He questioned why Black men in particular want so desperately to be acknowledged as desirable by white men who have no interest in dating outside their race. When I read a recent essay by Michael Arceneaux, his words hit me hard. Could we all be perpetuating internalized racism by consciously, or even unconsciously, excluding Black men and other men of color as romantic prospects? And in doing that, are we only reinforcing the politics of desire that deem Black people less attractive? But while the absence of queer POC-centric establishments is definitely an issue, many of the other Black men I see at gay bars around Manhattan and Brooklyn are booed up with white men, too. I replied, "Look around - I'm one of three Black guys here." There’s a clear lack of queer spaces in POC communities, and that definitely affects the ability of men of color to meet one another. After graduating, I moved to New York, and though here I was able to find queer friends who are also people of color, we are still always in the minority at gay bars and clubs.Ī friend of mine, who is Latino, once asked why I didn't approach Black men in bars. Many queer folks were closeted, and of the few who were out, most of them were white. When I finally came out in college, I was at a predominantly white school. I never had the chance to speak to either one while they were alive, but I often wonder what advice or mentorship they could have provided me as a young Black gay male coming of age in such a sheltered environment. They were estranged from our family, partly because of their health and their sexual orientation. Within my own family, I had two gay uncles who died of AIDS-related illnesses before I was 10. My childhood in the Black church led me to believe that Black people were inherently homophobic - a myth - and that the only Black men who were gay were on the down low or infected with HIV - also a myth. The only gay people I saw in the media were white, and the few Black queer celebrities that I knew of, like Wanda Sykes and Michael Sam, were in interracial relationships. I grew up closeted in a very religious community. Even in person, when I’m trying to muster up the courage to talk to a cute guy, I first wonder if he’s "into black guys." I hate myself for even having to contemplate these things, and I’m now left asking myself: Why am I not drawn to other men of color?Īnd the more I think about it, the more complicated the answer seems.
And when I scroll through Grindr’s grid of faceless torsos, I find myself only messaging guys with complexions lighter than a paper bag.
When I’m on Tinder, the men I’m more likely to swipe right are usually athletic white men between 21 and 30. While I may flirt or develop friendships with other Black gay men, I’ve never seriously pursued a relationship with one. I tried to deny it, but when I thought about my dating history, I realized that my friends were right. But when I discussed my issue with friends, other queer men of color, they all said I have a type: white men. I like to think of myself as someone who’s adventurous when it comes to love and sex, someone who’d never rule out potential partners or new experiences. That's not uncommon among millennials, but as a Black gay man, I've begun to wonder how my race has affected my chances of finding love. I’m quickly approaching my 25th birthday and have come to the realization that I’ve never been in a long-term relationship.