The New Yorker faces backlash for how it illustrated \u201cSinners\u201d star Wunmi Mosaku, and it\u2019s part of a bigger problem.<\/p>\n
When Wunmi Mosaku<\/a> appears on screen, audiences tend to notice two things immediately: her talent and her presence. The award-winning actress<\/a> has spent years building a reputation as a magnetic performer, most recently captivating viewers in Ryan Coogler\u2019s horror film \u201cSinners.\u201d But this week, Mosaku is at the center of an entirely different conversation; one about how Black women are seen, and who gets to decide what that vision looks like.<\/p>\n On March 5, The New Yorker published an article titled \u201cThe Lost Vibes of Wunmi Mosaku\u201d that featured an illustration by Jo\u00e3o Fazenda of Mosaku that readers pointed out shared little resemblance with the actress. The illustration and The New Yorker\u2019s decision to publish it received very mixed reactions. However, in the wave of reactions, artists across social media began sharing their own illustrations of Mosaku, many capturing her with the elegance and warmth fans say the original image lacked.\u00a0Now, the collective response felt less like an attack on Fazenda\u2019s talent and more like a broader statement: when it comes to portraying Black women, representation is about more than technical skill. It\u2019s about vision, which is exactly where critics say the problem often lies.<\/p>\n For decades, mainstream media has struggled with how it visually represents Black women. From athletes to actresses, there have been repeated instances in which women at the height of their achievements were paired with images that felt careless, distorted, or simply disconnected from how they actually appear. Even when the written words celebrating them are glowing, the image is often what lingers, and sometimes it undercuts the very praise the story intends.<\/p>\n This wouldn\u2019t be the first time the New Yorker has received backlash for the way its illustrations have portrayed Black people. In 2008, the magazine received backlash for an illustrated cover of Michelle Obama in an afro holding a machine gun, fist bumping a depiction of President Barack Obama in a turban. While the magazine labeled the controversial cover as \u201csatire,\u201d noting that the issue featured an article spotlighting the former President\u2019s rise to politics at the time, Obama\u2019s campaign called it \u201ctasteless and offensive,\u201d per Politico.<\/a><\/p>\n Similar debates have surfaced elsewhere in media illustrations. In 2018, Australian cartoonist Mark Knight drew tennis legend Serena Williams as an exaggerated, almost grotesque figure smashing her racket after her loss at the 2018 U.S. Open. The image drew swift condemnation from leaders like the late Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. <\/a>\u00a0and Bernice King, as well as the National Association of Black Journalists, who called it \u201crepugnant on many levels\u201d at the time, per NPR.<\/p>\n Critics noted that the cartoon didn\u2019t just exaggerate Williams\u2019 emotions; it placed her within a long tradition of caricatures that render Black women as physically exaggerated or aggressive. Meanwhile, her opponent, Naomi Osaka, was illustrated as a small, blonde, white-passing figure, further intensifying the racial dynamic at play.<\/p>\n This discourse also extends to photography. Renowned photographer Annie Leibovitz has notoriously received backlash for how unflattering her signature shadowy, desaturated style is for Black women, as seen on the Vogue covers of Simone Biles and Ketanji Brown Jackson. Contrarily, but equally as problematic, photographers have consistently edited Black women\u2019s skin from Lupia Nyong\u2019o to Gabourey Sidibe (Elle magazine, 2010) to appear lighter on covers.<\/p>\n This is a consistent and exhausting pattern because when the people shaping the visual narrative don\u2019t fully see Black women, the result can feel like erasure, even when the intent isn\u2019t malicious.<\/p>\n