I love academics and all, but I don’t wanna keep talking to em during off hours. Yall are stuffy! Unless you’re as ratchet as I believe myself to be, we don’t have a thing to talk about beyond this sentence. Like if you don’t assume the position immediately when the Cash Money makes their nightly announcement… my friend, I’ll just talk to you on Monday. If you’re a dude who would use hotep framework to relay to me how my perfected twerk skills are causing the ancestors to roll in their graves, I’ll also just wait to see you on campus so I can pretend to be on the phone when you look my way.
I have a thing for a man with blue collar hands. As I’ve said before in my Love and Ratchademia post, often time I’ll have more in common with the man who’s graduated from the School of Hard Knocks. I’ve also found that they’re quicker to give me props for all that I’ve attained in education. That’s not to say I haven’t come across my share of those who appreciated my education but thought that meant nothing as far as their desire to control me. Still, I’d much rather put my energy into showing homeboy from round the way the Sperrys section for a department picnic than to have to spend my time trying to knock down the ego inflated Morehouse grad who thought he could successfully hotep me into submission with some half assed research and Umar Johnson videos.
I’m sick of a “black male initiative” brother. Now, let me pause to insert the “not all men” disclaimer that would be sandwiched into this conversation if I were having it out loud. K cool. Moving on. My experience with academic black men is that they play so many games thinking, and trying to get you to believe, that they’re smarter than you like he wasn’t using your notes to pass Calc sophomore year. The black man with a degree has been gassed since day one about his mere presence in academia. He’s too busy reveling in those praises to afford me any.
Also, I’m a believer in just about everything black feminism. But I also haven’t take the garbage out in my household since birth. When I suggest to the blue collar man that this is how I want to continue to live my life, I’ve never gotten the “well ain’t you a feminist” retort. This could potentially be some masculine complex being fulfilled but, hey, long as the garbage is being put out on Tuesday and Friday night I could care less. There’s always that smart ass who took a Women’s Studies class to fulfill a requirement in undergrad READY to verbally slap me with a well aren’t you the one who wants to be an equal? They’re the ones asking the instigating questions about who should pay. The ones trying to take you to the chinese buffet that’s sandwiched in an alley way for the first date even though they go to Ruth’s Chris with the homies every week.
Academic black men can tend to see someone like me as competition. In part, this is not their fault. They spend their time on the way to college being told the sisters are beating yall into college admission. Then while in college they continue to be bombarded with how crazy it is that there are soooo many black women on campus and that they must carry on the movement to push back on us cuz we all up in the seats that they need to be sitting in. I wrote about this in slightly more detail in Why I’m Leaving my HBCU: All the Blacks are men so I won’t go too deep into it here. But essentially, pushing the importance of black men being in college does not have to come at the expense of black women’s need to be cultivated and likewise celebrated for their presence on campus as well. It’s also not black women’s responsibility to get behind every initiative for black men that acknowledges ZERO of their needs as individuals. But chile, I’m not qualified to preach on this Sunday so I won’t.
There’s also this other piece with the idea that black women have to “marry down” socioeconomically to find a partner (who is a black man). Now, I haven’t done any research on this but I’m told it exists and it’s not a thing hard to see. We all know how the stats go. After we take away the black men in jail, the black men who just aren’t interested in dating women, the black men who stayed on the property in Get Out, the black men who think dark skinned women are “too gutter”, and then try to find a man that is at least facially acceptable by our individual standards… we’ve done a lot of shrinking to the pool.
Plus, I’m not exactly one of those women who will look cute in those bridesmaid lineups where EVERY SINGLE WOMAN is a size 4. How do yall do that? Just have only friends who are all skinny/slim or with no rolls? But that’s another rant for another time. Bottom line, I’m also chubby by society standards. Yes, even black society standards, cuz we have those: please see here. Anyway, this apparently continues to slim my pickings because, well, I LOOK unhealthy because my thighs thick and my jeans in the double digits and all this here.
At the end of the day though, I believe that being into someone just because they’re all that’s left is a dub. I do believe that there is somebody for everybody in a complimentary way, not a had to settle way. So I know my desire for a man with public transit salary and a good ole benefits package has nothing to do with a feeling that I could “do better”. Cuz bihh when I’m out here in the field trying to scour for an academic job ima need to reap those good city benefits. I enjoy the switch up from academic stuff to dreams and visions that don’t include getting a degree first or are an alternative to the life they thought the degree would create for them. I also have an appreciation for all things rough and tough. But I don’t wanna get into that now and tell on myself.
**Disclaimer: Because he reads all my blog posts. This post is NOT about my current aspirations to find someone. I’m good in that department lol. Lawd knows I don’t wanna have to talk about this post later. Tryna stay outta trouble.**
Overall: Just because I’m out here in pursuit of the world having to call me “Dr” doesn’t mean I need to have someone who split conjoined twins as a mate. Practical and paid is just fine for me.