I’m a Black Writer — Here’s How I’m Fighting the White Gaze

It’s time to get the imaginary white man out of my head.

2021 is the year I decolonize my mind. My first goal is to understand the impact of the white gaze on my work as a Black writer — and distance myself from it. Everyone’s favorite source, Wikipedia, defines the white gaze as:

“…the assumption that the default reader or observer is coming from a perspective of someone who identifies as white, or that people of color sometimes feel need to take into account the white reader or observer’s reaction.”

I see the white gaze as a form of self-censorship. It seeks to over-explain my experiences while undermining their validity. The white gaze has impacted my work throughout my life and I’m ready to be free from it.

To better understand the white gaze, I’ve been analyzing its effect on me as a consumer. During a 2001 forum with author Frank McCourt and moderator Juan Williams, Toni Morrison talks about her experiences reading the work of Black authors and feeling like they aren’t talking to her — but past her to someone who’s white (begins at 2:21).

I’ve felt this many times. Although Black representation in media has increased in recent years, there are times where I’ve felt that the stories they tell aren’t for me — a Black woman. Most recently, I’ve felt this disconnect with Kenya Barris’ Netflix mockumentary #blackAF and Pixar’s Soul.

#blackAF

#blackAF’s first episode, “because of slavery”, discusses Kenya’s layered relationship with white people. “Because of slavery” also talks about the white gaze — but uses it in a literal sense of how white people physically look at and judge Black people.

Kenya says that his “flexing”, whether it’s wearing a gold chain or driving a nice car, is a performance of wealth for white people. He’s constantly wondering about how white people think of him.

The show is supposed to be an unfiltered look at Blackness and the lives of Black people. Are the writers of this show trying to convince me that behind closed doors Black people only talk about their connection to whiteness?

Later in the episode, his daughter comes in with a mini-lesson in Blackness. She lectures the audience about how slavery connects to the concept of flexing.

#blackAF is reliant on the ignorance of its viewer. I, on the other hand, am already Black. I don’t need hand-holding through an experience I live daily. They were talking past me — not to me.

And, on top of all that, it ain’t even funny.

Soul

Since Soul’s introduction as Pixar’s first movie with a Black lead, the hype surrounding it has been constant. Now that I’ve finally watched it — I’m disappointed and a little weirded out.

The story of Pixar’s Soul is some strange hodgepodge of Get Out and Eat, Pray, Love that’s supposed to be inspirational — I guess? The story isn’t about the Black lead, Joe (voiced by Jamie Foxx). It’s about a lost soul, named 22 (voiced by Tina Fey), who through the experience of living in a Black man’s body, is able to see the beauty of existence.

Doesn’t that sound weird (and a little Get Out-ish) to you?

A popular trope that’s clearly present in Soul is: white person experiences a non-Eurocentric culture and gains some clarity about life through their experiences. Eat, Pray, Love is a prominent example of this trope.

Joe, who’s supposed to be the main character, is only a vessel for the white character’s plot progression. Joe, while 22 is living in his body, is thrown into a cat’s body.

There’s a long history of Disney turning characters of color into non-human characters in film: Princess and the Frog, Brother Bear, The Emperor’s New Groove, etc. During 80% of Soul, Joe is either a cat or a soul — dehumanizing him.

The directors of Soul say that they brought in consultants to stay away from racial stereotypes. But — with the millions of dollars that went into this movie I don’t know how they didn’t see these problems from a mile away.

But yet, I do know. Although the story has a Black lead, it’s not for Black people. I felt that disconnect once again — that although the characters may look like me they’re not trying to connect with me. Like Toni Morrison once said, that disconnect is easy for an audience to see.

The Other Side

Of course, not all Black media feels heavily influenced by the white gaze. Shows like Atlanta and Insecure showcase a different approach.

They portray Black people living purposeful lives full of emotional depth. Their characters don’t constantly worry about or discuss their connection to whiteness and white supremacy. They’re three-dimensional human beings — not just vessels to educate white audiences or propel the lives of white characters.

Watching shows like Atlanta and Insecure feels like chatting with a best friend. The conversation flows like water. You laugh, cry, joke, and connect because — they just get it.

I want people to get that same feeling when they read my work.

I’m taking inspiration from Toni Morrison and intentionally producing work that’s as far from the influence of the white gaze. This process is difficult but necessary.

Here are a few ways that I’m working through it:

• Positive affirmations: You are what you tell yourself. Just saying the words, “My story matters” or “My experiences are valid” mean the world.
• Recognizing patterns of negative thinking and asking “Why?”: When I deal with negative thoughts, especially those influenced by the white gaze, I pause and ask, “Why?” Asking that simple question helps peel back the layers of that emotion and understand its root.
• Diversifying the content I consume: From movies to books, I’m intentionally consuming content that isn’t as Eurocentric. For example, I’m currently reading Toshikazu Kawaguchi’s “Before the Coffee Gets Cold” (It’s dope! I’d definitely recommend it.)

It’ll take time to unravel this deeply rooted influence — but I’m ready to put in the work. I can’t wait to see what’ll come from it in the future.