What Kissing White Boys Taught Me About Myself
As my boyfriend and I walked down the block in our neighborhood, he reached his hand out and pointed at a couple across the street. "See? It's an epidemic," he joked in reference to a beautiful black woman walking hand-in-hand with an equally beautiful white man. My boyfriend said that he noticed a surge in amount of black women who had 'crossed over to the other side'. To me, this concept was far from unique. My sister has been with a white man for almost 15 years. My great-grandmother was the product of an interracial relationship that pre-dated the Jim Crow era. To me, interracial dating was just dating with more critics.
But, for some reason the world tends to take issue with black women opting out of dating black men. Malia Obama was recently seen kissing a fellow Harvard student at a tailgate party and social media exploded all because that fellow student was white. But, Harvard University is about 93% non-black, which means the selection of eligible black men (or women) on campus is likely scarce. Choosing to date white men out of neccesity
All my life, I've been attracted to black men. To be fair, all my life, I've been attracted to men in general. I can remember in high school when my older sister made it pretty clear she was switching from black men to white men that I thought, 'is she out of her mind?'. I have a penchant for the cushion of a black man's mouth, the depth of melanin, the thickness of a nappy head of hair to lock my fingers in. Black men, in my opinion, are the most beautiful men in the world.
The last time I kissed a white boy, I was 32 years old. We met on Tinder after I told myself that I'd had enough with black men and their emotionally stunted issues. I swiped left until I came across a seemingly normal non-black man and decided that I was about to sleep with my very first white boy.
The morning after our second date, I woke up in a penthouse apartment across the street from Prospect Park. On my way to the bathroom, I "got lost" and ended up in a living room bathing in light streaming from panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows. I did what any woman in my position would do - I snapped a picture and sent it to my friend.
her: girl whatudewin?
me: views. white boy and I hooked up last night
her: ah sh*t. ya'll so cute.
me: were so cute. this was a one-night thing.
Waking up that morning I came to a stark realization about myself - I don't have a true appreciation for white boys, period. Now that I had fully explored the hype, I realized that when you put the politics and aesthetic aside, a white man is still just a man. He might not call you, he might sweep you off your feet, he could be a fling, he could be the one - how you approach interracial courtship has more to do with our own heads than the social expectation of what dating a white boy means.
Aside from the physical comparison, my aversion to white men had more to do with my past than anything else. By the time I was old enough to actually date, I had already experienced being grilled by a white classmate about why black people get ashy. I had already been told by a middle-aged white man that he "always wanted a black girl in his bed". I had already been objectified by white men just because of my melanin. Sure, a lot of black men I had encountered were very often out of touch with their emotions or shouted profane comments on the street when I walked by
His white privilege was an aphrodisiac and I kind of felt like my ancestors might be whispering 'get it, girl' in approval.
But, what I learned about my one-night experiment was this -
But what meant more to me than the hype and possibility of an issue-free white boyfriend was the familiarity that came with dating black men.
Black men know me, because they know their black mothers, their black aunties and their black sisters. They know I have to wrap my hair up at night, and dress my skin in coconut oil and shea butter before my head touches the pillow. They know what it feels like to be the only black person in a room, they understand all the inside jokes and family references and marginalized experiences you can only know if you're marginalized. I don't have to explain my blackness to a black man the way I felt like I did to white men. I also don't have to question their attraction to me the same. Being objectified because I'm a woman is something I can manage. Being objectified because I'm a woman and because I'm black was something I just couldn't get past. I didn't want to be anyone's Jungle Fever souvenir.
But, I had to realize - those feelings were about my own insecurities. Not about white men being wack.
I'm self-aware enough not to categorize an entire race of men simply because of the few dozen I met who didn't know how to treat me or talk to me. I do this for black men, and I do this for white men as well. I understand that my racial preferences aren't something that make me more 'woke' or more in touch with myself or less open than the next woman. The most vital lesson I learned about my short-lived stint into white men was that part of how I self-identify is being attracted to black men. It's that simple. I never felt like myself in romantic situations with white men. I wasn't angry or scared or irritated by them - I just didn't feel like me. I would have never known that if I didn't allow myself to try something different.
I think who we are as women, is absolutely shaped by our relationships with men. What we know about the men we love and long for, how we're affected by them, why we lean in towards some and away from others - are all things that teach us who we are sexually and emotionally. Exploring that is key. Whether it's dating outside your race or dating outside your sexual preference - how can you ever really know what you want, until you know what you don't?
Ashley Simpo is a writer, mother and advocate for self-care and healthy relationships. She lives in Brooklyn, NY. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @ashleysimpo. Check out her work and her musings on ashleysimpocreative.com.
ItGirl 100 Honors Black Women Who Create Culture & Put On For Their Cities
As they say, create the change you want to see in this world, besties. That’s why xoNecole linked up with Hyundai for the inaugural ItGirl 100 List, a celebration of 100 Genzennial women who aren’t afraid to pull up their own seats to the table. Across regions and industries, these women embody the essence of discovering self-value through purpose, honey! They're fierce, they’re ultra-creative, and we know they make their cities proud.
VIEW THE FULL ITGIRL 100 LIST HERE.
Don’t forget to also check out the ItGirl Directory, featuring 50 Black-woman-owned marketing and branding agencies, photographers and videographers, publicists, and more.
THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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The Champion's Path: How Cari Champion Is Redefining Roles For Black Women In Media
Cari Champion has had many dream jobs. All of them have helped inform what she does and does not want for herself moving forward. “I get more and more curious. My dreams evolve. My desires change,” she said. “And I feel sorry for people who can’t experience that because it’s a beautiful feeling, it’s a beautiful challenge, and it makes you everything that you are.”
When we speak in late April, the journalist and media personality is preparing for a visit to Atlanta for The Black Effect Podcast Festival. The trip would allow her to spend time in a city that she said taught her a lot about herself and working in the media industry.
Champion was still early in her career when she worked for Atlanta’s CBS affiliate news station, where she was fired, reinstated, and subsequently quit after being accused of accidentally cursing on air in 2008. (“I didn’t. They knew I didn’t. I said ‘mothersucka,’” she said of the hot mic incident.) Still, the Los Angeles native insists she only has the fondest memories of her time in the southern city.
“I grew up in West LA, then moved to Pasadena, and those kinds of familial, tight-knit Black groups just didn’t exist. LA is spread out in a lot of ways,” she said. “To me, Atlanta ultimately built this woman that I am today and [is] why I speak so comfortably for us and for Black people. I had to have that entire experience.”
"To me, Atlanta ultimately built this woman that I am today and [is] why I speak so comfortably for us and for Black people."
It’s been 16 years since Champion moved from Atlanta and her career, as well as her desire to center Black voices in her work, has soared. After working as an anchor and court-side reporter for The Tennis Channel, she spent nearly a decade working as a host and anchor on ESPN for shows such as First Take and SportsCenter.
By the time she began hosting Cari & Jemele: Stick to Sports, on Vice TV with Jemele Hill in 2020, Champion had increasingly become determined to shun the notion that only sports reporters and athletes could credibly discuss sports. The Vice show featured guests such as LeBron James and Magic Johnson, but also Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones and Sen. Cory Booker.
At a time when America was reckoning with its racial history, Champion solidified herself as a trailblazer for Black women in sports media, as well as a crucial voice for cultural commentary. Today, she regularly appears on CNN discussing sports, culture, and politics.
Champion is now hosting the fourth season of the podcast Naked with Cari Champion on The Black Effect Podcast Festival, which is a partnership between iHeartMedia and Charlamagne Tha God, a media personality and a friend. “We kind of grew up together in this game. And when we first started figuring out or getting attention on a different type of level than we were used to, we learned a lot together,” she said of Charlamagne. “He put this network together for people who are beginning [and] people who are old-heads in the business. He wanted to make sure that all of us had a voice.”
It’s been an adjustment for a traditional TV reporter to transition into podcasting, but Champion said she’s found the medium to be a “much more freeing world.” When she’s speaking to guests such as talk show host Tamron Hall, singer Muni Long, or retired athlete Sanya Richards-Ross, she can “get lost in a conversation” and embrace a more casual environment than the structure of a cable TV show would allow.
Behind the scenes, Champion’s still doing her part to make sure there continues to be a pipeline of Black and brown women in journalism and beyond, too.
In 2018, she launched the nonprofit Brown Girls Dream and enlisted her celebrity friends to help mentor young women in a way that she felt she was never able to receive in the early years of her own career. “When I was at ESPN, I used to get all these emails from different Black and brown girls in the business. They wanted to talk to me about how they could [have the opportunity to] do the same thing [as me],” Champion said. “It fills my heart to see somebody actually get an opportunity to talk to somebody who can guide them through their career.”
Current Brown Girls Dream mentors include journalists Jemele Hill and Nichelle Turner, marketing executive Bozoma Saint John, and more. “These women are just the dopest ever and they take time out to give back to brown girls,” Champion said. “It’s special.”
When she reflects on representation in sports media roles, the Naked host said she’s inspired by the women of color she sees on television today. “I think women of color are doing great. It’s become more and more common to be on air and be Black girl magic,” she said.
“I think that the next level for us, in terms of Black and brown women in this business succeeding, is having true power over what our words are and what the content is,” she added. “Because, when push comes to shove and we want to really tell a story, we sometimes have to acquiesce, and we can't tell the story the way we want to. The next level is that we actually do have editorial control.”
"I think that the next level for us, in terms of Black and brown women in this business succeeding, is having true power over what our words are and what the content is."
Ultimately, Champion is still dreaming and looking to make an impact. She said she wants to eventually launch her own Black news network. “I would love to have a huge platform that focused on the stories that I think Black and brown women care about,” Champion said. “There are so many stories that are being missed.”
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Featured image Emma McIntyre / Staff/Getty Images