(Finally) Accept applications for a Black boyfriend, brehettes

[Doctor Wily]

Accepting Applications for a Black Boyfriend

This cat says it best

 

[Solano707]

Sounds like she's insufferable. Start a fight over a coffee maker that he never once owned in the first place... Yeah. She is just mad that Chads kept tossing her ass up and no one committed because she expects to much from people. Argumentative, demanding and playing the role of the victim is tiresome for anyone to take on.

 

[Neo. The Only. The One.]

Tales from a c00n. Article is both disgusting and hilarious.

 

[Burned Verses]

Broke up over a coffee maker.



Those types always have the same petty attitudes.

 

[RawDogBandit]

Why can’t they just ever gracefully walk away? You want to tell the whole world you love white men and can’t fall for a black man. You’re not special “sista”

Go suck on that white peen and leave us out of your insecurities

 

[Neuromancer]

This is what you reap.

 

[Man On Fire]

A lot of crazy people me on social media

 

[SmarkMero]

 

[humminbird]

This essay is part of a collaborative project with Black History, Continued. We invited readers and renowned writers to respond to the question “What is Black love today?”

“I am no longer dating white guys. Nonwhite guys may submit their applications in my DMs.”

These words, posted on my Facebook page, marked the beginning of a racial reckoning in my dating life.

Some context: It was June 2020. George Floyd had just been murdered. Black people like myself were consumed with rage and were openly airing our grief.

On top of that, I was a woman scorned. I was 35 years old, a highly educated Black woman, a homeowner and an attorney, and I had just been rejected by yet another mediocre white guy who then pursued a relationship with a white woman.

In short, I was fed up with white people. So one afternoon, I wrote a half-crazed manifesto on my Facebook page. Specifically, I railed against a white society that clearly didn’t see me as white but insisted on rejecting my Blackness because of my appearance (fair-skinned) and upbringing (middle class).

White people had called me “not Black” for liking Taylor Swift, told me they were “more Black than me” because they grew up in a predominantly Black neighborhood (or had an especially dark tan), and fetishized my “exoticness” and ethnic ambiguity. I ended my ramblings with the call for applicants.

I clicked “post” without thinking. To my amazement, the likes and comments started pouring in. Black people saying that they’d had similar experiences. White allies thanking me and promising to “do the work.” I felt so vindicated.

And then this popped up on Facebook Messenger:

“Application submitted!”

The message was from Josh, whom I went to high school with 18 years earlier in Maryland. He was tall, handsome, smart, funny and successful. And Black. I’d briefly reconnected with him at a bar in Baltimore in 2018 when I was in town for a work conference. We had flirted, but I remembered from Facebook that he’d gotten married, so I flew back to California at the end of the conference with a wistful “what-if” feeling fluttering in my chest.

Up to that point, the vast majority of my relationships had been with white men, the predictable result of years spent in a Maryland prep school and at a Massachusetts liberal arts college. In fact, it had become a running joke among my friends and family: If the guy was basic and white, he was my type.

But I had never, not once, dated a Black man. And I’ll be honest — I had always felt a kind of shame around that, as though my not dating Black men reflected a deep-seated insecurity with my own Blackness.

But here was an eligible Black bachelor offering me a chance at love, and a chance at embracing my Blackness.

we reveled in our Blackness. We danced to hip-hop in his living room — and he could dance, something I had rarely experienced with my white boyfriends. We joked about the endearing quirks of our older Black relatives. We shared stories about being among the few Black people in our respective professional arenas — finance for him; law for me. With him I could openly “speak the language” and not have to explain myself. For the first time in my life, I felt like I could be completely, unapologetically Black with the guy I was dating.

However, on my last night there, as we gazed at the city lights over the Inner Harbor, he turned to me and said, “You know this isn’t going to work, right?” Completely out of nowhere. I asked him to explain.
He said our personalities were too different — I’m outgoing, high-energy and emotional; he’s analytical, quiet and calm

The next morning he drove me to the airport and I asked him to visit me in California. He gave a noncommittal answer. I left wondering if I would ever see him again.

I planned a day trip to Napa. I borrowed my neighbor’s bike for Josh so we could tool around town together in true Californian style. I proudly showed him off to my friends, took him to my favorite local haunts, and tried my hardest to prove how great we could be together, the perfect Black power couple.

Still, we weren’t quite clicking. Josh wasn’t entirely on board with my carefree Cali style. When we biked to the river on a hot day, I eagerly stripped down to splash around in the cool water, but he refused. When we strolled the sidewalks of downtown Napa, I reached out to intertwine my fingers with his, and he shook my hand off — turns out he wasn’t a fan of P.D.A. And the reservedness I had witnessed in Baltimore persisted. I tried to ask him questions about his family, of whom he seldom spoke. He demurred: “That’s personal.”

It all came to a head in the spring of 2021. Josh invited me to Baltimore for the Preakness, an annual horse race and social event. But a disagreement over a coffee maker before I arrived — he didn’t own one, and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, didn’t want to have one on hand for my visits — pushed me over the edge.

Josh represented the first time I naïvely attached my worth as a Black person to the success of my relationship with a Black man. But dating a Black man will not make me more Black, just as dating a white man won’t make me less Black. I am Black, period.

This essay is part of a collaborative project with Black History, Continued. We invited readers and renowned writers to respond to the question “What is Black love today?”

 

[EndDomination]

Easily one of the most embarrassing articles I've seen in the NYT for years.

While I dislike Black people who publicize their inter-racial relationships, those who try to pathologize their love for white skin are even worse.

More than that, the author is unaware of how she comes across - she thinks he was reserved around her - in reality, he didn't trust her because she - as with many other white washed negroes - isn't to be trusted.

 

[SmarkMero]

On top of that, I was a woman scorned. I was 35 years old, a highly educated Black woman, a homeowner and an attorney, and I had just been rejected by yet another mediocre white guy who then pursued a relationship with a white woman.

 

[ImLionyall]

bytch is crazy

 

[Mastamimd]

fukk this bytch

She's not worth paragraphs and commentary...let her go back to them crackers

 

[MajesticLion]

Godspeed, perfesser.

 

[315]

NYT usually publish shyt like this?