Botched by Design: How BBL Culture Became a Weapon Against Black Women

The blueprint has always been Black. From music videos to reality TV, from Tumblr to TikTok—the Black woman’s body is the algorithm. It’s the aesthetic. And yet… it’s also the most violated.

From the early 2010s BBL boom to today’s “petite” BBL rollback, our curves have been copied, exaggerated, mocked, monetized, and then discarded like a trend. We’re watching the body that made the culture get repackaged—and repurposed—by people who never had to live in it.

BBLs (Brazilian Butt Lifts) didn’t become trendy because Black women suddenly wanted them. They became trendy because the world wanted a version of us they could consume. Softer. Rounder. Lighter. Pick-me approved. Exotic, but never too ethnic. It was a version of the Black body you could sell.

THE SURGERY THAT’S NEVER REALLY FOR US

Let’s talk numbers. BBLs have one of the highest mortality rates of any cosmetic procedure. Surgeons—mostly white, mostly male—are often operating with little cultural understanding and even less care. And yet, Black women are some of the top consumers of these procedures.

Why?

Because the standard we’re trying to meet keeps shifting. Even our natural bodies aren’t enough anymore. Not with IG filters smoothing out our hips. Not with Fashion Nova mannequins built like 3D renderings. Not when the same body type we’ve been shamed for is only praised when it’s on someone non-Black.

BBL culture didn’t create our insecurities—it monetized them. Weaponized them. Played dress-up in our genetics, made billions, and left us with the trauma.

THIS DIDN’T START WITH THE SURGERIES

This ain’t new, baby. The erasure didn’t start with the scalpel.

What we’re seeing now is a continuation of the ‘90s heroin chic era where the thin, waifish white body was the standard. The industry never fully embraced the fullness of Black femininity—it only sampled it. And now, the pendulum is swinging again.

Think about it: how did the BBL body become popular, but high fashion still doesn’t make clothes for that frame? Why are Fashion Nova and Shein catering to it while designers like Balenciaga and Dior pretend it doesn’t exist?

Or better yet—why is “BBL funk” trending online with Cardi B’s name attached, like it’s a joke now? As if the very aesthetic built on Black women’s backs isn’t even good enough to be ridiculed with respect.

We’re watching a body type that was never truly accepted—only rented—get mocked now that the renters have moved on.

THE K-WORDS WE AIN’T SAYING BUT WE’RE THINKING

Let’s address the elephant in the surgery room. The Kardashians.

Yes, I said it.

A family that leveraged the Black aesthetic—curves, lip injections, tanned skin, slang, Black partners—to climb the ladder of fame, and now that they’ve secured access to whiteness, wealth, and desirability across racial lines, they’re downsizing. Opting for “clean girl” vibes. Petite frames. No more hip dips, no more thick thighs.

The timing isn’t lost on us.

But I want to be real clear: we don’t shame women here. We analyze patterns. These women are not the enemy—they’re mirrors of a system that rewards appropriation while punishing authenticity.

We don’t know what kind of internal battles they’re fighting, or why they made these choices. What we do know is this: when the world is done with Black culture, it throws it away. But we still have to live in these bodies.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO RISK IT ALL TO BE WORTHY

We’re literally risking our lives for what? To go viral? To get flown out? To feel like the prettiest girl in the room for a weekend before the shame sets in?

That is not power. That is not liberation. And that damn sure ain’t matriarchal.

If you want surgery for you, for real—for your healing, for your reflection, for your joy—I support you. Fully. Fiercely.

But if you’re doing it to be picked? To be seen? To finally feel worthy of the very body you were born in?

I need you to pause. Breathe. Reclaim yourself. Because no one should have the power to make you believe that your body—the same body that holds your ancestors’ strength, your sensuality, your softness—isn’t enough.

There has never been a time where they let us just be.

So we reclaim that time. Now.

Reclaim your curves. Your waist. Your thighs. Your softness. Your stretch marks. Your strength. The way you take up space. The way you move through the room. The way your hips don’t lie, and neither do your boundaries.

You are not an aesthetic. You are not a trend.

You are the mother of the culture.

Act accordingly.