In her latest column for A Rabbit’s Foot, Haaniyah Awale Angus describes how finding a pirated DVD of Beauty Shop (2005) starring Queen Latifah provided her with the role model in style and beauty that had long eluded her.
If there are two things you should know about me, one is that I have a love of thrifting, and the other is my love for romantic comedies. Often, the two rarely intersect unless I come across a find like my Sex and the City box set, which resembles one of Carrie Bradshaw’s hundreds, if not thousands, of shoeboxes. But, I’ve found that over the past year, romantic comedies have stopped influencing my love life, which is currently on pause, and instead centred themselves in my fashion taste. This is not a new concept; over the past couple of years, romcoms have landed as a key source of fashion inspiration for , who take outfits from their favourite movies or characters and reinvent them or even source the exact clothing items. It’s no coincidence that this trend rose in popularity around the same time as the reemergence of the aesthetic (also known as and often mixed up with ), which has been an ongoing scourge to some and a return to what many Gen Z’ers envisioned their teenagehood/adulthood would look like.
I’ve never felt that Y2K, as it exists now (with its over-reliance on fast fashion, an even greater emphasis on skinniness, and a lack of acknowledgement of ), was attainable for my attempts at revitalising my adult wardrobe. Neither did it feel attainable to me growing up in the 2000s, as my experience was vastly different from the glitzy images of celebrities, such as Paris Hilton, movies like John Tucker Must Die (2006), and bedazzled flip phones. In my case, it was more in line with awkward patterns, weirdly fitting dresses that were intended for ages 12+ because clothing for fat girls were rarely available in your actual age range, let alone fashionable.
The 2000s were, of course, a different time, an example being the blatant classism, racism, fatphobia and many more isms casually displayed in . Seeing girls who looked like me on TV and film often meant reliving and acknowledging the very real disdain held for bigger bodies. It would take me longer than 1,000 words to unpack the impact of media, such as Trinny & Susannah’s What Not to Wear and Shallow Hal (2001), on my younger self, but what I’ll say now is that finding representation felt like looking for a needle in a haystack.
It wasn’t until I was introduced to Queen Latifah via one of my dad’s pirated DVDs that I finally saw someone who not only resembled me but felt like a breath of fresh air amongst the repeated archetypes in a genre I held so much love for. Beauty Shop (2005) isn’t technically a rom-com, but there is comedy, and there is romance, so under my law, it counts. The film centres on Latifah as a widowed hairstylist who takes over a beauty shop in Atlanta, along with the trials and tribulations of becoming a salon owner. Witnessing this role was life-changing for me in a way I can’t put into words without sounding a bit silly, because it’s not that great of a film, but it meant and still means a lot to me twenty years on. It’s not just me who feels this way. When speaking with film critic about the legacy of the film, they mentioned that Beauty Shop had a similar impact on their childhood.
“I watched Beauty Shop almost every week. What struck me was how she commanded the screen not just with her acting prowess, but also with her body. She seemed unafraid to take up space, something I, as a fat Black child, always struggled with, and as an adult, continue to struggle with. Seeing her be the affection of Djimon Hounsou’s desire in that film rocked my world, and shaped the way I thought about what romance for someone like me could look like.”
“In my early 20s, my thrifting used to stop at jewellery and bags, but I realised that women who look like me, who looked like Latifah, were also the arbiters of style.”
Haaniyah Awale Angus
Over the years since Beauty Shop, I’ve found myself immersed in Latifah’s filmography, from Just Wright (2010) and Last Holiday (2006), two more romantic comedy classics that I recommend everyone watch alongside her supporting role in Brown Sugar (2002). To her masterful singing in musicals such as Chicago (2002) and Hairspray (2007), alongside her heartbreaking performance in crime drama Set It Off (1996), the biopic of Bessie Smith in HBO’s Bessie (2015), as well as her hilarious, longstanding time on hit comedy Living Single (1996), where she starred as Khadijah James. Latifah may not be acknowledged as a chameleonic actor in the same way others are with method performances and physical transformations, but I’d argue she’s long had a vastly diverse character, switching from genre to genre with an ease not often seen today. Not to mention that she was one of the earliest examples of a hip-hop star making the transition from stage to screen via Spike Lee’s Jungle Fever (1991) and was the first hip-hop star to receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2006.
I provide this brief rundown of her career to say that Latifah’s long and fruitful time on our screens has provided the internet and most importantly, me, with an array of fashion looks from red carpets to her character’s costuming, to music videos, to maybe some of the best hair styling I’ve ever seen of her honey blonde hair that has reinforced my belief that sometimes your natural hair colour isn’t the one to stick with (ginger in my case). For Kaiya, it’s 90s Queen Latifah that remains the most influential on their own fashion taste. “I think she was able to straddle the rope between masculine and feminine in a way that not many were willing to do in that era, and it had an immense impact on me once I began to explore my gender identity as a young adult. I’ll never forget seeing her look at the Los Angeles Premiere of Interview With A Vampire (1994). The grey bra that glows through her sheer black turtleneck, paired with the delicate gold jewellery and the Blade-esque sunglasses…it’s a perfect take on the Black vampire.”
I’d have to agree re: 90s inspiration. Latifah’s role as Khadijah James, in particular, has found itself on one too many of my personal moodboards in my attempt to rebrand my style in a ‘non-Y2K, non-nostalgia driven but also somewhat the clothes I wish I wore growing up’ way. The use of rings and jewellery to pair with her suits, sports jerseys and my favourite winter get-up: sweaters. She wasn’t shy about colours or patterns so long as they complemented the overall outfit. There was clear care placed by the on how to style her body in a way that made sense for Latifah and Khadijah. In my early 20s, my thrifting used to stop at jewellery and bags, but I realised that women who look like me, who looked like Latifah, were also the arbiters of style. It shifted my mindset to start hunting down brands and specific clothing items that are ironically more size-inclusive than the fashion of today. Why should I settle for peplum tops and ill-fitting dresses, and why should I have to buy from fast fashion sources like SHEIN or PLT to be on trend? There’s a middle ground, and it’s frustrating to say the least, as much of my time is spent researching rather than buying, but I feel that it’s served me well. With my Queen Latifah inspo boards on hand, and my Vinted / local charity shops ready for the taking. I’ve started buying colourful pullover ¼ zip fleeces to pair with flowy skirts (often patterned). I also buy bangles and rings to adorn myself, alongside bags that I wear until they’re worn out. During my trip to Toronto last month, I spent my time in thrift stores purchasing men’s sweaters and looking for a perfect Tony Soprano-like short-sleeved top (still looking for that). Fashion doesn’t have to be terrifying in the way 2000s TV made it out to be; it’s meant to be fun, and most importantly, it’s meant to resemble what you want to put out into the world. I guess that’s what Queen Latifah has taught me, and I hope it passes on to women like me for generations to come.
