In my experiences as a parent, I’ve encountered various individuals who have taken the liberty of referring to my daughters as “girlfriend.” These include flight attendants, grocery store shoppers, a barista at a local café, their pediatrician, other moms at the park, and even the Family Court judge who handled our adoption case. All of these well-meaning white individuals have developed a sense of familiarity with my 6-year-old and 6-month-old daughters that leads them to use this term, often with an exaggerated tone that feels almost performative. Z snaps for everyone!
Let me start by acknowledging that I genuinely believe these individuals approached my beautiful girls with good intentions. Intentions matter, but so does the language we use, especially when it comes to addressing people of different races. In the same spaces, I rarely hear kind-hearted people calling little white girls “girlfriend.” They engage them more personally, asking for their names and using them.
When I’ve expressed my discomfort regarding this term, some of my white friends have pushed back. They wonder why I’m making a big deal out of it. One friend mentioned that she affectionately refers to girls as “Mamacita,” regardless of race. But I’m not aiming to make anyone feel defensive about their unique linguistic habits. What I’m highlighting is a pervasive issue that many mothers of Black daughters face. If you were to ask a mother of Black girls how often her daughter has been called “girlfriend” by a stranger, she might quickly run out of fingers counting the instances.
The playful use of “girlfriend”—as in “Can I hold you, girlfriend?” or “How about a fist bump, girlfriend?”—may seem harmless on the surface, but in our societal context, it can be demeaning. This terminology implies a relationship that hasn’t been earned, neglecting the necessary steps required to form genuine connections. It infringes upon personal boundaries, denying my daughters the right to establish their own sense of comfort.
This is akin to the casual fetishization of a Black woman’s hair, where it doesn’t occur to someone that touching another’s hair without permission is a significant breach of personal space. As a result, my daughters are inadvertently taught to accept unwarranted familiarity and touch, rather than recognizing the importance of saying “No.” So let me advocate for them: Stop.
I know you mean no harm and likely wish to foster a bond with my child. I don’t hold that against you. I simply ask you to reflect on how you engage with her and how you interact with other children who may not look like her. Use her name when you talk to her. If you don’t know it, you don’t know her. You’re not friends yet, and real friendship begins with seeing her as a unique individual rather than just a “girlfriend.”
For more insights on parenting and issues related to home insemination, check out our other blog posts, including a guide on at-home intracervical insemination syringe kits for those considering fertility options. You can find more information on this topic at Make a Mom and explore resources on in vitro fertilization here.
In summary, language matters. The way we address children, particularly those from different racial backgrounds, can have lasting impacts. It’s essential to foster respect and understanding in our interactions, helping our children learn the importance of boundaries and genuine relationships.
Keyphrase: Black daughters and language
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