This woman that I was on a date with pulled no punches, showed no optimism or hope. “I don’t know if I can date a white man,” she said.
After all, is a girl worth anything if she is not beautiful?
I am not your token Black person. I’m not your boo-thang and honestly, there is nothing special about my hair.
She never uttered a word to me, but I have never felt smaller.
Allow me to burst your privilege bubble. The only reason you feel entitled to declare your approval of my appearance is because otherwise, it is assumed that you aren’t.
I got a beer with a Kenyan man at the bar behind my gate. We discussed DC and the various privileges that come with a US passport.
White privilege does not exist. I had to work for everything I got.
I am the white face who lives an uncomfortable life at ease because I can afford to walk away from luxury.
For most of us, these articles do little more than remind us of how fun life can be for the 1%. There is, much to my chagrin and the chagrin of many, a marked dearth of articles addressing your average 20-something.