The Only Black Girl In The Room When.... You’re Dating Interacially
This series of blogposts are inspired by my forthcoming novel: The Only Black Girl In The Room (Release Date: May 7th, 2024), and my life growing up as frequently the only Black girl in the room. I hope that these posts can offer insight, understanding, and a little bit of humor to the small and big moments of being the only. Thank you for engaging with me and my work.
Disclaimer: My husband is white, and he is not featured in any of these anecdotes. He’s an historian by training, bibliophile by choice, and he avoided pretty much every one of these incidents by seeking out information independently, having background knowledge, and listening. But don’t worry, he can totally still make the blog in the future. Hi love.
Picture it. You’re in your early twenties (shudder) and out at a bar. It’s a first date. Maybe a second date. You could even be dating. The man, well, he says you’re not the first Black girl he’s dated, but you have your doubts. Why the doubts, you may ask? Well, my sweet summer child, because he did one (or more) of these things.
1. He is shocked, I tell you. Shocked and dismayed when you ask clarification questions on his voting record. Sir, until five minutes ago, I did not know that you owned a pickup truck and licensed handgun in the suburbs. There are follow-up questions. Of course there are follow-up questions. And addendum, to the, “you can totally have a relationship with someone who has different political beliefs than you,” crowd: first of all, color me very shocked that you’re here, hi! Second of all, we can disagree on the federal budget, we cannot disagree on fundamental human rights, and, if the people you vote for oppose my right to live. J And um, P.S., if he says he’s “socially liberal but fiscally conservative,” he’s conservative. Do with that what you will.
2. He is deeply confused, like truly flabbergasted, that you wouldn’t be able to go to the same hairdresser as him. He’s like almost certain he has seen a non-white staff member, and completely unsure whether he’s ever seen a Black person in said salon. But he’s sure they could do your hair. To address this, you meet him at his hair salon and point to the products on the wall. There are so many products. Not a one is for a hair texture that is anywhere on the spectrum of curly/kinky.
3. He believes that his family member’s jokes aren’t racist, they’re just jokes, with no malintent. Which, sure, you can believe that. But if so, I’m a little worried I could get you to buy into a pyramid scheme. No thank you. We can joke about so many other topics.
4. When you talk about racism you’ve experienced, he wants to engage in the whataboutism, and maybe you’re just being sensitive. Maybe they don’t mean to exclude you and you just need to try harder. Babe, I could climb Mount Everest before I could climb someone’s deeply intrenched hatred of me, and I’d probably find the former more enjoyable.
5. They say you’re exotic, or marvel at your Black features but in a very weird, borderline (jumping that line, actually) fetishizing way. Please chill. I’m sure you’ve seen a butt before, and you’re not about to give me a Shakespearean monologue about fat-bottomed girls right now, or I’m going to need a couple more drinks and an SOS call to my nearest friend.
All in good fun... sort of. Let’s just chat, get to know each other as humans, maybe take the impetus to google curl patterns before trying to touch my hair. If you can do that, I’m sure I can look up what Phish is before dinner (okay, that last one is a slight roast of my husband, who had to explain Phish to me, because truly, there’s a cultural divide and I’d never heard of anything related to them in my life). Thanks for reading! One more thing: just because my husband is white, doesn’t mean I’m any less Black. Still Black. Still the only one in the room, even by choice sometimes, in my own home.