The flap about Lebron James gnarling at the camera with Giselle Bundchen in his clutches on the cover of April’s Vogue misses the point. Now, people are trying to figure out if the picture was some kind of “subconscious” allusion to King Kong. Annie Leibovitz—one of my favorite photogs--is world-renowned, with an eye for provocative images—so rest assured she knew exactly what she was doing.
The Vogue cover was brilliant, as there are three channels of interpretation here: on one, a successful black man has taken his white prize by force, and of course, there is the old (default) chestnut of garden-variety, bestial interracial taboo. And then, the third channel, where your best white friends scratch their heads and just see, like, a picture of a basketball player with that, like, girl, from the yogurt commercial. Black folks are not amused. Some see racism.
Not me.
Strange for me that there was no ruckus when French Vogue put bearded black drag queen Andre J on the cover, which I found more offensive by leaps and bounds. Not because he was gay, but because it felt like another castration of unabashed black heterosexual manhood. We could argue that the French Vogue cover was artful and thought-provoking for those who think about that sort of thing, but insofar as a black man even needs to be on the cover of a women’s fashion magazine, can we get a (straight) brother in a suit on the cover, in a dignified manner? Please?
Vogue is not in the social commentary business, or in business to beatify black people. They are in business to sell ads for mascara and feminine hygiene products. Controversy sells. And that’s the point.