How are black women managing the competition for suitable black mates? The hot spots of Washington D.C. are full of single black women in groups and black men with everything on their arms (including their own gender), but black women: except for many mixed race appearing ones.
I was relishing in the opportunity to toss shade at Tiger Woods for his aversion to blackness – in his veins and his relationships. How could I recover when a wise man, who would probably prefer to remain anonymous, laid the aforementioned inquiry in my spirit? His question pounced on my head like a thousand pounds of bricks. In was one of the rare occasions where I was stunned into mutism.
I visualized the sea of sisters begging for a hook from the ever elusive single black man with a good job, decent credit and 0-1 baby mamas who actually toss a line to us.
After yearning to redeem myself, I sent an e-mail response that read as follows:
In my opinion, the real answer is that we have thrown in the towel and cry defeat to whoever listens – while simultaneously engaging in one of two acts as we play our violins.
a) We lower our standards and date fools out of extreme thirst.
b) We whoop and holler at black men for opting out on us and become branded with the stereotype of bitter black ________ (another word that starts with a b) – and yet weep quietly to trusted girlfriends about our loneliness immediately after stepping down from the soapbox.
My response was based on both observations and personal reactions, but it still didn’t seem like it measured up. That question stung like a swarm of angry wasps had landed on my pinkie and went to town on it.
As it lingered, I felt the urge to seek out second opinions to either confirm or oppose my essay of an answer.
I went in with the expectation of angry black women shaking their fists at white women and the black men who love them for creating an obstacle in their quest for black love.
I encountered something altogether different which provided me with an epiphany.
I went out with the question written on an index card and presented to a few folks at my leisure.
“It seems to me like black men feel like having a white woman on your arm is the ultimate status symbol,” a sociology professor and assistant department head told me. “And no matter what I achieve, or what goals I set for myself – I cannot work towards becoming a natural blonde with blue eyes or – at bare minimum a curly haired bi-racial beauty. And the sad thing about it is – a white woman with no goals or aspirations has a better chance at finding a good black man than I do.”
Now I wouldn’t say all of that, but if this black woman – who is her best self on paper and in the flesh, is lacking a man – I must admit that a hint of hopelessness resonates as I create my checklist of imperfections.
“That is not the truth,” said a black man with a degree and a good job – who is engaged to an undeniably black woman, by the way. “It’s just when you travel in the more upper echelon circles, white women out number black women by a landslide. So those men date the women that are on their level and available to them.”
If looks could kill, my vicious side eye would have decapitated him quicker than if I were carrying a ninja sword.
I know the statistics and achievement gaps between black women and men with respect to the disproportions of men who are uneducated and/or incarcerated. But I didn’t ask the question for the sake of a co-sign, so I mentioned the stats and a few other points to offer debate and went about my business. It saddened me that this regular brother just assumed that black women can’t hang with the super successful circles, but he has a right to his feelings.
But the most inspiring insight to the question came from a tatted and weaved up woman who was probably as unpolished as they come.
“If he don’t want me, then I don’t want him,” she said. “As a matter of fact, let me find a white woman for you ‘cause you obviously insecure and that’s the last thing I’m lookin’ for.”
I pose the idea that preference and insecurity might not go hand in hand.
“But let a black woman be with a white man out somewhere. it’s that same black man who don’t like black women that’s got something slick to say… what is that?”
It was the second question within a matter of weeks that had me at a complete loss.
