Clad in a navy blazer, a red-faced undergraduate eagerly stood up and downed his sloshing glass of wine as he heard the chant: “I sconce anyone who has ever shagged a black girl!”. Sconcing, an Oxford drinking game in which participants stand up and chug an alcoholic drink as an admittance of a sexual act, is almost as common within the university as gowns, essay deadlines and stone buildings.

I was not surprised to hear sconcing at a university dinner. But I was horrified at the racial, sexual and aggressive undertones of the sconce, displayed in such a public manner. Although I wasn’t with the rowdy drunken party behind me, as the only black girl in the restaurant I could feel shame dripping down on me. In all honestly, I wasn’t even sure whether the heaving, muscly student who had been partaking a sporting dinner, was being mocked or applauded for his sexual endeavours.

‘It feels as though I am either regarded as an exotic fetish or as comically undesirable’

Throughout my Oxford degree, I have both been regarded as an exotic token for men, evidenced through continual questioning of: “Oh are you mixed? Where are you from?… You’re pretty hot”, and the overtly smug and predictable post sex statement of “I’ve never slept with a black girl before”. Yet, I have also been confronted by many who have boldly declared their disgust at my being both black and a woman.

Strolling across Magdalen Bridge I watched as two builders yelled, “oi look at those tits” at a frantic white student heading towards a lecture and then as I passed, these same men went onto shout “dog” at me persistently until I had disappeared from view. The builders displayed a shameless disregard and disrespect for both myself and my fellow student, but the shift in rhetoric was poignant.

Notably, when engaging in a discussion regarding racial politics at ACS (Oxford University’s African-Caribbean Society), I was taken aback by the progressive and articulate ideas of a male companion who had randomly strolled over to me. But as I casually pointed out my ex in the room, who happened to be mixed-race, this seemingly forward-thinking black Oxonian, responded, “Oh yeah, him, he’s winning”. My male companion soon clarified and informed me that my ex was “winning” because not only was he mixed-race, but he had also upgraded his black girlfriend for a white one. Then, as if to justify his position, he went onto explain that whilst he found black women unattractive, he preferred black women with natural hair because black girls with weaves had sold out.

‘My male companion informed me that my ex was “winning” because not only was he mixed-race, but he had also upgraded his black girlfriend for a white one’

As a black, single woman, who has dated men of all races, at times it feels as though I am either regarded as an exotic fetish or as comically undesirable. Either way, both perspectives serve as a reminder that despite all the progress society has made towards racial and gender equality, there are those who still position black women at the bottom of the pile. Media outlets such as rap videos perpetuate the “jungle fever” fetish, whereby black women are viewed through the male gaze as sexually available props, thus encouraging men to regard black women as exotic material rather than “the type of women you would bring home to your parents”.

Meanwhile, for some, “scientific studies” are used to legitimise prejudice, as exemplified by Dr. Satoshi Kanazawa’s infamous Psychology Today article entitled ‘Why are Black Women Less physically Attractive than Other Women?’, in which he argued that black women have higher testosterone and BMI’s and lower IQ’s. For others, media stereotypes such as the “angry black bitch”, “the welfare queen” women with little education and multiple children, the arrogant independent woman who “don’t need no man” and the uncouth ghetto ratchet, all reinforce the notion that black women make for poor girlfriends and sexual partners. Googling the statement “why are black women unattractive?”, results in over half a million responses from the Student Room, YouTube, Reddit and Huffington Post, as many are entangled in a fractious debate regarding whether or not black women are even beautiful enough to enter the competitive dating pool.

Black women are constantly caught in limbo within this contradictory double narrative.  Racism is commonly seen through the lens of young black males and sexism is argued from the perspective of middle class white women, yet it is often whilst entering the dating scene that the complexities of misogynoir (misogyny directed towards black women, where race and gender both play roles in bias) are exposed for black women to comprehend alone. In the increasingly interactive world of Tinder, Bumble and other various dating platforms, counterbalancing the open mindedness and vulnerability needed to disclose a complex part of yourself to a new acquaintance, alongside the need to maintain a protective emotional guard against potential prejudice, is exhausting yet inevitable.

‘Growing up I discovered that being a black girl meant existing as an emblem of defiance in the face of stereotyping’

When encountering males of all races, I have found myself bombarded by waves of worry and an internal barrage of questions, regarding not only the standard dating dilemmas of “will I be compatible with this individual?” or “will he be a weirdo?” but haunting questions such as, “can he accept both my appearance in a weave as well as my natural hair?” or “will his parents approve of ‘the black girlfriend?’” or most importantly, “will my partner understand institutional racism, male and white privilege?”

Growing up I discovered that being a black girl meant existing as an emblem of defiance in the face of stereotyping. Growing into adulthood, I have discovered that dating as a black woman is both a blessing, enabling me to discover my own confidence and sexuality, and a curse, whereby one is handed hate on the path for love and companionship and exposed to the consequences of systematic racism, misogyny and prejudice.

Read more on dating and fetishisation on gal-dem.

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I wouldn’t have been surprised if my partner’s parents had objected to our relationship.

In fact, when I first set out to meet his white, British family, I asked if he had told them I was black. His reply—”no, I don’t think they’d care”—filled me with dread.  And when he admitted that I’d be the first non-white woman to meet them, I almost jumped off the train. I was also nervous about introducing him to my Somali-Yemeni family. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they balked: Families forbidding dating outside the clan is a story much older than Romeo and Juliet.

But as it turned out, both our families have welcomed and supported our relationship. The criticism—direct and implied—that I’ve felt most keenly comes from a less expected demographic: woke millennials of color.

I felt this most acutely in communities I’ve developed as a feminist. I can almost see the disappointment radiating off people who find out that my partner is white. One person told me she was “tired” of seeing black and brown people dating white people. And I’m not alone: several black and Asian friends tell me they’ve reached a point that they feel awkward introducing their white partners.

Hollywood is finally beginning to tell meaningful stories by and about people of color—from TV shows such as ABC’s Scandal and Netflix’s Master of None to films including The Big Sick. But many of these stories have provoked strong reactions from audiences critical of characters of color having white love interests.

“Why are brown men so infatuated with White women onscreen?” one article bluntly asks. “By earning white love,” we’re told in another think piece, a nonwhite character “gains acceptance in a society that has thwarted them from the very beginning.” In the hit US network show Scandal, the love triangle between the indomitable Olivia Pope and two powerful white men has been subject to intense scrutiny over the last five years, with some now having to defend Pope (who is literally portrayed as the de facto leader of the free world) from accusations that the show reduces her to “a white man’s whore.”

Real people have also faced harsh criticism for their romantic choices. When tennis star Serena Williams, a black woman and arguably the greatest athlete of our time, announced her engagement to Alexis Ohanian, the white co-founder and executive chairman of Reddit, she was hit by a furious backlash. When the Grey’s Anatomy actor Jesse Williams, who is black, announced he was ending his 13-year relationship with his black wife Aryn Drake-Lee—and confirmed he was dating a white co-star—many jumped at the chance to question Williams’ dedication to social justice and, more specifically, black women.

Should someone’s dedication to fighting oppression be defined by the race of their partner? Does dating a white person make you any less black? The answer to both these questions, for me, is no.

But it’s a complicated issue, one that British author Zadie Smith (author of White Teeth, On Beauty, and Swing Time) tackled in 2015 during a conversation with Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (author of Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, and Americanah).

Smith asks Adichie to reflect upon the pleasure they both feel in the fact that US president Barack Obama married Michelle Obama, a dark-skinned black woman. “But then I have to ask myself, well if he married a mixed-race woman, would that in some way be a lesser marriage?” asks Smith, who is herself mixed-race. “If it was a white woman, would we feel differently?”

“Yes, we would,” Adichie responds without hesitation, to a chorus of approving laughter.

Smith persists. “When I think of my own family: I’m married to a white man and my brother is married to a white woman. My little brother has a black girlfriend, dark-skinned. My mother has been married to a white man, then a Ghanaian man, very dark-skinned, now a Jamaican man, of medium-skin. Each time she marries, is she in a different status with her own blackness? Like, what? How does that work? That can’t work.”

I’ve been forced to ask myself the same question. Does my partner’s whiteness have any effect on my blackness? His whiteness hasn’t prevented the microaggressions and presumptions I face daily. It doesn’t make my family immune to structural racism and state violence. I know this for sure: The person that called me a nigger on the street a few months ago wouldn’t be appeased by knowing that my boyfriend is white.

This might be an obvious point to make, but it’s one that feels especially important right now. At the heart of the “woke” objections to interracial dating is the belief that people of color date white people in an attempt to assimilate, or out of an aspiration to whiteness.

As a black woman who’s with a white man, I can attest that nothing about the situation makes me feel more white. In fact, I never feel blacker than when I’m the only black person in the room, having dinner with my white in-laws (lovely as they are).

Others who bash men of color for dating white women have argued that the dynamic of women of color dating white men is an entirely different ball game. Some have gone so far as to suggest that when black or brown women date white men, the act is exempt from their criticism because it can be an attempt to avoid abusive dynamics present in their own communities. This is a dubious argument at best, and downright dangerous in a time when the far right is smearing whole categories of black or brown men by calling them rapists and abusers.

I understand the overarching point of much of this criticism: Portrayal of black or brown characters in popular culture is often terrible. People of color are not seen as desirable, funny, or smart. And we’re not past the point where a white co-star or love interest is sometimes necessary to get the funding for movies telling the stories of people of color.

But attacking interracial relationships is not the way to get better representation. On screen, we should be demanding better roles for people of color, period—as lovers, teachers, comedians, friends, and flawed heroes in shows and moves that tackle race, in those that don’t, and in everything in-between.

While I appreciate some of the nuanced discussion on how race intersects with dating preferences, there’s something quite stinging about reducing the choices we make in romance to just wanting to be white. As the writer Ta-Nehisi Coates noted in 2010, there’s a real danger of taking something as intensely private as someone’s relationship, marriage, or family, and criticizing it with the same zeal as we would a social institution. As Coates points out, “relationships are not (anymore, at least) a collectivist act. They really come down to two individuals doing business in ways that we will never be privy to.”

In her conversation with Zadie Smith, Adichie concedes that it’s an impossibly complicated issue: “I’m not interested in policing blackness,” she eventually says.

And indeed, those quantifying another’s blackness by the darkness of her skin or the race of the person he loves might do well to remember that race is, ultimately, a social construct, not a biological fact. “The only reason race matters,” Adichie points out, “is because of racism.”

A white man asked for tips on dating a black woman after admitting he has 'never' spoken to a black person one-on-one.

Posting on Reddit, the 34-year-old, who lives in a southern American state, said he had grown up in an area without any black people and had never spent time alone with someone of another race until he went on the date with his co-worker.

He said he took her out for dinner and was left stunned when she told him she was the only person of colour in the restaurants he chose for their date.

He admitted he was weary of doing anything that could put her in an uncomfortable position and was soon flooded with responses urging him to learn about her culture, racism as well as viewing her as a woman, rather than a fetish.

A unnamed white man, 34, from America, has sparked a discussion about interracial dating, after revealing he has never spent time alone with someone from another race (file image)

The 34-year-old penned a lengthy post on Reddit revealing he's in need of advice on how to date a black woman without putting her in any uncomfortable positions 

In a lengthy post, the man wrote: 'I grew up in an area with zero black people and the only thing I know about black culture is from news, stereotypes, and movies (still stereotypes, maybe?). 

'I have done jobs in the past where I've worked with black people, but never really spoken candidly with them, hung out with them one-on-one, etc. I'm just not social, anyway. I just know nothing

'So I've been interested in this fantastic woman at work in the deep south where I've recently relocated, and we've been talking a lot over the last couple of months, and finally decided to go on a date last night. 

'She and I both love seafood, so I figure let's go to restaurant with a dock view, eat good food and have some scenery.'

He said he felt they were 'having a great time' and getting to know one another, before explaining: 'Close to the end of the meal, though, she correctly observes she is the only black woman in there, and this place was absolutely packed.'

He added that he initially thought she was wrong, before saying: 'She said she's not bothered by it, even though she's also noticed people just looking at us, which she presumes is noticing interracial dating. '

The man admitted being with his black co-worker made him aware of behaviour and a lack of diversity that he wouldn't usually notice.   

A flood of responses shared pet peeves including not to touch her hair without asking and to avoid using terms that make her seem like a fetish 

He continued: 'I asked her if what we're doing is just not something black people do for some bizarre reason, and she explains to me back at the car that I took her to a place where there are a lot of rich and powerful people, and very few black people live in that small area.'

He added: 'She genuinely didn't seem bothered by it, but I also realized she's paying attention to things I wouldn't. 

'She first clued in that I haven't really spoken to a black woman when I was surprised that she prepped her hair a day before going to the salon to get it braided, which is apparently a thing I didn't know but it's very common.'

He went on to say he wanted the relationship to work, and asked for advice to avoid 'unwittingly' offending her.  

Many shared their personal experiences of interracial dating with one admitting she wishes that she had taken time to listen to the experiences of people from other races 

A stream of responses to the post praised the man for actively seeking advice and began sharing pet peeves that could impact the relationship, with one person saying: 'Good job, you're starting to notice s*** you've never had to notice, that's the first step keep it up. Don't refer to her as chocolate/mocha or any of that fetishsizing stuff some of you guys do.' 

Another wrote: 'You will always attract attention as a couple and some of that attention will be unpleasant, even threatening. She is a lot more aware of racial biases than you are, doubly as a woman.'

Others spoke from personal experiences of being in an interracial couple and said it's best not to bring up race unless it's mentioned. 

'Something I should have learned to do, is to just listen to the experience of being a POC in a white world and not get offended or feel like their discomfort with white people extends to you,' a white woman who is dating an Asian man wrote.  

Another said: 'I've dated interracially a number of times and I've always found a good rule of thumb is not to bring race up unless they bring it up first. Be a good listener. Don't go overboard trying to prove how 'with-it' you are. Just be yourself.'   

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Nearly ninety percent of Americans are in favor of marriages between Black and White people, and yet, the rate of interracial marriage remains relatively low at less than 1 percent of all marriages. Using recent General Social Survey Data, Yanyi K. Djamba and Sitawa R. Kimuna write that this discrepancy may be because the general interracial marriage opinion questions used in surveys are too broad for understanding how people actually feel about marrying outside one’s race. Digging further into the data, they find that only 42 percent of Blacks and 13 percent of Whites strongly favor their close relative marrying someone of the opposite race.

Today, 87 percent of Americans say they approve marriages between Black and White people. However, the responses change dramatically when they are asked more directly about how they feel if one of their close relatives wants to marry outside their race.

Results from our recent research show that more than half (54 percent) of Blacks are in favor of their close relative marrying a White person. The result is lower for Whites, among whom only one-in-four (26 percent) said they were in favor of their close relative marrying a Black person. Such findings show that interracial relations are still unfavorable in the United States.  Although the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in the 1960s that laws banning interracial sexual relations violate the Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, it was only in the last decade that anti-racial marriage laws were definitively struck down in all states, with Alabama being the last state to do so in 2000.

Nonetheless, the number of Black-White marriages remains relatively low, at 558,000 according to the 2010 U.S. Census. This represents less than 1 percent of all marriages in the country. Moreover, according to the U.S. Census data most exogamous (outside the social group) marriages between these two racial groups occur between Black men and White women than between White men and Black women.

In our research, we went beyond general opinion questions and used recent General Social Survey data sets that included questions on how black and white Americans actually feel about their close relative marrying outside their own race. So what factors explain these patterns of Black-White marriages in the U.S.? Both racial specific conditions and individual characteristics are at play. First, in terms of race, Whites are still less likely to support interracial marriage as compared to Blacks. In 2000, 24 percent of Blacks and 11 percent of Whites said they strongly favor their close relative marrying someone of the opposite race. In 2012, the gap remains at 42 percent for Blacks and 13 percent for Whites. These differences are strong between the two races, regardless of marital status or political party affiliation.

Second, there are some individual characteristics that make some people less supportive of Black-White marriage, with specific effects for each race. For example, white men are the most opposed to their close relative marrying a Black person. No significant gender difference was found among Blacks. These results were consistent in the three periods analyzed in our study (2000, 2010, and 2012).

Religious affiliation had some influence on attitudes toward interracial marriage of close relatives among Whites and Blacks in some of the periods considered in our study. In 2000 and 2010, non-Christian Blacks held more unfavorable attitudes toward Black-White marriage than Protestants. No significant religious influence was found among Blacks in 2012.  Among Whites, the influence of religion was only significant in the 2000 and 2012 data, years for which Protestants held more unfavorable attitudes toward Black-White marriage than non-Protestant Whites. Such findings suggest that religion has an impact on Black-White relations, with important differences across racial groups.

Ironically, people living in the South reported being in favor of Black-White unions for their close relatives in 2000 more than those living elsewhere in the country. Yet, that region was the last to abolish laws prohibiting marriage between Blacks and Whites. No significant regional differences were observed in 2012.

The argument that education brings about openness and acceptance of diversity was only apparent for Whites in 2000. During that year, more educated Whites were significantly more in favor of Black-White marriage for their close relatives as compared to their less educated counterparts. Similarly, we found some important generational influences on attitudes toward Black-White marriage among Whites in 2000. For the latter, younger respondents were more accepting of interracial marriage than older folks.

The number of Black-White marriages has risen in recent decades, from 51,000 in 1960 to 558,000 in 2010. However, the numbers of such marriages are still relatively tiny relative to same race marriages. Yet, when asked about their general attitudes toward Black-White marriage, 9-in-10 Americans claim they approve of such unions, according to a 2013 report by the Gallup Poll.

The gap between the percentage of Americans who hold a favorable attitude toward Black-White marriage and the percent of actual Black-White marriages suggests that the general interracial marriage opinion questions used in many surveys are too broad for understanding how people actually feel about marrying outside one’s race. More specifically, early surveys usually asked people whether they approve or disapprove of marriage between Blacks and Whites. While such questions provide long trend comparisons, they do not tell us much about the racial intolerance that people harbor when asked how they would feel if one of their relatives were to marry a person outside their own race.

In our study, by assessing how one feels about a relative’s marriage to a person of a different race, we were able to provide a better understanding of why current favorable opinions on interracial marriage still do not translate into higher rates of marriages between black and white Americans. In this light, our work offers a more comprehensive picture of racial relations in the U.S. today than did previous research.

This article is based on the paper, “Are Americans Really in Favor of Interracial Marriage? A Closer Look at When They Are Asked about Black-White Marriage for Their Relatives” in the Journal of Black Studies.

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Note:  This article gives the views of the author, and not the position of USApp– American Politics and Policy, nor of the London School of Economics. 

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About the authors

Yanyi K. Djamba – Auburn University at Montgomery
Yanyi K. Djamba is professor of Sociology at Auburn University at Montgomery. His current research focuses on gender and racial relations, migration, aging, and sexuality and health.

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Sitawa R. Kimuna – East Carolina University
Sitawa R. Kimuna is associate professor of Sociology at East Carolina University. Her areas of research interest include aging, social demography/population dynamics, health in sub-Saharan Africa, race and ethnic relations, and American and global and the social impact of mass media.