In this op-ed, writer Sakeina Syed unpacks HBO’s new show Velma and the trend of appearance-based jokes about brown girls on TV.
One of the many changes to Mystery Inc. in HBO’s adult horror-comedy reboot Velma is the titular character’s ethnicity; Velma Dinkley (voiced by Mindy Kaling) is now South Asian. At face value, it might seem like an innocuous, or even distinctly positive change. But in tandem with the release of the first two episodes came scenes that spoke otherwise. So far, the only material Velma's newfound brown skin has brought to the series are punchlines about her appearance. The character is an unwelcome successor to a tired pop culture legacy of relentlessly deriding brown girls for their appearance.
Minutes in, the show is littered with quips about Velma’s appearance — in an early scene, two cops joke about her “hairy gorilla arms” and her weight. Later on, Velma struts into school with a makeover. For a split-second, her classmates respect her. “You’re not a total dog anymore,” says one character. It might be funny in an alternate universe where this hasn’t been done to death in dozens of shows and movies. But in the world of South Asian Velma, somehow, the jab is still expected to land. Perhaps at this point it seems like a given: the joke about the ugly brown girl never gets old.
Growing up as a young brown girl in the early 2000s, I was no stranger to feelings of insecurity. It’s funny now, but when I was ten years old I took a pair of kitchen scissors to my eyebrows, snipping away haphazardly. I was desperate to do something about an ethnic feature that every piece of media seemed to equate with ugliness. Shockingly, it didn’t work. But this wouldn’t be the last time I was made to feel as though my natural features, from my skin to my hair and beyond, were inherently wrong — and I wasn’t alone.
Velma is the newest member of a seemingly infinite roster of brown girl characters whose presence is inextricable from revulsion for their ethnic features. Before Velma, we had clips of Bela from The Sex Lives of College Girls triumphantly announcing her transformation from the "Indian loser with cystic acne, sweaty armpits, and glasses." Or Devi in Never Have Ever praying to thin out her Indian "barbershop floor" arm hair in the first few seconds of the show.
I’m not discounting the importance of messy storylines, imperfect characters, and complex arcs. Not all representation should be positive or aspirational. It would be juvenile to expect that every brown character on screen loves themselves and is viewed glowingly by those around them. But it’s a little absurd that we’re still being spoon-fed monologues and lists explicitly detailing the ugliness of South Asian features. Regardless of how the same scenes are being couched as “edgy” comedy, with flawed heroines or arcs of internal growth, they just aren’t landing. The only thing they’re telegraphing loud and clear is internalized racism.
Hours after Velma’s release, the internet was ablaze. Clips quickly circulated, and it became clear that the South Asian community is unimpressed with this recurring joke. But it also seemed like people universally disliked the show. Critique of the racist trope was quickly subsumed by discourse about the show’s writing and a pile-on of backlash solely directed at Mindy Kaling, who executive produced the show and plays Velma (though, notably, she’s not the showrunner and didn’t write any episodes that have aired so far).
It’s undeniable that Kaling is an integral part of the conversation surrounding portrayals of brown women onscreen: Writing for The Office, creating The Mindy Project, writing and starring in Late Night, co-creating and writing for both Never Have I Ever and The Sex Lives of College Girls, and executive producing and starring in Velma. She’s played a massive role in advancing representation of brown women in Hollywood, and credit needs to be given where it’s due. We might not have the luxury of the current brown girl renaissance without the steps she took. Her current work, like Never Have I Ever, often provides nuanced and positive portrayals of South Asian women too, platforming many brown women in varied roles. Many of these women, like Devi and Bela, also often show outright confidence.
Personally, I enjoy a lot of what Kaling creates — she’s a brilliant writer, and I’ve enjoyed her books and some of her work onscreen. But her work is almost ubiquitous when it comes to comedic portrayals of brown women, which is a double-edged sword. Unfortunately, this means that the themes and tropes that run through her work also make the negative stereotyping also seem ubiquitous.
No single story needs to be representative of an entire population, and creators have the right to tell their own messy, authentic stories. But that doesn’t necessarily give artists license to make flawed content infinitely, immune to critique. At some point, it becomes less about an individual creator's right to tell their story and more about the need to critically engage with a multimillion-dollar pattern, one that seeps into society's perception of brown women in real life.
But distilling the matter down to a “Mindy problem” is both reductive and unfair. Issues with representation of South Asian women ran rampant long before Kelly Kapoor or Mindy Lahiri could ever have existed. Decades passed in which brown women were barely on screen at all. Moreover, when brown men had the opportunity to make movies and shows, like Aziz Ansari’s Master of None or Kumail Nanjiani’s The Big Sick, they often focused on seeking out white women over brown women. At times they framed brown women as disposable or less appealing alternatives, which definitely contributed to perceptions of brown women as less appealing or desirable.
There are discussions to be had and valid critiques to be made about each of these creatives’ work. But internalized racism can’t be attributed to a South Asian creator — it stems from real-world racism. Kaling didn’t invent stereotypes about brown women; they were levelled against her long before she gained creative control. In her shows, she often satirized and parodied very real experiences. Amidst the backlash to her work, she’s once again experiencing the same racism that people are complaining about in Velma, and worse. The film and TV industry have endlessly profited off of Eurocentric standards that erase and degrade brown women.
Long before brown showrunners, filmmakers, and actors gained some level of agency, Hollywood has profited off of the mockery of South Asian people. Hundreds of movies and shows feature an ever-present brown supporting character meant to serve as comic relief by virtue of their mere existence: Their accents, their hair, their skin, their traditions.
Maybe initially it seemed easier to laugh at ourselves, to tell the jokes before someone else did. Maybe that made them sting a little less. Perhaps it felt like regaining control of a narrative we had no part in creating. But just because these experiences are a lived reality doesn’t mean they’re our only reality. Jokes about the "ugly brown girl," and the "brown girl glow up" do not need to be parroted onscreen forever.
As South Asian creatives finally gain opportunities and platforms, we also have a responsibility to critically analyze what is being sold to millions of people. (As Maitreyi Ramakrishnan told us in her 2021 cover story, “"We need more stories, we need more storytellers. We can't just keep relying on Mindy Kaling to keep making all these shows. I want her to keep making more. But I need more people with her.”) Regurgitating racist tropes like in Velma will eventually result in them being inextricable from portrayals of brown women in pop culture. The last thing we need is a self-fulfilling prophecy for a new generation; a thousand more TikToks about the “brown girl glow up” in which brown women discuss the shame and embarrassment they associate with their childhood appearances and ethnic features.
Who made us feel this way? Who benefits from endless jokes about brown women having “hairy gorilla arms”? Ultimately, it only serves to prop up Eurocentric, white supremacist beauty standards — which certainly don’t need any help. Only very recently have we begun to see new creators and characters gain the limelight, from Ms. Marvel to Wedding Season to Bridgerton and beyond. For once, we’re empowered to ask for more, and better. There are new jokes to tell — ones where brown girls’ bodies aren’t the punchline.
