This week in crazy, the eloquence that is Ann Coulter appeared on Fox & Friends and spoke very candidly about her thoughts on her fellow political commentators, Lawrence O’Donnell and Bill Maher. According to Ms. Coulter’s infinite wisdom, the two think they’re “freedom riders” because they “date black gals.”
Now normally, this would be the part when I supply Ann with a brand new asshole, but honestly, I don’t even know what the hell that was supposed to mean. Freedom riders? So sharing a meal with a black woman makes you a civil rights icon? Yeah, maybe if that meal was at a Woolworth’s counter in 1960. But in 2012?
While Ann was most likely being slightly factitious, her misstatement got me thinking of some of the dumb assumptions that people have made about my boyfriend because he dates black women. For example:
He’s a Sugar Daddy
According to this widely observed theory, there’s only one thing that could have me snuggling up under the arm of a blue-eyed Irish boy: cold hard cash. Because, what the hell else could I possibly see in him? Sensitivity? Honesty? Psh. Damn the fact that the man owns only t-shirts and is probably the most unassuming human being on the planet, he must have money and plenty of it. Which, or course, makes me the conniving gold-digger. I must be rocking those Old Navy flip flops in 60-degree weather to make him think that I’m modest just to throw him off track. Dastardly.
What’s funny (or totally fucked up) about this misconception is that it comes from every direction; blacks, whites, men, women, strangers, and acquaintances alike. Like when the friend of a friend, a black woman, gave me a wink and told me to “have fun being a sugar baby” after she saw a photo of my boyfriend online. Or when the waiter, a white man, handed me my boyfriend’s change and laughed that the money was “just going to end up with me anyway.”
He’s a John
Another tangent on the “she must be after his money” scenario popularized by the sugar daddy theory mentioned above. But as a prostitute, I’m not trying to weasel him out of his cash, it’s merely a fee for my services. That’s admirable.
I don’t have much proof in backing that this is what people think of us as we’re walking down the street. But we definitely get a lot more whispers and weird looks when we venture into dive bars, casinos, or other prostitute-friendly places. I cringe at the thought of being mistaken for a “lady of the night”, especially for the offense of being out after dark with my white boyfriend, but at least that would better explain the two-dollar flip flops.
He’s a “Wigger”
You know those white boys that attempt to adopt some dated Ebonics and baggy clothes and end up with some warped representation of early-90s hip hop that only they think is cool? Well, in order to get the full complement of street credibility, those posers need some chocolate arm candy too. Because only a black girl could make the entire “hood” package complete. I mean he must listen to rap, have rims, talk shit, sell drugs and do whatever else black folks are supposed to be doing these days. How else can he keep up with her?
He Has a Fetish
That’s right. Being “down with the brown” is cause for some much needed psychoanalysis. Because what else could explain his proclivity to black women but some deep seeded deviant sexual impulse? My brown skin and I are apparently ranked pretty high in the realms of questionable erotic attraction. Kind of like women who are over 500 pounds or those people who only get aroused from wearing furry mascot costumes.
Of course, these assumptions say a lot more about the people that make them than it does about me or him. Even in 2012 it’s as if white man/black woman interracial relationships are so peculiar that they require some odd explanation to reason their existence. I’m a whore and he’s a freak? It’s like “maybe they just like each other” isn’t even a consideration.
Did that even occur to you, Ms. Coulter? Maybe your colleagues just like “black gals.”