Part 2: Where The Hell Are All The Good Single Black Women (No, really. I’m serious about this too. Seriously.)
Ranging from humorless and predictable (“Good black men are right in front of your noses, but you all are too busy having babies by Gucci Mane to notice“) to excessively academic (“The neglect of incorporating a Venn variance to ascertain excess noise suggests a metacognitive dissonance rendering the study obsolete“), several themes were repeatedly brought up in the comments generated by yesterday’s look at the “Where Are All The Good Single Black Men” infographic.
The theme that stood out the most to me, though — and also seemed to cause a couple minor skirmishes — was people’s (and by “people’s” I mean “men’s“) reaction to the infographic’s latent message that women are “eligible” and relationship-worthy by sheer virtue of them being women.
Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this occur. Anytime there’s any type of study or special talking about the ratio of black women to eligible black men, there’s going to be pushback by those who think that if women we’re held to the same criteria, the numbers would be a bit more even — a theory that’s both wrong and right.
I mean, as much as I want to represent for the brothas, holding women to the exact same criteria usually used to discredit us — college degrees, felony records, income, etc — is like playing Kobe one-on-one and asking him to rock a onesie instead of shorts and a t-shirt to give you a better chance. Regardless of how you dress him up, he’s still going to kick your ass.
Depressingly contrived analogies aside, there are actually some valid criteria that can be used to discredit the “relationship eligibility” of women; things that matter to men very much, and would have Fisher-Price websites running graphics asking “Where the hell are all the goodsingleblackwomen?” if they were ever given the proper attention.
Here’s a few of them.
Number of black women who cry at the end of “The Color Purple” every. single. one. of the 527 times they’ve seen the movie (approximate number: 44 in 100)
How emotionally stable can you be if the waterworks start every gotdamn time the pattycakes scene comes on? Nevermind the fact that my, um, “seasonal allegories” also always seem to flare up whenever I watch it too, you all are supposed to be The Queens and sh*t. Woman the hell up, stop acting like you’re so damn shocked that Celie and Nettie are meeting again, and try to forget about the fact that the actress who played Nettie was never, ever, ever, ever seen again.
Number of black women who’ve “dated” a professional athlete, rapper, or Barksdale in their adult life (approximate number: 27 in 100)
It disqualifies for two reasons:
1. Despite the fact that you may very well have the Killer P*ssy, none of us actually want to die because we happen to be dating you. Sure, you’re not actually dating Weebay Brice anymore, and you think we’re safe because he’s doing a quintuple life bid at West Penn, but the nephew of his who shanks you with a sharpened Vasoline jar at a Waffle House booth probably didn’t get that message.
2. If you “dated” one of these characters and don’t have anything other than an STD and some expired Dave and Buster’s tokens to show for it, there’s a 99% chance that you were actually an adult groupie.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with being an adult groupie. They provide a service — Who else is going to entertain the entertainers? — and they always seem to know the best cheap pizza spots. But, thinking you were a gf when you were a jumpoff means that your self-awareness game is in the toilet, and how are you supposed to be trusted to decide which laundry detergent is best for our baby’s delicate skin if you can’t even label yourself?
Number of black women who refuse to have sex the week after they’ve gotten their hair done (approximate number: 31 in 100)
Considering the fact that the average black woman gets her hair done once every two or three weeks, you’re talking about having to go through mini-sex droughts for 40% to 60% of every month. That’s roughly six months of dry wang a year. No motherf*ckin bueno.
Number of black women completely devoid of hobbies (approximate number: 17.5 in 100)
And no, it doesn’t count as a hobby if you don’t sweat and/or develop carpal tunnel while doing it. So Riesling tasting, Trey Songs’ tattoo counting, and “non motherf*cking factor” t-shirt buying don’t count.
By my estimation, these numbers irrevocably prove that there’s actually -19.5 eligible black women to every 100 black men. How do you like those apples? Not as sweet anymore, huh?
Anyway, people of VSB.com: We already discussed where the good single black men might be hiding, but where the hell can you find these non-existent negative number-ass sistas??? Also, are there any other disqualifers that I neglected to mention?
***It’s that time again. The third installment of REMINISCE is happening this Saturday, October 1, at Liv Nightclub in Washington, DC. It’s one hell of a time as we spin the best of 90s hiphop, r&b, and dancehall. It’s FREE before 11PM ($10 after), OPEN BAR FROM 10-11PM, and no dress code. Come party with Panama Jackson since Wu Tang is here forever, MOTHERF*****S. See you then!! Here’s the Facebook invite with all the details: http://www.facebook.com/event.