The Obligatory “Dating While Being (Insert Minority Group Here)” Essay

Like a lot of people in real life, I’m dating. And because I’m a black mid-sized queer, who makes content for the internet, I will inevitably have to write the essay about dating and beauty standards and how I don’t fit.

I have seen article after article about beauty standards, read books about marginalized women like me who have difficulty finding partners. I’ve experienced the freudenfreude (joy from other people’s joy) when I see someone who looks similar to me getting in a relationship with someone who (I hope) cares a lot about them (i.e. the recent photos of blogger Stephanie Yeboah’s new partner, Lizzo’s new man, and Danielle Vanier’s 2nd anniversary with her partner). I love to love and know that my partner is out there, but these streets are trash.

We all, partnered or nah, know that dating is tricky, but we aren’t supposed to say anything about it. Or when we do say something, we should turn it into a joke to make other people comfortable. Whenever I say dating is anything other than great in a non-joking manner, people think it’s time to give unsolicited advice. “Love yourself”, “if you’re not happy single then you won’t be happy in a partnership”, etc. You’ve heard all of them. However, the most offensive one I get is “Do you date other fat people?”

This advice isn’t as nice or “progressive” as you think. Think about when and to whom that advice gets applied and why. When fat women talk about people desiring them, this is one of the first few questions asked. The same goes for black women or trans women or many people of many other marginalized identities. The question presented asks why we don’t love people who look like us when the question I would ask someone is “Why do you assume I wouldn’t? And why do you assume I’m incapable like both them and people who fit the societal beauty standard?”

This isn’t an admittance of self-hatred. Far front it. I love my body, my skin, and my features. I don’t view my features on myself or anyone else as lesser because I or them don’t look like Mikaela or Mariana. What I actually hate is that for myself or other people to love it, it becomes a political statement. For whom I love to be a political statement at all. There’s an assumption that loving me means something had to be overcome. Living in a body that is broiled in political debate as opposed to existing, living, laughing, and loving the way I want without commentary is crazy-making.

I would’ve stopped dieting and loved my body earlier if there wasn’t a stigma for being black and fat. I would have changed my look faster if there wasn’t been discourse about black hair. I wouldn’t have dealt with the shame of having dated interracially as much as I have for years if there wasn’t a stigma for black women dating out. I would have come out as queer years ago if all those other things weren’t in play.

I believe the cruelest thing that the white heteropatriarchy has done to folks like me is trying to define our movement. Not just our political movements, but how our bodies and spirits move through this world. Treating myself like an art piece, where every brushstroke taken into consideration shouldn’t be a political act. Unfortunately, it is.

This isn’t an essay about what needs to be done about this. We all know what needs to be done. This is an essay to vent about some of the frustrations I have when I live in a body that is so deeply politicized. Maybe you’ll be seen in it too.