Tag Archives: Race

Let me begin this missive by admitting that what follows is probably going to offend you.  I say that off top for two reasons.  First, I want you to know that I’m self aware enough to understand the delicate nature of the topic that I’m addressing.  Second, calling out the offensive nature of a piece semi-shields the writer from any subsequent fecal downpour.  It’s kind of like saying, “Hey, I told you that this one might make your ass itch.  Don’t blame me if you read it and got upset.  Matter of fact, I’m mad at YOU for reading it…inconsiderate bastard.”

Look, I can only expound on the truth as I see it.  And well, to be honest, lately I’ve been thinking that white women have a helluva lot of truth on offer.

Eh-hem.  Now that half of you have thrown your computers out of the window in fits of rage not seen since the CW cancelled “The Game,” I’ll continue.

When I say I’m seeing truth, I’m really talking about truth of being.  That is, living life in a way that is consistent with one’s authentic self, which leads to greater enjoyment, AKA fun.  I gotta say that in general, white women seem to be having more of it than their black counterparts.

OK, let me not overstate this.  I’m really talking about a specific part of living life, the part that has to do with love, sex, partying, and general good times.  Whether or not white girls are better at achieving positive work life balance or expressing their own political preferences vs. those of the patriarchy are for another writer to consider.  This is “Recognize & Realize,”  not “Feminism, Poetry, Pop-Culture, Sex.”  (Not that anything is wrong with that, in case the owner of that blog, Stephanie, actually reads this.  I mean, some of my best friends are feminists…)

I should also clarify things by saying that my comments are probably only applicable to educated women, too.  (Incidentally, educated in this context means having secured or on track to securing a college degree.)  Why?  Because those are the women with whom I’ve spent most of my time.  I’d be lying if I said that I could speak to the ins-and-outs (no pun intended) of blue-collar Beths and Bernices, ’cause well, I haven’t really gone there…that much.  All I know is that pound for pound, educated black women have way more stick up their butt, and like the late Bernie Mac said, “I don’t mean that in no nice way.”

Beginning in high school, through grad school, and beyond, I’ve been amazed at the ease with which white women seem to live in their own sexual skins.  Hanky-panky doesn’t necessarily have a freakin’ timetable associated with it in Becky’s books.  It’s like you just say the right thing (or shut the eff up), pull the right levers, be there at there at the right time, and you’re off like a prom dress.  Ridiculously refreshing.  But dude, you could be trapped with a bougie black woman on an island after a zombie apocalypse has decimated 99.9% of the human population, and she’ll still make you wait ’til like the 4th date before she tosses off that grass skirt.  (Do y’all even realize how hard it is to make a coconut martini with REAL coconuts?)

I actually had a black woman tell me, after following up a very steamy initial encounter with a night full of nada in my bed, “You’re a great cuddler.  I wanted to do more, but I can’t go out like that.”  What the shit?!  Did the Great God of Blue Balls threaten to strike her down unless she sacrificed my testes on his nocturnal altar?  What kind of (un)fuckery is this?

Well, noted sociologist E. Franklin Frazier identified the roots of this problem back in the late 1950s.  In his seminal work, “Black Bourgeoisie,” Frazier let it be known that the black middle class was playing the assimilation game – hard.  Because they wanted so badly to be accepted by white folk, they actually tried to culturally OUT-white them.  This cut across multiple aspects of life, including the realm of morality.  As such, we developed the idea that a lady must never give in to desires of the flesh until – I’m guessing here – she can be reasonably certain that The People’s Slut Court would find her not guilty.  I’d argue that assimilation’s conservative grip on their panties is still quite robust and shit, 50 years later.

Meanwhile, white women found the pill in the 60s and never looked the fuck back.  I have to stop here and say that black men bear at least half of the fault for this, with all the “slut” this and “ho” that.  Dudes, if you continue with the double standards, you’re only gonna continue fucking yourself.  Literally.  But sistas, you gotta meet us half way.

Understand that no one is looking for the “Girls Gone Wild” experience.  OK, some people are, but those people are all named Colin and under the age of 25, or they’re over 35, named Eugene, and are registered sex offenders.  What is cool is the idea that folks can get together and feel free to let their hair down, do what they wanna do on their own terms, get it crackin’, or not.  ‘Cause by the way, the “not” can be cool too, sometimes.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, somewhere out there somebody just let out The White Girl Yell.  Whooohooo!