An excerpt of this blog appeared on Alphanista.com. View it here: http://tinyurl.com/yg7r7lp
I used to think I was different than everyone else, a true individual with very unique experiences. Apparently, I’m just a statistic.
According to a Yale University study among women with advanced degrees, Black women are twice as likely never to have been married by age 45 than White women. Tell me something I don’t know. Most of my friends are single, educated sisters who can’t get a date…a date with anyone we like, anyway. On the other hand, well damn! My singlehood has been documented and confirmed by sociologists, which makes it some kind of fact. Grrrr!
But wait, there’s more! More than any other group studied, Black women are we’re less likely than even our men to have college-grad spouses. Think about that for a minute, and realize that it’s because Black men are more likely to marry White women, while Black women would rather find a Brotha with a GED than cross over into “something new” territory. Yep, that information is in the study too. I’m not really liking these options: someone hand me a cocktail or a pint of Haagen-Dazs!
Like every woman in America, I guess I have a fantasy about my potential mate. He’s tall, dark and handsome…to be clear, he’s taller than me, darker than me, and I find him handsome but that doesn’t mean he has to look like Blair Underwood. Actually, I did date a guy who looked like Blair Underwood, but that’s a story for another time. My Fantasy Brotha – and he is a brotha – has a background like mine, which is to say he went to college, was raised by both parents, and is really smart and kinda geeky. Hey, I dated that guy too. A few times. And when it didn’t work out I veered away from my fantasy and towards the reality of dating different kinds of men.
I’ve gone out with guys who aren’t as educated as me, who don’t have professional jobs, and it wasn’t for me. Look, I have nothing against a high-school graduate; neither of my parents went to college. And, degree or not, my Dad is one of the smartest men I know. If I could find someone like him I’d have a browser window open right now for Blue Nile, ready to propose. But the non-diploma’d men I’ve dated were intimidated by my friends from college and business school. And they were intimidated by my family, which happens to be full of college people. But my family is the loving/caring/sharing kind of family, not the snobby kind who one-ups each other at dinner. I’m gonna need to be with someone that will do the Electric Slide at the family reunion, because fun and bonding doesn’t come with a certificate on the wall. And its not like my friends walk around saying, “Let us gather and wax sentimental about the alma mater. Boola Boola!” or start sentences with “When I got my MBA…” But occasionally I’ll want my guy to come to the Yale-Harvard game and get drunk at the parking lot tailgate. And when he’s standing in the chug line-up next to me, I want him to feel comfortable with the guys tapping the keg. I really don’t think that’s a lot to ask for.
Similarly, I don’t really want to marry a White man. When I was in high school, I kind of assumed that I’d marry a White guy because I didn’t really socialize with Black guys. This wasn’t intentional, but rather a by-product of bussing and gifted programs where I was the only Black student in my class for years. When there were other Blacks, they were female. Right now, I won’t go into what I think is wrong with that situation, or the institutionalized racism inherent in the educational system…again, a story for another time. Suffice it to say that I had crushes on White classmates and had them over to my house, and did some serious hanging with White guys in college, but I never dated any of them. I never dated anyone at all until I graduated from college and met some Black men that didn’t think I was corny. I’m sure my dad was thrilled. And so was I, not only because I actually had dates, but because I dated dudes I really connected with. Black men feel like home to me and at the end of the day, I want to come home. Now don’t call me a racist ‘cuz I still have plenty of White friends. Yet some things about them remain strange to me. Like, where are the washcloths? Don’t y’all use them when you take a shower? When I’m staying at your house, I expect you to give me a towel and washcloth, not a towel and a bar of soap, know what I mean? My Black husband would get it, and we’d pack some extra terrycloth when we visit. Then there’s the hair thing. The mother of a Caucasian friend actually put her hand in my Afro before we were even introduced! Imagine if that came from my man’s mother? I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say it’s a bad idea to bitch-slap potential family members, even if they do dumb stuff.
So you see, I’ve explored the options and I’m gonna have to stick with my original “tall, dark & educated” plan or suck it up and be single. Actually, there could be hope with one of the nice Pakistani cab drivers that always tell me I’m beautiful. Some of them are doctors in their country. And we’d have nice brown babies. It’s something to consider, but the jury’s still out.
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Very funny. Nicely written. Cleaver.
Those nice things aside, let me be the first to offer up a little truth and guidance.
Some years ago, one of my lovely female friends told me about something she noticed while enjoying a social luncheon with some of her infinitely beautiful and charming professional African-American colleagues. She told me that she looked across at a table opposite hers. There sat similarly situated white women. As it turns out, there was great divide in the room. However, this divide had nothing to do with race; the white women had a monopoly on the engagement rings and wedding band. How was it possible?
Beautiful and very desirable Black women are not inclined to tell the truth about why they have not married. I asked my friend why these beautiful sisters remained single. She answered that there were not enough good men around, men were intimidated by elite and powerful black women, etc, etc., etc. Please.
These statement do not stand up to the truth. Even in the case of my friend. I was one of a least a dozen men who would have married my friend before the hat could hit the floor. Well, she would not have it. Neither would her friends. These women did not marry because they, for the most part, not only had too many men, but almost always preferred those who were least inclined to marry them.
Lets use some anecdotal examples to bring clarity to this problem. In my day, I was never a Casanova, nor did I have a body chiseled out of large blocks of granite, but I was regularly plucked from among the throng seeking entry at exclusive clubs, and escorted into the joint without ever paying a single dime. I had a degree from a private New England university college, and conducted myself with a certain politeness. On some occasions, I could even manage to be rather charming. Ok, I did not earn six figures, but these things are not the topic of conversations during one’s first hellos. What I am suggesting here is that I should have gotten some attention from those kind of women who reject men like me and my friends.
The same women who rejected those like me were the same ones who had secret intrigues with men who were neither college educated nor particularly ambitious. These guys tended to be among the unsophisticated, but edgy. These were the guys who were at the university, but not in classes. They worked in the cafeterias, drove the shuttle buses, and sneaked into the university gyms to play pick-up basketball with those straight college boys. Some may have been local athletes, the guy who danced really well at the downtown clubs, the occasional model / waiter, the really good dresser, the guy who had a reputation for just being able to screw well. Remember Mike Tyson and his doctor wife? Those bourgeois, lightly tanned, and highly educated women had an appetite for the proletariat. And,they regularly consumed as much of them as they could. All on the down-low.
Me and those straight up college boys were left holding our textbooks and scratching our heads. We longed for the likes of what the proletariat regularly enjoyed.
While it is true that there are many otherwise desirable African-American sisters who will never marry, it is also true that they did not have tons of opportunities. Don;t believe me, ask the likes of Michelle Obama and Desiree Rogers. I am willing to bet you that their husbands settled on them sometime after their encounters with those elite sisters. I am willing to met that what differentiate Michelle and Desiree was good judgment. I am willing to bet that these smart women looked around at what those elite sisters were passing up, and decided to not to make the same stupid choices.I am willing to bet, that even to this day, Michelle and Desiree can each name ten of their college classmates who were far more beautiful and desirable than them, but never married.
And, if you care not to believe Michelle, to ask Barack and John Rogers. Ask whether, during their more modest times, whether they asked out some of those elite sisters. In private they will tell you that most of those sister would not have anything to do with them.
So, what happened to the ultra elite sisters? Karma. Those say no first sisters kept up their strange ways through their late 20′s and early 30′s and while a younger generation made its way into the party. Suddenly the party became a bit more competitive. Some historic walls came tumbling down. Those cute young girls from Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and Asia came on the scene. And, those previously off limit American white women directly competed against sisters, and for a pool of both young and older brothers. Those elite sister just got older.
A few years ago, I gleefully shared a story with an old frat brother. The story actually went back some 25 years earlier and related to a large group of Boston College (BC) sisters. They were so cute, so lightly tanned, so purposefully bourgeois. Yet, at 19 or 20, they had already started saying no. I was naive at the time, and my arrogance looked beyond the sincere advice of my older frat brothers. They counseled me to not waste my time with these women. I did not listen. My approach to them was simple. “Hi, my name is …., I think you are beautiful”. Inevitably, the woman would ask, “so where are you in school?”. My reply essentially read, “not Harvard”. Well, the music stopped. And so did my possibilities. Problem was, they also cut off the straight up brothers who were at Harvard. They did the same to all but a few of the brothers who were at Harvard Law School.
A few years later, I tagged along with a boss to a young black MBA conference. It drew a crowd from all over the country. I was at the party, but certainly not one who received an invitation on his credentials. But, some of the most desirable brothers were in the house. Among them was one who I read about and so wanted to meet. He made an Esquire Magazine’s best and brightest under forty cut. He was also the managed one of the nation’s most impressive venture funds. I found him out; we became fast acquaintances. The conference will filled with beautiful women, but two of them took top honors. Both were from Yale’s B school. Ok, lets put all of this in its context. One was the two decided, of all the men there, I would be her choice. I decided, of all the women there, the second of the two would be my choice. Exclusively. I manage to engage her in a little polite conversation. I think she quietly excused herself. I spent the next two days trying hard to get her attention. Nothing. I conveyed my story to the gentleman I acquainted. He and I shared similar stories. We both struck out.
Ok, maybe the really cute woman was smart to turn me down, but why did she snub the venture capitalist? He was a multi-millionaire, regularly made the business pages, and was tall and handsome. He carried a certain humility while exuding unmistakable class. And, he made known to her that he was highly interested. Why did she say no? Equally as interesting, why did she reject the whole lot of America’s most elite of young black men in pursuit of the attention of a known womanizer?
Fast forward 20 years. I am standing near the driveway of one of my old buds; he married a younger and more brown skin version of one of those BC sisters. She attended a “lesser” college. I overhear my friend’s wife asking him to exchange his BMW 5 series’ keys for those of his slightly newer Range Rover. The BC girls much more preferred the prestige of the RR. Ah, they were dolled up and looking like a slightly browner version of Joan Rivers. Guess where these now middle aged sisters were going? To a downtown club in DC. I laughed about the silliness of it all.
Some weeks later, I convey the story to one of my more socially and successful frat brothers. He and his wife married right out of college. He was a banker who facilitated stock floats and played golf with the President. You know the type. Anyway, he asked me whether those BC girls still had their looks. I told him no. They had their light skin and attitudes, but lost their looks a decade earlier. He shook his head in exasperation.
Most white women to not make these mistakes. They make a clear distinction between a fling and a husband. And they get their priorities together much sooner. By 25 years, they are either postponing marriage because their careers are moving them up the corporate ladder, or the looking for a husband that will help secure their economic futures.
I am willing to bet, even during racially polarizing times some 15 years ago, virtually every white women who set opposite my friend would have strongly considered a man like our President. I am also willing to bet that virtually none of those beautiful and elite sisters would have return the President’s phone calls. Perhaps they would not have the time. Perhaps they would be too busy making arrangement to have secret interludes with some of the wait staff at the Ritz. I am willing to bet you these women complain that there are no good men around. Karma is a bitch.