Honey-Colored and Not Colored Enough
/“African Bees Like Honey” by austinevan is licensed under CC BY 2.0
Rule #4 - If going on a blind date, be suspicious if a black woman describes herself as “honey-colored.” And by all means, be specific about your appearance to avoid confusion or misunderstanding.
Although what happened to me the other day has nothing to do with the anxiety of going on a blind date, it’s still relevant to my post. I like to walk. And since I have long legs, I usually walk pretty fast unless it’s 95 degrees, which it was that afternoon, and there are no trees or tall buildings around to block the sun. So, I’m heading back home carrying two bags of groceries filled to the top with some food products that needed refrigeration quickly. While I’m standing on the corner waiting for the light to change, I notice a young black woman, probably in her late teens or early twenties, crossing in the opposite direction wearing what appears to be the new urban fashion style of gym shorts, rubber slippers, and a large red shower cap or plastic bonnet on her head. Even with all the traffic and street noise, I can hear her talking loudly to someone on the phone while looking around occasionally to see if anyone is observing her. Probably someone looking for attention was my first thought.
I couldn’t be sure if she noticed me, but when the light changed, she was now about ten feet in front of me on the left side of the sidewalk. A few seconds later, she veered to the right, almost knocking into me. I said excuse me, stepped out of the way, and kept walking. Next, I heard her say, “Damn, what you doin’ creepin’ up on me like that?” I looked back, momentarily, unsure if she was talking to me or someone else, and turned back to keep walking. What she said next threw me off guard. She yelled, “I’m talking to you, wannabe nigga.” Wannabe nigger. It’s the first time in my life I‘ve ever been called that. I’ve lived in NYC for nearly 36 years, and never tried to act, talk, or dress like a typical black male. I wasn’t brought up in their culture, but being biracial, I could relate to their struggles and even attended many of their political rallies and demonstrations. My mind was racing as I tried to make sense of what she meant. It couldn’t have been how I was dressed, since I don’t wear what many consider the standard black male outfit: pants hanging low with underwear showing, high-top basketball shoes, a dude rag, and a white tank top. I was wearing my usual summer clothes—light brown khaki pants, a T-shirt, and regular street shoes. If anything, I resembled some college geek on the way to class.
She continued yelling and became increasingly vulgar, “Suck my dick, you faggot wannabe nigga.” According to Merriam-Webster, a wannabe is a person who aspires to be someone else, often in a manner perceived as lacking authenticity. The only thing I could think of was that she had serious issues with my skin color. To her, I wasn’t a real black person, but a mixed-race imposter. All I wanted to do was get home quickly, praying that I didn’t run into any of my neighbors. What would they think? I turned right at the next corner, and she was still screaming obscenities at me. Finally, I walked into my apartment safe and sound for now.
Meanwhile, back in the summer of 1995, I was full-fledged into my Afrocentric phase and wanted to date a black woman. Scouring the classified section of the Village Voice newspaper, I came across an ad that read: “Single African-American female, medium height, honey-colored, looking for African-American man for casual relationship, friends first, but could lead to romance.” I contacted her, and we chatted briefly. She asked me about my appearance, and I described myself as tall, brown-skinned (I had a summer tan), with hazel eyes. So far, so good, until we met in person.
For starters, she was not of medium height but short—no big deal. Immediately, my presence startled her. “You’re not brown-skinned; you're damn near white,” she said. Man, that hurt. So, I told her, “Taneesha, you’re not exactly what I...” Before I could finish, she hiked up her skirt, thrust out her left thigh, and said, “See, honey-colored!” Perhaps she was referring to the darker honey varietals, such as Manuka or Chestnut, or maybe I needed to have my eyes examined because her skin wasn’t even close to honey-colored. This woman was black, jet black, blacker than a black velvet petunia; so black, all I could see were the whites of her eyes and the grimace from her flawless white teeth.
We entered the restaurant and ordered drinks. An uncomfortable silence lingered between us while she glanced up at me several times over her menu with a look of disdain. And then, out of nowhere, she said, “So, what are you going to order, clams on the half shell? Ain‘t that what white people eat?” This was turning into the date from hell.
Fortunately, I was rescued by someone she knew. I’d forgotten his name, Gregory, something, and just like her, he was a dark-skinned black. Taneesha's demeanor changed dramatically. Her frown lifted into a gaping grin, her eyes sparkled, and she asked Gregory to join us. He hesitated for a moment, but I insisted. We shook hands. Now was my opportunity to exit this situation without causing a scene. I took a last swig of my beer and said, “Whoa, look at the time; nice meeting you both, but I gotta run.”
And I ran. I ran away from black women until I met my beautiful black wife, who didn’t have a problem with my color, nor I hers, and we’ve been happily married for 25 years.
Nowadays, with the advancement of smartphones and social media, Mulatto men don’t have to worry about meeting a woman sight unseen. However, Mulatto men need to remember that the Tanneshas of America will always choose the dark-skinned male over them. Unfortunately, colorism is still a serious problem in the black community, especially against Mulatto men like myself. Due to the seriousness of this situation, I’m encouraging all Mulatto men to carry some type of legal weaponry for self-defense, perhaps a small pocket knife or a portable container of pepper spray.