It Ain't About the Shorts: Unpacking Professionalism Through the Lens of Whiteness

So there's a video floating around TikTok and Twitter, and folks are debating what is deemed “professional” attire for an interview and beyond. Let me tell you something: it ain't about the shorts. It ain't even about professionalism. It’s about whiteness and our need to uphold its values. When you think about professionalism as a concept, you have to consider the following:

• Who gets to define professionalism?
• Where did you learn about what is professional and what is not?

The answer is simple: whiteness. Whiteness taught your mama how to wear her hair, what to wear, and that to be early is to be 20 minutes before the time because on time is late. It taught her how to be palatable to the white gaze within the workplace. It taught her that her body would be judged more harshly depending on the fabric, length, and color. So when you look at the video of this young woman, remember you are looking at it through the lens of what professionalism means and has meant to whiteness, and then ask yourself if your goal is to uphold it by holding Black bodies to its standards or if there’s another way to view this?

bell hooks talks about loving Blackness as political resistance, and by doing so, it can help us to transform our ways of looking and being. Applying this notion to professionalism, what we’re really talking about is a set of rules designed to make us conform—to make us small and palatable to a world that sees our very existence as a threat. Professionalism, as it’s been defined by whiteness, isn’t about skill or capability; it’s about making sure we’re "acceptable" enough to belong in spaces never meant for us in the first place.

We’re constantly figuring out how much of ourselves we can show in any given space without being labeled “unprofessional,” “too much,” or “not enough.” It’s a constant dance—deciding which parts of ourselves are “safe” to bring to work, an interview, or anywhere that demands we prove our worth through a lens that was never built for us. That’s what this whole debate around shorts really is—it’s about control. It’s about making sure Black bodies, Black identities, stay within lines drawn by whiteness.

So no, this ain't just about clothes. It’s about our hair, our language, our very presence. When a Black woman walks into an interview, she’s carrying the weight of expectations that go beyond qualifications. She’s calculating how her natural hair will be perceived, whether her tone will be called “aggressive,” or if her outfit will be deemed “inappropriate.” This is the reality of living under the white gaze, a gaze that polices our every move, that makes us question our own worth if we don’t fit into the box marked “professional.”

This discussion ain't just about whether some shorts are appropriate for an interview. It’s about who gets to be seen as worthy and who doesn’t. When we critique a Black woman’s outfit as “unprofessional,” what we’re really doing is questioning her right to take up space on her own terms. It’s about making her fit into a mold that wasn’t made for her and punishing her when she refuses. The emotional labor that comes with this is heavy. The pain of always having to wear a mask, of never being able to show up fully in spaces that don’t see you, impacts how you claim and craft all aspects of identity.” But when you’re a Black woman, claiming your full identity can be risky. It can cost you opportunities, respect, or even your job. And that’s what’s at the heart of this video debate—it’s about how much we’re still expected to shrink ourselves to survive.

So, when you look at that video, remember that it ain't about the shorts. It’s about your discomfort in seeing a Black body refuse to conform to what you’ve been taught is necessary for survival. It’s about your internalized need to protect the status quo, even if it means holding other Black folks to standards that were never meant to include us. It’s about whether we’re willing to challenge the systems that keep Black women in a constant state of negotiation.

Are we ready to build spaces where we can show up fully without having to leave pieces of ourselves at the door? Because until we do, we’ll keep having these debates that ain't really about clothes but about control.

References

Hooks, B. (1992). Black looks: Race and representation. South End Press.

About DeLisha Tapscott Ed.D.: DeLisha Tapscott, Ed.D. is a writer and social change agent with a background in English Literature and a master's degree in Organizational Management specializing in Leadership and Media Management. She has utilized her knowledge within the #SayHerName movement to help others become a catalyst for change by using their platforms to speak up against injustices impacting the Black community. With a focal point on Black women, she believes that "Black women and their stories are ignored and often become whispers in the background, like ghosts in the night."

As a facilitator, she has utilized her talents to speak at Harvard University, Texas A&M University, and the University of Maryland on the topics of social justice, the experiences of Black women within society, and intersectionality. DeLisha graduated from The University of Dayton in their School of Education and Health Sciences Ed.D program, focused on Organizational Leadership. Her research examines the intersectional experiences of identity negotiation and Black women within white-dominant spaces. She is currently a Senior Director of People & Culture for a NY-based non-profit. By championing organizational development, she seeks to center organizational change using a people-centered approach to coaching, equity and inclusion, people operations, and culture building.