’ve found that even with some band-aids out there in the form of cool Instagrammers and some TV shows, plus-sized women are on their own when it comes to building up their self-worth and identity. That’s the journey I’ve been on, especially as I start thinking about how I want to show up in a romantic relationship. The baggage surrounding self-worth and self-image isn’t something I want to saddle my future partner with, not to mention if I have a daughter.
Annie as a conduit for change
Wunmi Mosaku as Annie in Sinners. (Photo credit: Warner Bros.)Ryan Coogler did his big one when he cast Wunmi Mosaku as Annie.
Mosaku is no stranger to roles that take on body image. Her Lovecraft Country character, Ruby, was bitter about her life compared to Jurnee Smollett’s Leti, who was skinnier, lighter-skinned, and treated as more beautiful by the people around them. She also despises how living under racist Jim Crow laws limited her opportunities in life. Despite being talented at singing, Ruby hated herself and wanted to have love at any cost. Without spoiling too much, she can transform herself into a version that can not only pass the racial barrier but also the body image barrier.
Annie, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. Coogler crafted a character who was respected and viewed as a safe space for the community. But with that said, she wasn’t a mammy figure. She was strong but grounded in herself and her spiritual guides. She was what the old people might describe as a “grown woman.” It takes a strong, complex man to be compatible with a strong, complex woman, which makes Annie and Smoke’s relationship so interesting to watch. Both have their baggage, such as their shared grief over their child, but both are willing to see each other as individuals who need different things to cope. At the same time, they also know that they are at home with each other, and the tie between them won’t break, regardless of what happens.
Rarely do we see a plus-sized Black woman treated with nuance and multifacetedness. It’s so rare that my inner saboteur wanted me to turn away from scenes that would challenge its hold on my psyche. I’m glad I realized this in the moment, though, and turned back to the screen.
It’s not often we have something like an extended love scene with a plus-sized Black woman, especially one treated with care. But Sinners gave us this scene that started dismantling negative body image in its viewers, including me. I hope the film provides more writers and directors the confidence to embrace all types of women as love interests. All women deserve to be visible in love, desirability, and respect.
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