How Queen Latifah Helped Me Build Self-Esteem As A Fat Black Girl

My first time encountering Black media legend Dana Owens, aka Queen Latifah, was on “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.” At some point in elementary school, I was watching reruns on BET, and Will was meeting yet another female guest star. I was surprised when I saw Dee Dee; she was nearly as tall as Will and had what my granny would call a “fuller figure.” It was the first time any woman on the show, let alone a love interest for Will, looked like me.

Plus, she was awesome. When Will made an inadvertent size reference, she bagged on his skinny frame and big ears. She won him over with her sense of humor, and was never afraid to call him on his shit. This wasn’t the first time I wanted to emulate a TV character (I’d had a whole thing with Susie Carmichael from “Rugrats” and Francine Frensky from “Arthur” at that point). But it was the first time the character looked so much like me: not just Black, but tall and plus-size too.

Eventually I learned who Latifah was as my mom rented her films. I loved watching her run a business in “Beauty Shop,” take a luxurious vacation in “Last Holiday,” and solve a crime investigation with no training in “Taxi.” She was no-nonsense, gorgeous and funny, taking each day one step at a time. She showed a vision of what adulthood could be, if I shaped myself in her image.

My most active season of Queen Latifah fandom was fall 2007, when I transferred to a new middle school. Many of the kids at the majority-rich, majority-white school had already chosen their friends years prior, and in addition to being the new kid, I physically stood out. I was nerdy, nervous and quiet; many teachers didn’t know what to make of me, let alone students. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“Hairspray” came out that year, and all I knew of the musical was that Queen Latifah sang in it. My parents gifted me the DVD for my birthday, and I spent the next several months learning every song, every dance routine, watching the special features nonstop. Motormouth Maybelle’s song “Big, Blonde and Beautiful” was awkward, with all the innuendos I didn’t understand, but I belted out her finale verse in “You Can’t Stop the Beat” over and over until I could do it while dancing. Singing “I Know Where I’ve Been” in all its rebellious, hopeful glory pushed some of the sadness of those first months at the school out of my body.

I like to…