Black Girl Bullied By Black Girls

Cordilia James and the Cost of Black Women Policing Each Other

By Imani Caldwell

Bronx, NY - The first time I wore a wig, I thought I had done something revolutionary. I was a teenager, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, adjusting the synthetic strands that sat just a little too high on my head. I didn’t know much about lace fronts or proper fitting. No one had taken me to a beauty supply store to explain the difference between human hair and synthetic or why blending the lace was essential. All I knew was that I wanted to look beautiful, instead, I ended up looking like I had a helmet on my head.

The Wall Street Journal is one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world, a publication with a long history of shaping financial and business journalism. Founded in 1889, it has built a reputation for rigorous reporting and in-depth analysis, influencing global markets and various policies. For a young Black woman like Cordilia James to secure a position as a journalist at such an esteemed institution is no small feat. It’s an achievement that should be celebrated, a sign of progress in an industry where Black women are still vastly underrepresented. But instead of rallying around her success, many Black women chose to focus on her wig, turning what should have been a moment of pride into an opportunity for public ridicule. 

That’s the unspoken truth about many Black women’s wig journeys—we don’t always get it right at first. And for many of us, there’s no gentle learning curve. If you step outside with a wig that’s not properly laid, you don’t just risk side-eyes from strangers. You risk full-on ridicule, often from the very community you expect support from.

That’s why the backlash against Wall Street Journal reporter Cordilia James, dubbed the “wig lady,” stung so deeply. It should’ve been a relatable conversation—a moment for Black women to nod in solidarity, knowing that at some point, we’ve all worn a wig that wasn’t quite right. Instead, she was met with relentless mockery. People accused her of “wig blindness,” saying she couldn’t tell a bad wig from a good one. Some even suggested she shouldn’t have been the one to write the piece at all.

It was disappointing but not surprising. Black women have a long history of policing each other, particularly when it comes to beauty. The expectation is that we should always be put together, that we should know how to style our hair flawlessly, that we should be able to clock an improper install from a mile away. But the truth is, not every Black woman grows up in an environment where hair education is prioritized. Not every Black woman has an auntie or older cousin to teach her how to blend lace or customize a unit. Some of us are learning in real-time, figuring it out in a world that can be unforgiving to visible mistakes. I mean, have you seen the steps it takes to install a wig properly? You do everything but stick your head in a microwave at the end, and if you don't have in person guidance, installing a wig can be a disaster. 

The criticism of James reflects a deeper issue—how quick we are to drag each other instead of offering grace. Black women already face scrutiny from every direction. Our hair is politicized, policed, and questioned in professional and social spaces. And yet, instead of creating safe spaces for each other, we sometimes become the harshest critics. The idea that James was unqualified to discuss wigs simply because her own wasn’t perfect reinforces the same rigid beauty standards we claim to resist.

The irony is, the whole conversation she sparked only proved her point—finding a properly fitted wig is a struggle. The backlash didn’t challenge her argument; it reinforced it. If anything, it should have started a much-needed dialogue about access to quality wigs, the learning curve that comes with them, and why we need more patience for Black women at all stages of their hair journeys. The situation got so bad that the Wall Street Journal had to take down the video entirely because Black women flooded the comments making fun of her. That is odd considering how Black women fully embrace Black men in wigs, whether it’s for comedy or performance, but will quickly bully a Black woman just like themselves.

This is a pattern that runs deep. Black women tend to offer unconditional support to Black men, even when that support is not reciprocated. Whether it’s defending them against external criticism, standing by them in personal relationships, or rallying behind them in moments of hardship, Black women are often the backbone of Black men’s success and cultural acceptance. Yet, when it comes to showing that same unwavering loyalty to each other, the dynamic shifts drastically. Instead of uplifting one another, many Black women engage in harsh critique, competition, and outright bullying.

This is why circles of Black women are often filled with mistrust. How can we expect unity when we tear each other down at every opportunity? The judgment Black women place on each other is relentless—whether it’s over beauty standards, lifestyle choices, or even career moves. There is little room for vulnerability because any sign of imperfection is met with ridicule rather than support. And the worst part? Many Black women internalize this negativity, making it harder to build genuine connections with one another.

Meanwhile, the embrace Black women give to Black men has created an imbalance. Black men don’t face nearly the same level of policing or ridicule from Black women as Black women do from each other. They are allowed to experiment, to make mistakes, to be celebrated for doing the bare minimum. A Black man can wear a wig for laughs, and Black women will champion his creativity. A Black woman wears a wig that’s slightly off, and she’s dragged for filth. The double standard is glaring, and it’s contributing to the erosion of Black women’s collective voice.

This is why the voice of Black women is slowly losing its power. There was a time when “Black Girl Magic” meant something—but how can we celebrate Black Girl Magic when so many Black women are too busy tearing each other down? It’s all fake. The solidarity we claim to have is often just a thin veil covering a culture of harsh judgment, envy, and exclusion. If Black women don’t change this pattern, we will continue to lose respect—not just from others, but from ourselves. True empowerment means embracing each other fully, flaws and all. It means allowing space for growth, for mistakes, for learning. It means recognizing that another Black woman’s journey does not threaten our own. Until we genuinely support one another, Black Girl Magic will remain just that—magic. An illusion. A trick. Something that looks beautiful from a distance but disappears when you get too close.

I think about that teenage version of myself, standing in the mirror, insecure about the wig sitting too far back on my head. What would’ve happened if someone had gently corrected me instead of laughing? What if instead of shaming each other, we extended the same grace we hope to receive? Black women deserve spaces to learn, to experiment, and yes, even to fail without fear of public humiliation.

At the end of the day, a wig is just hair—it should never be a reason to tear another Black woman down. And yet, the way we treat each other over something as trivial as a wig speaks volumes about the deeper issues we refuse to address. If we want true sisterhood, if we want Black Girl Magic to mean something real, then we need to start by treating each other with the respect and care we so freely give to others.