Guide to dating black woman rhodri marsden dating
As a young woman of color, I can attest to the fact that many people in this world feel it is their duty — no, their God-given right — to decide what is best for me, and especially whom is best for me to date.
For instance, I felt the need to defend my relationships to my mother who, like Baker’s mother, wondered when her daughter would bring home someone who looked more Michael B. My mother will resent me for saying this, but I know there is a part of her that wanted to see me settle down with someone black, someone who looked like me.
After years and years of internalizing the beauty standard promoted all around me, I headed off to college with a low self-esteem and essentially no sense of self-worth.
I went out to a frat party with my roommate on our first night.
I had dated a few guys before, all assholes, and I didn’t think many people would show interest in me.
He would lie with his head in my lap, and I would run my fingers through the blond strands.
I was fully aware that he had blond hair and blue eyes when I met him, obviously, but I didn't really understand what that meant until years later.
One of the most difficult parts about being in an interracial relationship is the fact that I started to question things I never I questioned before.
When you look at the role models of my youth, the people and products the media put forth and said, “This is beauty personified,” you’ll notice a distinct theme: Barbie, Britney Spears, Polly Pocket, Sailor Moon, Mandy Moore, Mary Kate and Ashley — all white.
I was fully submerged, I mean genuinely immersed, in a culture where people like me weren’t valued as beautiful, so much so that I remember wishing the thick, coarse hair on my American Girl doll, Addy, was straighter and “prettier,” like that of my other dolls.
I was in a new city and in a completely new situation.