The Honest Reason Why I Stopped Dating White Men
Interracial relationships have never bothered me. This is probably because, growing up in California, I’ve been surrounded by them my entire life. Dating across racial lines has always been a thing here on the west coast.
My parents divorced when I was a toddler and my mom dated quite a bit before remarrying in her mid-30s. During that time she dated a few CHOSSA men, as well as Iranian, Egyptian, Nigerian, Jewish and White men. These were not serious relationships though a few she did remain friendly with even after a romantic interest was gone. I don’t know of any negative dating experiences she may have had and so I don’t have any bad memories attached to any of it.
My husband (who is Black) and I met 31 years ago and though we took things slowly at first, we pretty much hit it off from day one. At the time of our meeting, however, I was already dating a couple of people one of whom was a White-passing Jewish businessman. Before him, I’d also gone out with three other White guys — one was in the military, one was in the music business and one was a second-generation film producer. They were of different ages and backgrounds.
My point in sharing my dating past is to illustrate that going out with non-Black men never felt wrong or weird as it was as normal to my diverse world as were my non-Black friends, classmates and neighbors. I was honestly open to love in whatever package it presented itself… or at least I thought. If a man asked me out and I liked his initial vibe, although my first preference has always been Black men, race wasn’t an issue in me deciding to get to know someone better.
With all of that out of the way, I’ll just be honest and say that I could never find myself or even make myself be attracted to White men though I sincerely tried. This isn’t because the men I dated were unattractive, either. None of them were supermodels, but they weren’t hard to look at. All were very kind and respectful and none were difficult to get along with. We had a good time going out one-on-one or hanging out with friends. Still, I just could never feel any sort of attraction toward them.
It Wasn’t Them, It Was Me
My non-attraction had less to do with the men themselves and everything to do with the history between us. Although I was a lot less knowledgeable about history and the ways of systemic racism in my twenties than I am now, I knew my ancestral mothers hadn’t had a choice about being with White men. Yet, I knew they’d probably been forced to have some involvement with them anyway. Prior to my birth, no one on either side of my family had married or willingly had children by a non-Black person, yet many of us have physical features we likely didn’t inherit from Africa. Even then, I knew by my own physical features that I was most likely the descendant of a White rapist or two. Call it ancestral memory or whatever you like, but I just couldn’t ever be fully involved with a White man because of this.
After realizing why I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything beyond a surface interest in White men, I remember meeting another White guy one day while out running errands. He was actually more handsome than all of the others, he was a lot more confident in approaching me and something about his swagger was even halfway sexy. I’d met my husband by then, but we were still taking things quite slow and still even dating other people. But by this time, I’d explored my own feelings about dating White men and had concluded that, because of my ancestor’s lack of choice, I had an intense hang-up that would never allow me to be serious with a White man. So, I was careful not to give this new guy my telephone number when he asked and I only took his so as not to offend, but I knew I’d never call him and I didn’t.
Since then, I’ve learned even more about the heinous atrocities White men have visited upon the bodies of Black women. From literally breeding Black women to increase their inventory of enslaved people to the ‘father of gynecology’, James Marion Sims, performing surgeries on Black women without anesthesia, White men have a long history of specific evils against Black women. Knowing this and suspecting their presence in my own history, I just couldn’t dishonor myself or my ancestors by allowing one of them intimate access to my heart, mind or body.
Some will say I’m shallow, others will say I’m racist, but none can say the things White men have done to my ancestors aren’t true and none can say I didn’t at least try to give White men a fair shot before arriving at my conclusions.
I hadn’t thought about these feelings in a while, but given recent national conversations and articles about Black women dating and marrying White men, I’ve noticed people asking why more Black women don’t date White guys. That’s a fair question with undoubtedly complex answers. I do think Black women’s attitudes about dating White men are changing — especially among younger generations — and more power to them. Clearly, I don’t speak for all Black women, but I do speak for myself. I’ve sincerely tried and it’s a hard no for me even if I weren’t already married to the best Black man in the world.
Call it whatever you like, but history and trauma are real and the impact of both carries into the present day for some of us.
My best to all of the Black women who feel differently and who love White men. I know there are many happy couples out there and many very nice White men. This wasn’t written to take shots at either, but this is my completely honest journey on how I discovered White men just aren’t my thing.
