Tag Archives: black women

Yes, Loving “Scandal” Probably Does Make You A Hypocrite. (But, Who F*cking Cares?)

Posted on by
410

(Black) People finding out you’ve never watched more than a half hour (combined) of Scandal sort of reminds me of the reaction I’d receive when people found out I’d never watched The Color Purple and I’ve never done the Electric Slide. The incredulousness received was so extreme that it began to annoy me, turning my non-viewing and non-sliding into a point of pride. Instead of just not sitting down to watch The Color Purple and just not finding the opportunity to learn the Electric Slide, I’d intentionally avoid it. It became one of my “things” like “Oh, that’s Champ over there. He lives in Pittsburgh, used to hoop, and he sits down and smirks whenever the Electric Slide song comes on.”

I haven’t reached that point with Scandal, and I doubt I ever will. It seems like a nice enough show, and my reasons for not getting into it have more to do with my tastes—I tend to like my shows funny (30 Rock, Parks and Rec, etc), dark (The Wire, Luther, etc), or dark and funny (Louie, The Sopranos, etc)—than any type of (admittedly) bizarre preemptive metahate. But, despite the fact that I haven’t watched it, like The Color Purple, it’s become such a part of our cultural zeitgeist that you really don’t have to watch it to know about it. You could probably create a Wiki page for Olivia Pope just off of Facebook status messages every Thursday.

Anyway, in the past week, I’ve read three Scandal-related articles—“Real Talk: What’s Up With the ‘Scandal’ Backlash?” by Demetria Lucas, “Such A Big Ego: Why Some Black Men Have A Problem With “Scandal” by Kirsten West Savali, and “Scandal’ Fans: Guilty by Association?” by Kellee Terrell—and if you were to combine each together and distill them, you’d be left with three points.

1. I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE Scandal

2. (Black) Men criticize (Black women) for loving Scandal despite some scandalous behavior from its lead character

3. We (Black women who love Scandal) are not hypocrites. If anyone is a hypocrite, it’s Black men

As I mentioned before, it’s near impossible to be on social media and not know the basic premise of the show. Kerry Washington’s Olivia Pope is perhaps the most powerful woman in D.C. Her great grandfather was Dr. Manhattan. One click of her heel could make Colin Powell cowtow. If she even winked at you, your head would explode, and Keyser Sose would bankrupt your uncle’s construction business. She’s the shit and shit. She’s also seeing (and in love with) the President…who is married…and is White!

It’s also understandable why the show is so popular. It’s set in D.C., which is to bougie Black girls what Home Depot is to fat crackheads. It features a bougie Black girl in possession of all the things bougie Black girls think of when attempting to get aroused—power, lip gloss, a barely detectable lisp, the ability to affect policy over brunch meetings, shoes and shit, men who want to do more than just invite her over at 1am for Wendy’s and Burn Notice. Plus, no one does “I will make you root and shed tears for these flawed motherf*ckers” better than Shonda Rhimes. She is a maven, a magician, the bougie Black girl’s Geppetto.

Despite all of this, it’s somewhat disingenuous to suggest that her affair with the President isn’t the meat and potatoes of the show’s appeal. Yes, her occupation and the perception of power matters—this show doesn’t work if she’s a school lunch lady who secretly calls all the shots and knows all the secrets in the teacher’s lounge—but there’s no doubt in my mind it wouldn’t be as popular if she happened to be married. Or just single. Or a lesbian. Or having an affair with an equally powerful lawyer. Her impact as a Black woman makes the show irreverent. Her affair makes it sexy, and sexy beats irreverent’s ass every time.

So yes. If you are a bougie Black girl—a population who, despite my undying love and shit for them, is somewhat defined by their sanctimony-based snark about everything—and you activity root for Olivia Pope to “win” her love affair, you are a big steaming pile of hypocrite.

But, guess what? That’s ok!

No one—well, no one with a brain—cares. Yes, it does make you a f*cking hypocrite to rip apart the ratchet behavior of the Real Basketball Wives of Hip-Hop and turn around and root for a woman who’s basically doing the same thing, just as it makes me a f*cking hypocrite for marching against violence but listening to Rick Ross on the way to the rally, or the chick clowning King Catfish on Twitter this evening despite the fact that she’s been dating the same dude for four years and still doesn’t know where he lives, and exactly like the hypocrisy millions of Americans exhibit when pretending to care about concussions and player safety and still sucking on the NFL teet every weekend.

Hypocrisy is as American as assault rifles. This country was founded by a group of extremely brilliant, extremely educated, and extremely pious men who still believed that enslaving people wasn’t really that bad of a thing. Hypocrisy is our birthright, our history, and our legacy, and you look sillier denying it than if you just said “F*ck it” and embraced it.

We are all hypocrites in some way or another–especially when it comes to what we choose to consume—and the longer Scandal lovers who exhibit this behavior refuse to admit to and accept their own hypocrisy, the longer they’ll get called on it…like everyone else does. Being a bougie Black girl and using words like “nuance” and “slut-shaming” doesn’t absolve you from doing some things that don’t really jive with some other things you do, and “hypocrite” is just one appropriate word for that type of behavior.

You know another one? “Human.”

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

So, She’s With A White Guy, Huh?

Posted on by
643

***Hello, everyone. S. Nicole Brown is here again to bless the VSB pulpit. This time, though, I decided to add some, um, “notes” in red to her piece. Not certain if she’s going to appreciate that, but, well, it’s my blog and I can do what I want to***

“That’s your woman? That is NOT your woman. You know that ain’t your woman, man.”

The man was around 35, smooth brown face featuring a neatly lined goatee, cap to the back, Pepsi in his right hand resting on his denim shorts. Before inviting himself into our lives, he was just another black man at the park that day.

(This was her first mistake. Dude definitely sounds homeless. I mean, he’s chillin in some random park with a Pepsi and some demin shorts? In 2012? Come on, man! It’s her fault for entertaining homeless men.)

It took us a moment to realize he was indeed directing his doubting statements at us, and although he was correct in his assumption, I turned my head, eyes wide at his audacity. I could only give a bewildered laugh. The man walking next to me, around the same age as him, slightly spiky brown hair, affable blue eyes, and clad in a “Detroit Soul” t-shirt, turned towards the man, his face serious.

“No, this is my wife.” He wrapped his hand around mine casually, and we kept walking.

(Although the wife move was admittedly a smooth transition, technically your wife would also be your woman, and he should have known that homeless Black men don’t appreciate semantic tricks. He’s lucky he didn’t get spleen shanked.)

This response was met with hushed laughter from the men sitting with our new friend, along with his words trailing us: “I don’t see a ring. That ain’t your woman man.”

(See, I know that’s a lie. Aint no group of Black men in Detroit gonna know what a wedding ring even is, let alone know where to check for it. For all they know, a wedding ring is some shit you find at the bottom of a bowl of wedding soup. Why are you making shit up?)

I shook my head but laughed it off, still in awe.

This would prove to be only one of several instances in which a day at an outdoor summer festival with a friend turned into a social experiment for the writer in me. I noticed all the stares, the shoulder taps on friends sitting next to them, and the not-so-subtle pointing. I was amused and embarrassed by the random and startling honking by cars containing black men as they drove past us, their voices carrying things like “Whiiiiite boyyyy! Yeahhh white boy!” over the music blasting from their stereos.

(I’m not doubting that any of this happened. I’m also not a Black woman who has walked through a summer festival in Detroit with a White man. Still, I do find it hard to believe that this experience is the norm instead of the exception. I mean, I’ve seen Black women and White men together before in Black settings, and aside from random cats asking him to cosign on car loans, they were pretty much left alone. They even occasionally get props and nicknames. And yes, it still counts as a nickname if the nickname is just their first name with “White” added to the front of it.)

I was downright shocked and offended by the three black men who stopped us and plainly asked in so many words what I was doing here with him and why I wasn’t with someone of a brown hue, eyes connecting solely with mine, completely disregarding the white man next to me. I was too much of a “beautiful sista” as one man stated as we passed by his perch, to not be with a black man. I looked around, had to keep reminding myself that it was 2011. It was as if we’d walked into neighborhood full of Crips wearing bright red.

Slowly I realized that the general consensus of the men who’d expressed confusion for our assumed pairing was that I was too attractive to date a white man, as if there is only a certain type of black woman that can date outside her race. Even when I told a guy friend about my experience, his initial response was that “they only said something because you’re attractive. They wouldn’t have otherwise.” I don’t understand. I know more than a few black women who date white men. They’re all very pretty women. That couldn’t be it.

(As your pseudo blog mentor and a person who’s very adept at the ancient art of humble bragging, I just want to say that these last couple paragraphs brought a tear to my eye. Good job grasshopper.)

Eric, my friend, a man who is far more Elijah Wood than Eminem, and primarily dates black women, was baffled himself. “Lisa and I used to come down here all the time, and this has never happened. I guess you are so fly.” He joked about the title of my old blog, but I could tell he was genuinely confused as to why so many brothers felt the need to speak their opinion one way or the other about two people whose relationship had nothing to do with them at all.

(Full disclosure: I have seen Ms. S. Nicole Brown before, and she is an attractive woman. And, because she’s tall and has big hair, she can be rather striking. This being the case, I wonder if the attention she received was due to her being with a White guy or if it was just some brothas having a pissing contest because they didn’t feel like her friend was a worthy partner and thought they might be able to put a bug in her ear. I can imagine they would have acted the same way if she happened to be with a “lame” looking brotha, and I also don’t think it’s a leap to suggest that a Don Draper doppelganger wouldn’t have received the same attention.)

The day was interesting to say the least. From a redheaded little boy pointing out my blackness to his parents, to the unexpected running-into Eric’s ex (black) and her man (white) and the confrontation that followed between the two men (two very square white men fighting over two black women in a park full of people. You can imagine the looks), it was definitely a day of firsts for me.

(I’ve never seen two sober White men fight in public. I know that has nothing to do with the story, but I just wanted to put that out there.)

Frankly, I was shocked. As someone who has seen many, many articles and comments surrounding the supposed stigma of black men dating interracially, white women in particular, and reading complaint after complaint, opinion after opinion from those same men on how black women have an enormous problem with this, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the issue conversely.

(I honestly think that women “against” interracial dating are more against the idea of it than the actual act. I also think that Wendy’s spicy chicken nuggets on a bun with some grape jelly is the best off menu fast-food sandwich you can buy. Whatever you do, though, just don’t try to order it after 9pm.)

I also can’t say I’ve ever witnessed a black woman blatantly confront a black man walking with his blonde-haired, blue-eyed companion, and impose her opinion of their coupledom on them, whether positive or negative. I’ve never seen a black woman say “oh you got you some soul alright” to them as they walked past, minding their own business.

(Of course she wouldn’t confront them in person. That’s what Twitter and blogs are for. Duh!)

I’ve never dated a white man seriously. I’ve gotten approached by my fair share, as the natural hair seems to be a magnet (lol but no, it really is), and had a few dates, but a relationship has just never happened. I love black men and I always will, but I can’t say I’d be opposed to dating outside of that if my feelings led me that way. I for one would not even be here if not for the lovely chocolate-vanilla pairing that was my father’s parents, and my family consists of quite a few mixtures of love, so interracial coupling is quite normal to me.

(This paragraph was sweet and shit. Also, it’s proof that we could never date. Although I’m not particularly racist, I do seem to be attracted to racist Black women. I don’t know exactly why — Maybe I want my kids to be racists? — but I’m beginning to suspect that “racist Black women” just equals “Black women.” Anyway, you’re a bit too post-racial and shit for me.)

If I decided to do so tomorrow though, I am now overwhelmingly aware of the fact that black men will not mind letting me (and my date) know how they feel about it.

(And, by “Black men” you mean “some homeless Black men at a pre-Calicoe concert cookout in Detroit,” right?)

S. Nicole Brown (aka “Muze”) is a writer of fiction, lover of words, and chronic reader happily living the clichéd under-spaced and overpriced life of a NYC writer. You can find her in 140 or less @muzeness or on her blog, Because I’m Write.

***Just wanted to take some time and thank everyone again for the well-wishes and prayers. Like I mentioned yesterday, she just needs all the positive energy she can get. Writing this and reading the responses has definitely helped me, and I hope it’s left me better equipped to help her.***

The Oppression Olympics

Posted on by
483

A few days after news broke about BET anchor TJ Holmes getting pulled over by the cops, I wrote an article for Ebony describing my own recent “Driving While Black” experience.

In it, I described how those situations have become so engrained in our (“our” in this sense means “Black males”) collective consciousness that for many of us, you’re almost shocked when you see a cop and you don’t get pulled over.

Surprisingly, being racially profiled didn’t annoy me too much. Getting stopped and questioned by the cops is basically the Black males’ Bar Mitzvah. The stories are so ubiquitous that you’re almost surprised when it doesn’t happen to you.

After it published, I received feedback from several different sources; some friends, some comments on our Facebook wall, and even a few emails. After a couple dozen or so of these replies, I noticed that the type of feedback I received was mostly split along gender lines.

(The typical response from the men)

“Damn, dog. I remember when that shit happened to me. Glad you at least lived to share the story.”

(The typical response from the women)

“Did you get his badge number? File a report? I would have cussed that motherf*cker out”

Now, I know that the men who read the story also felt anger, just as I’m certain that the women were also glad that I made it home in one piece. But, whenever you hear stories like this, stories about Black men getting harassed by the police, you usually see the same pattern, and the stark difference in the base reaction wasn’t anything new. And, while there are many possible reasons why this occurs, one stands out a bit more than the rest:

Black women just aren’t perceived as immediate threats in the same way that Black men are.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. “Duh, motherf*cker. Of course not.” But, besides the obvious, the fact that Black women just aren’t perceived as threats in the same way allows them certain leeways. One of these leeways is that their antagonism in this type of situation probably won’t cause most cops to react the same way they would if we were just as antagonistic. Basically, they’re much less likely to get arrested/beat up/shot/killed after cussing a cop out than we would be. And, while we’re thinking “I should probably chill right now and address this later because one false move could make me the new Sean Bell,” this lack of negative reinforcement allows them to think “This wrong is going to be righted right now.”

Obviously, this theory is based solely on anecdote. And, I’m (obviously) speaking from a collective sense. Every Black woman and every Black man won’t react in a gender-assigned way. Also, I’m (obviously) biased. But I think I’m a bit more right than wrong with this, and I also suspect that most of you would agree with me.

Usually, when these types of discussions/conversations — where someone compares the plight of one plighted entity to another — take place, they’re prefaced with some variant of “I’m not trying to start the Oppression Olympics or anything, but…” — a statement which lets the people involved with the conversation know that the conversation starter knows that playing the “Who has it worse?” game is pointless, impossible, and even insulting.

You will see no such sentence from me today.

Regardless of the topic, much of the conversation we have here ends up basically coming down to the men stating that the women just don’t understand how it is to be a (Black) man, and the women arguing that what (Black) men collectively experience pales in comparison to the obstacles (Black) women have to overcome to survive and succeed.

So, instead of imploring each other to take the gloves off and try and find some common ground, today I’m interested in seeing exactly how people feel and why. Considering all factors — sociological, biological, cultural, psychological, whatever — whose navigation through life is generally more hazardous: Black men’s or Black women’s?

And, most importantly, why?

Let the Oppression Olympics begin!

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Why It’s Wrong, Stupid, And Self-Defeating To Be Mad About Eric Benet’s “Redbone Girl”

Posted on by
475

Perhaps my favorite aspect of Twitter is how our reactions to it instinctively let us know exactly how “relevant” a star currently happens to be. For instance, no one bats an eye if a name like Obama, Lebron, or Rihanna is repeatably showing up in people’s mentions. The same concept could be applied to someone like Stevie J, except that for someone like him, their “relevance” is completely time dependent. (In Stevie J’s case, it’s dependent on whether “Love and Hip-Hop Atlanta” is currently airing or if Joseline has murdered him yet)

On the other hand, you have celebrities so far off the current relevancy grid that their name trending only inspires one immediate reaction:

“Oh shit, **** just died!”

With that being said, you can imagine my elation last week when seeing Eric Benet’s name all over Twitter, immediately thinking he was dead, feeling bad, feeling even worse for not feeling as bad as I thought I should, feeling completely shitty for asking myself if it would be wrong to sleep with a woman who used to be married to a dead guy, and feeling much better when seeing that he was in fact alive and that the only reason why he was trending was because of a song he recently released.

The song? “Redbone Girl.” The tweet-able issue? Some people were feeling a certain way about the fact that he devoted an entire song to light-skinned Black women.

After listening to the song and reading a few of the articles devoted to it, I knew what my official stance would be — “This controversy is so f*cking stupid it’s making my ears bleed” — but I wasn’t quite sure which angle I would take when writing about it.

I initially considered making a list titled “10 Reasons Why It’s Wrong To Be Mad About Eric Benet’s “Redbone Girl.” That list would have included perfectly legitimate reasons such as “Light-skinned Black women are Black people too” and “No one gave a shit when he made “Chocolate Legs,” and I also would have touched on how insane we looked giving a light brown-skinned Black man — Yes. Eric Benet is light brown-skinned. The only way he wouldn’t pass a paper bag test is if the paper bags had malaria — shit about writing a song devoted to light-skinned Black women. (“Damn you, Black man, for writing a song about women who happen to the same complexion you happen to be, you self-hating motherf*cker“)

Thing is, while that list would have worked, it would have taken attention away from what I hope is the main takeaway from this, Namely, the fact that becoming upset with people for praising lighter-skinned Black women does nothing but reinforce the opinion that lighter-skinned Black women are, in fact, generally more physically attractive than their darker counterparts. It’s affirmative action for attraction.

I understand that those upset with the Black community’s perpetual praise of mulatto redbone, quadroon, octoroon, and half-cave women feel that the criticism of said praise has historical and sociological merit. This is not incorrect. We have a long and complicated history of giving women “points” just for looking closer to White than other Black women. Even many of the darker-skinned Black women universally praised for their beauty tend to have physical features more synonymous with lighter-skinned women.

Thing is, while complaining about unfairness and eventually demanding that things are made more fair works with other injustices, you cannot demand that people start finding other people more attractive. Physical attraction just doesn’t work like that. You can’t rely on guilt or obligation to make things “equal”. Erections don’t give a damn about social justice.

And, as I said earlier, this process becomes self-defeating because when a person complains about the praise of light-skinned women it implies that the person doing the complaining also feels that light-skinned women are more attractive. It’s as if they’re saying “Them bitches already on top. They don’t need no more praise” — an assertion that makes their gripes disingenuous. It’s not about appreciating what other shades have to offer as much as it’s acquiescing to “defeat” and asking the victors not to stomp on your grave. You want men — and, to be clear, this isn’t all Black men. Not even most — to start praising darker-skinned Black woman more? Instead of getting pissed about the attention redbones receive, start the process by…not caring. Or, even better, start praising darker-skinned women more yourself.

Now, should I have touched on the fact that Eric Benet reached out to Lil Wayne — the founder, president, and social media manager of “f*ckdarkbuttbitches.com” — to drop a verse for this song? Maybe. Am I being generous with the hyperbole by calling this issue about a song seven people outside of the Benet family have actually heard a “controversy?” Definitely. You’ll have to forgive me, though. I’m just glad Eric Benet is still living, and I suggest those sore about redbone chicks getting praise from singers and rappers they wouldn’t be interested in dating anyway start living too.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

How Idris Elba Proves That “Cool’ Is More Important Than “Swag”

Posted on by
843

If you were to ask 1000 random Black women to name the single sexiest and most attractive man in American pop culture today, I’d bet a month’s pay that Idris Elba would come out on top. In fact, considering the sheer obsession some women seem to have for him — at a house party I attended a couple weeks ago, I heard a woman call him “the epitome of sexy” — I wouldn’t be surprised if he got 20 to 30 percent of the votes.

This in itself isn’t surprising. Elba is an “understandably attractive” man (“understandably attractive” = “other guys get why woman are into him and even expect them to be”), and he’s the best current candidate to fill the “Black hearthrob with a first name no other American has ever had” quota previously manned by Denzel Washington.

What is surprising, though, is that if you asked the same 1000 women to name the one celebrity whose sexual appeal is completely overrated, Idris Elba might get first place on that list too. There seems to be just as many women who don’t see what the big deal about him is as there are who are infatuated with him.

On face value, this doesn’t make much sense. Actually, lemme rephrase that. It doesn’t make much sense…until you remember how he first entered our collective consciousness: As Stringer Bell on HBO’s “The Wire”

Cool, calculating, manipulative, imposing, and always the “smartest man in the room” — well, at least he thought he was always the smartest man in the room — few characters in television history had as much of a cultural impact as Bell did, and the previously unknown Elba was the perfect person for that star-making role.

Why does this matter? Well, it seems like Black women’s feelings about Elba are directly correlated to when they first saw him. Basically, my completely unscientific opinion tells me that the majority of the women who are gaga over him first saw him as Stringer Bell, while the majority of the women who don’t see what the big deal is first saw him in “Obsessed” or “Sometimes in April” or “Daddy’s Little Girls” — roles where he’s nowhere near as cool as he was on “The Wire.”

Now, if you were to ask those same Idris-obsessed women what exactly it is about him that saturates their panties, most would probably cite something having to do with his unmistakable and indescribable swagger. While I won’t say they’re incorrect, I think it goes a bit deeper than that.

As stated earlier, women who first saw Elba on “The Wire” seem to be the ones most enthralled with his “swag.” This is no accident. The character was intentionally written to be a person practically dripping in brooding confidence, and Idris Elba was placed in a perfect position to show off his attributes. His swag was able to resonate so deeply because of the manufactured coolness of the character he portrayed. In this sense, David Simon was the best wingman ever.

While thinking about how Elba’s hold over Black women’s ovaries is directly connected to him being placed in a position that enabled him to be cool, I couldn’t help but also think about how it applies to our dating and relationships lives. More specifically, how we put a premium on a man’s swagger and the effect it has on women even though his “coolness” actually matters much more than that.

The swagger/emotive confidence thing is something that many men just aren’t ever going to be able to possess. But, while many assume that this is a death knell to a man’s dating life (especially a Black man’s), any man can be cool if they can find a way to replicate the type of environment that made Idris the “epitome of sexy.” It probably won’t happen on the same scale (and by “probably” I mean “definitely”), but it can happen.

The problem with nerdy/socially awkward/introverted guys who claim to have difficulties meeting and attracting women isn’t their lack “swag” or that all women want bad boys or whatever self-depreciating excuse of the month happens to be popular. No, they’re  struggling because many of them are desperately trying to be something they’re not, and they haven’t found a way to manufacture their cool yet, leaving them stuck competing in places where they have no chance to succeed.

Let me put it this way: If you’re a shy and somewhat socially awkward engineer who has to labor to approach and talk to women, nightclubs, bars, and lounges probably aren’t the best places for you to meet them. You know what would be though? A NSBE conference. You know what would be even better? A NSBE conference where you’re a speaker on a panel about some super smart shit only 17 other people in the world understand. You know what would be even better than that? A panel you organized to gather people interested in some super smart engineer shit.

Basically, if you’re not “cool” in a traditional sense, put yourself in a position that enables you to be cool. And, if those positions don’t currently exist, invent them!

If you’re good at what you do and you’re able to put yourself in a position where your talents are recognized, trust me when I say that regardless of how weird, unusual, or “uncool” your specific skill is, there will be people out there who appreciate you for it. (and by “people” I mean “women”) Shit, if you’re a cat who happens to be an expert crocheter and a comic book maven, start a professional network for crocheting-ass n*ggas who like to read comic books, and watch how much more popular and “cool” you’ll get in if actually takes off.

Maybe you’ll never be the swagged out cat who attracts all the eyes at the club like Stringer Bell. But, if you’re a friendless recluse who has more experience with computer codes than coochie, invent something that brings people into your environment, on your playing field — something that makes people acknowledge whatever unique skill you bring to the table. If it worked for Mark Zuckerberg, it can also work for you.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

***If you haven’t noticed, we also posted our first “Very Smart Single” today as well. Check out R.G.’s profile and hit us up at contact@verysmartbrothas.com if interested in her***

On Saturday, June 2, 2012, we’ve got another edition of REMINSCE at Liv Nightclub coming up! Except this time, we’re gonna be celebrating Panama’s birthday! Please come out and hang the VSB team. Plus, it’s free before 11pm w/RSVP (reminiscedc.eventbrite.com) and $10 after. AND there’s an open bar from 930-10:30 WITH NO DRESS CODE. You can come in shorts because it gets HOT in there.