I don’t want to hear about your Black friend. Or your Black colleague. The same goes for the charming Black person you chatted with for a few minutes while waiting for your coffee.
I understand that as a white individual with limited interactions with people of color, you’re trying to connect with me. I appreciate the intention behind it, but you’re missing the mark.
When meeting someone who shares your racial background, you don’t emphasize your shared whiteness in conversation. You don’t recount stories about your white neighbor or how you envy their kids’ straight blonde hair. You don’t glow with pride when you talk about your recent trip to a country music festival and how you found the white audience so relatable.
See what I did there? I just stereotyped white folks, just as you’ve stereotyped me in your attempt to “connect.” You want to prove you’re not racist, and I get that.
What you fail to see is how you highlight individuality among those who are like you while overlooking that same humanity in those who look different. You wouldn’t drop the fact that David from marketing is Black when you discuss his recent vacation. I simply want to hear about his tango lessons in Buenos Aires.
You see my skin color before my personhood. I understand your good intentions. We can’t erase our backgrounds or the fact that many of us don’t encounter diversity until later in life. You want to show that you’re inclusive and accepting of me being part of your circle.
Here’s a suggestion: just engage with me. Leave out the obligatory mentions of your Black acquaintances to showcase how “down” you are. Trust me, you don’t need to prove anything!
I take great pride in my racial and cultural identity and value the rich tapestry of African-American heritage that has shaped who I am. More importantly, I’m an individual—someone you may find interesting beyond the stereotypes associated with my ethnicity.
Let’s start fresh. Hi, I’m Jamie. I enjoy shopping, makeup, writing, my family, and of course, my coffee. I’m a fan of R&B music and have a soft spot for late 1980s and early 1990s New Jack Swing. I used to feel embarrassed about my love for boy bands like New Kids on the Block and the Backstreet Boys, but now, I fully embrace them as part of the 1990s musical legacy. I’ll definitely be that 40-year-old woman belting out their hits at reunion concerts.
On major holidays, collard greens and black-eyed peas are essential, but right now, I’m craving some spicy pho or bhindi masala.
Like most of your friends, I have diverse interests that go beyond the surface. If you have questions about current events or cultural practices, don’t hesitate to ask. If you’ve taken the time to get to know me, I’ll be more than happy to engage in those conversations.
And if we really connect, I might share a few inside jokes or family traditions, but please, spare me the stories about your Black friend, who is actually just the woman in accounting you exchange pleasantries with at the vending machine. She’s not your friend; you don’t need to pretend.
Now, if you tell me she loves coffee and 1990s pop or R&B concerts, then we’re on the same page! Let’s get coffee together.
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In summary, let’s engage on a personal level rather than relying on superficial connections. I’m Jamie, and I’m eager to share my world with you—beyond the labels.