The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl

by Issa Rae

  The summer came upon us and I prepared to go to Dakar, Senegal, for the first time in five years. I checked my email the week before we left and gasped, ecstatically. She had written back! I still have the email from 2001:

  Jo-Issa,

  Thank you so much for your letter. It means a lot that Love and Basketball is your favorite movie! Much props to you for having a completed screenplay at sixteen. I didn’t start writing scripts until I was in college. You definitely seem focused and know where you’re going. I am flattered that you thought of me to direct your script, unfortunately, I am pretty much tied up for the next couple years with my own scripts. After directing “Disappearing Acts,” which I didn’t write, I realized I feel much more fulfilled as an artist when I direct scripts I have written myself, like “Love and Basketball.” This does not mean I will never direct another script I or my husband has written, however, for now that is what I am focused on. That, and my new son. :) But again, thank you so much for thinking of me and good luck in all your endeavors.

  Sincerely,

  Gina Prince-Bythewood

  It was the perfect encouragement I needed to take my script with me on my trip abroad. I impressed my Senegalese cousins with my index note cards and my printed pages, which I wrote during our many moments of humid boredom. I was going to be the screenwriter and star of my very own movie!

  Except I never finished the script. I kept writing and rewriting to the point of frustration, and let the project fall by the wayside until eventually I just pushed it to the back of my mind.

  By the time I got to college, reality television had taken over. Shows like Flavor of Love and I Love New York paved the way for the trashy, raunchy depictions of women of color we see in shows today, like Basketball Wives and Love & Hip Hop. By the time college hit, I had already gotten used to seeing us only in rare glimpses. My sensibilities started to gear more toward shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Office, Seinfeld, and 30 Rock—all of which were generally devoid of leading characters of color. With the expansion of Netflix, my movie tastes began to broaden and I noticed that the more I explored genres outside of comedy and drama, the less and less I saw people of color. So I started to search for more stories of color, which was where I rediscovered Spike Lee’s School Daze. I had heard about the film through my mother and my aunt, who frequently referenced the “Good and Bad Hair” scene. Watching the film alone, in my college dorm room my freshman year, was a pivotal and wholly new experience for me, coming as it did when I was losing interest in the limited kinds of productions my school’s drama department was mounting.

  Having been an active member of my high school’s drama department, I figured my transition to college productions would be just as seamless. It wasn’t. In fact, I didn’t really fit into Stanford’s drama department. The plays they put on were super white and so were their leads. If it weren’t for Debi, an ambitious junior I met who decided to put up a self-penned Hip-Hopera, I don’t know that I would have pursued theater at Stanford. She cast me as one of her leads, raised money through Stanford’s many opportunities for student funding, and marketed it via our various email lists (and posted flyers the old-fashioned way); in other words, she produced it herself. I was so impressed and inspired; part of me felt like if she could do it, why couldn’t I?

  With Spike Lee’s School Daze, I tried my hand at directing and producing a stage version. Looking back, I had no idea what I was doing, but directing and producing gave me a sense of control that I didn’t have as an actress. I was literally waiting to act, waiting for the roles, waiting for the call. Furthermore, I was coming to the conclusion that I could never and would never be a leading lady. Not in this industry. So I took my place comfortably and happily behind the scenes, content to create the content that was otherwise absent during my college experience. Not to mention being behind the scenes and directing other actors made me realize how much I was lacking as an actress myself. I had a new appreciation for my high school director. Working with and organizing a group of thirty people was hard enough when people took our project seriously; I can’t imagine having to direct a group of half-hearted teenagers. In any case, Stanford gave me the opportunity to put my own spin on theater, and to learn by doing. My plays were met with ongoing enthusiasm and encouragement, with the three shows we’d put on for one weekend consistently packed every year.

  By the time I was a senior, I was known for my plays. It felt good to have a sense of identity and to have established myself as a director and producer. But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. During my senior year, while others were taking it easy, I found that I had to take twenty-two units during my last two quarters to graduate on time. As much as I loved and appreciated Stanford for exposing me to the most amazing community I had ever experienced, it was time to get out of there and move on. I refused to stay an additional year to finish the last two units I needed to graduate (an online class at Santa Monica College would eventually earn me my diploma).

  It was during this extremely stressful course load that I came up with the idea to do a web series about what it’s like to be black at Stanford University. Stanford really opened my eyes to how diverse we are as a people,3 and it was so refreshing to witness. I rounded my friends together, borrowed a camera from the library, and wrote a script. The next week, I edited it and posted it to Facebook and watched as it spread not only throughout my school, but at other top schools like Duke, Harvard, and Georgetown. People exclaimed that it reflected their college experience and marveled at how relatable it was. I couldn’t believe the series had spread and that people who didn’t attend my school were watching and enjoying. Having direct access to an audience that appreciated my work was an epiphany for me.

  In the meantime, I felt surrounded by the mainstream media’s negative images of black women. This was all prior to the promising Shonda Rhimes takeover of Thursday nights, so as the negative portrayal of women in reality television broadened its boundaries, I grew angry, resentful, and impatient. How hard is it to portray a three-dimensional woman of color on television or in film? I’m surrounded by them. They’re my friends. I talk to them every day. How come Hollywood won’t acknowledge us? Are we a joke to them?

  Now, having been in the industry for a couple of years, I’m not entirely sure it’s blatant racism, as I had once assumed. It’s more complicated than that. As Ralph Ellison once posited, we’re invisible to them. We’re simply not on their radar. As long as the people who are in charge aren’t us, things will never change.

  Girls, New Girl, 2 Broke Girls. What do they all have in common? The universal gender classification, “girl,” is white. In all three of these successful series, a default girl (or two) is implied and she is white. That is the norm and that is what is acceptable. Anything else is niche.

  If it weren’t for YouTube, I would be extremely pessimistic, but I’m not anymore. YouTube has revolutionized content creation. If it weren’t for YouTube, I would still be at studios trying to convince executives that Awkward Black Girls really do exist. If it weren’t for YouTube, I would have been indefinitely discouraged by the network executive who suggested that actress/video girl/Lil Wayne’s baby’s mother, Lauren London, would be a great fit for the title character of a cable version of Awkward Black Girl. If it weren’t for social media, I don’t know that black women would even be a fully formed blip on the radar. If it weren’t for internet forums and fan pages, communities of dark women wouldn’t be empowered by their natural hair in a media society that tells them their hair should be straightened and their skin should be lighter.

  Online content and new media are changing our communities and changing the demand for and accessibility of that content. The discussion of representation is one that has been repeated over and over again, and the solution has always been that it’s up to us to support, promote, and create the images that we want to see. Ten years ago, making that suggestion would have required way more work than it
does now, and my love of taking shortcuts probably wouldn’t allow me to make any dents on that front. But with ever-evolving, new accessible technologies, there are so many opportunities to reclaim our images. There’s no excuse not to, and I’ve never felt more purposeful in my quest to change the landscape of television.

  At the time I came up with the concept for ABG, I was just a clumsy, frustrated, socially inept, recently graduated adult, looking for confirmation that I wasn’t alone. No, I didn’t think I was a monster or vampire, Junot; it wasn’t that deep. But at some level, as each new model for social media strives to connect us in new, paradoxically estranged ways, there exists a consistent core, the human desire to feel included. Whether you’re an awkward black girl or an irritated disabled stripper, everyone should have the opportunity to feel represented in some way.

  * * *

  2 I only recently learned how to distinguish between “If I was” and “If I were” for the purpose of this book. Twitter does not merit such effort. Don’t judge!

  3 Refer to ABG Guide: Connecting with Other Blacks for an appendix of the various blacks.

  ABG Guide: Connecting with Other Blacks

  The gamut of “blackness” is so wide. So very, very wide. Luckily for you, I have encountered almost every type of black, and as the self-appointed representative of the “Awkward” Black, I am taking it upon myself to not only introduce other Awkward Blacks to each type of black, but also to give them guidance on appropriately dealing with each type. Take note: some blacks are a hybrid of two or even three blacks, though statistically that group is very small. In such cases, more than one interaction in more than one environment is required to determine the appropriate approach. Many blacks have been all of these blacks at one point in time. So as not to place the importance or value of one black over the other (that’s what real life is for!), I have (more or less) organized them alphabetically. If you’re not an Awkward Black, you may still find the information useful when attempting to engage other blacks.

  * * *

  The 10% Black:

  W. E. B. Du Bois only added fuel to the fire for these blacks. The self-proclaimed talented tenth, these blacks feel as though the intellectual integrity of all blacks rests on their shoulders. Many are outwardly bitter that they have to carry this responsibility, but secretly appreciative that they have been called out as the Chosen Few. Usually the validation of one’s tenthness comes from white acceptance. The 10 percent are both grateful for and resentful of this. The 10 percenters feel it is their duty to redeem blackness in the eyes of all.

  THE APPROACH: Feign ignorance. You don’t know as much as they do. If they deem you worthy, they will try to keep you at length and flex their knowledge, speaking at you. I’ve been caught for hours, listening to these blacks lecture. The key is to appear disengaged and dumb. It will save you time.

  KEY PHRASES: “I don’t know”; “Really?”; “Where’s the chicken?”; “Cast down your bucket.”

  The Ambitious Black:

  Race isn’t a barrier for this black; it’s either an asset or not a concern at all. This black is a chameleon, able to turn it on and turn it off in any environment in the name of advancement. This black acknowledges his or her blackness to other blacks, but will quickly renounce race in front of “others.” The Awkward Black and the Ambitious Black are very compatible.

  THE APPROACH: The Awkward Black can find a potential friend and/or lover in this black. The Ambitious Black is the perfect partner to help the Awkward Black adjust in his/her own skin. For general interactions, be friendly and keep an eye open, because this black is studying and will take your job.

  KEY PHRASES: “Let’s hang”; “Teach me”; “Want to be my friend?”; “Love me.”

  The Awkward Black:

  You Are Here.

  THE APPROACH: See entire book.

  The Basic Black:

  Many confuse being “basic” with being “regular.” That is false. “Regular” implies that there is a black norm, and I would argue that there is not. Barring strong innate familial traits and twins, blacks are not the same. The Basic Black, however, is the closest you can get to regular. The Basic Black is minimalist art in human form. People in this category are proud to be black, but don’t flaunt it. They enjoy chicken and watermelon just as much as they enjoy steak and persimmons. Though goal-oriented, they are not complicated, and that is all there is to that.

  THE APPROACH: Don’t overcomplicate them. Talk to them as you would talk to your neighbor.

  KEY PHRASES: “How are you?”; “How’s the fam?”; “Have a nice day”; “Where’s the BBQ?”

  The Hustling Black:

  These blacks are a subcategory of the Ambitious Black, though they aren’t quite there yet. Always “on the grind,” this black has tried it all, has ridden every wave in an attempt to make ends meet. This black is on the move constantly, so don’t ever try to ask him what he does, specifically. The answer will always vary. A Jack-of-all-trades but master-of-none, this black is still figuring everything out in his attempt to find a place in this world.

  THE APPROACH: Encourage this black to find a focus, but show your support along the way.

  KEY PHRASES: “Sure, we can do lunch”; “Yes, I’ll listen to your new idea”; “Fine, I’ll donate to your Kickstarter.”

  The Insecure Black:

  Constantly concerned with how race plays a factor in their everyday life, these blacks get really uncomfortable when race is brought up, fearing that all eyes will be on them. Does everything have to be about race? they ask. They don’t offer opinions about Obama for fear of appearing biased. They listen to all genres of music, but generally try to stay away from hip-hop and R&B, as they don’t want to be categorized. Their biggest fear is the return of slavery or a mutiny against blacks.

  THE APPROACH: This black doesn’t want to rock the boat, so broach general subjects, like academia and pop culture. But make sure the references aren’t too loaded. So don’t ask if Miley Cyrus is appropriating black culture when she twerks. Also avoid hip-hop in general, and Kim K.

  KEY PHRASES: “What’s the latest in Popular Science news?”; “Aren’t babies cute?”; “The weather has been great/not so good.”

  The Know-It-All About Blacks Black:

  You might think I fall into this category, but I can assure you I don’t. These blacks insist they know all there is to know about blacks, where they came from and where they’re going. You may let it slip that you want to take swimming lessons. Mistake! The KIAAB Black will be quick to tell you that “black people don’t swim.” Do you have an idea that may progress the state of intra-racial relations? Don’t bother. KIAAB Blacks tends to be super-pessimistic about our future and resist anything new. They are happy to list everything that black people don’t do.

  THE APPROACH: The Awkward Black is too outside-the-box for the Know-It-All About Blacks Black to comprehend. If you’re black and say something a Know-It-All disagrees with, be prepared to be called white or whitewashed. For the general population, the KIAAB Black probably doesn’t want to associate with you. He/She is content with sitting back and judging you. There’s literally nothing you can do about it. Nothing.

  CONVERSATION TIPS: Avoid talking and don’t bother trying to change this black’s mind about anything.

  The LGBT Black:

  Just like blackness itself, the scope of the LGBT Black varies. Often torn between allegiances to two worlds, the LGBT Black finds him/herself at the bottom of the priority totem pole in both cases. Undervalued, unappreciated, and dismissed, many LGBT Blacks have a razor-edged chip on their shoulders. Others are perfectly content with who they are and are especially content with telling all of their business to anyone who will listen.

  THE APPROACH: Don’t bring up their sexuality if they don’t. If they do, engage. Don’t pry. Don’t judge. Don’t try to set them up with your frien
ds. Don’t assume gender. Don’t show your privilege. Don’t be misogynistic. Don’t be homophobic. Don’t be transphobic. Don’t be cissexist. Just STFU, STFU, STFU.

  KEY PHRASE: “I value you.”

  The Militant Black:

  Extremely proud to be black. For the Militant Black, everything is about race. This black experiences both pride and paranoia. This black has experienced racism at every turn and refuses to let you succumb to the same. Some militants are very hostile toward whites. Some are even bigoted where other ethnicities and nationalities are concerned. This black is often a Muslim convert and typically celebrates Kwanzaa and scoffs at you for celebrating white Jesus’s Christmas.

  THE APPROACH: In your attempts to appear tolerant, be wary of what comes out of your mouth to this black.

  CONVERSATION TIPS: Hold back—everything you say can and will be used against you and misconstrued.

  The Nerdy Black:

  Not to be confused with the Awkward Black, though some elements are interchangeable. The Nerdy Black is often socially hopeless. Where the Awkward Black constantly questions the social elements, often uncomfortably, the Nerdy Black is oblivious to any social cues whatsoever. Nerdy Blacks generally appreciate the crevices of pop culture. Science fiction, fantasy, fan fiction, reddit, conventions, video games—these things are all associated with nerd culture. Never underestimate the potential of the Nerdy Black.

  THE APPROACH: Don’t be judgmental of this black. For the Awkward Black, a beautiful friendship can be formed if you take the time to listen and learn. Awkward Blacks may find themselves the love interest of the Nerdy Black. You needn’t be afraid. These blacks understand what it’s like to be considered an outcast. Be gentle. For the general population, try not to confuse the Nerdy Black with hipsters. Nobody cares about hipsters and they don’t even deserve a category.