You Can't Touch My Hair

by Phoebe Robinson

  10. Speaking of white dudes, the sequel. Make it so that Michael Fassbender is legally required to have sex with me, which is a bill I’m pretty sure everyone in the Senate and House of Representatives would automatically get behind. I mean, don’t you feel like the phrase reaching across the aisle was created for situations like this? And before you think he would be opposed to this, I’ve done the research. He’s already into black chicks (his exes include Zoë Kravitz and Sleepy Hollow’s Nicole Beharie), so why wouldn’t he be down to get with an above-average-looking black chick (read: me) who has a middling comedy career and 750 points on her Walgreens Balance Rewards card? Also, because he’s into black women, I wouldn’t have to explain anything to him about black hair (but he’d still read this book because he loves me). I just get the sense that he’s the type of dude who would straight up buy our half-black daughter a #BlackIsBeautiful T-shirt and help her with her book report on Thurgood Marshall. That’s mad cute.

  OK, Future Female President, this has been a really good talk. And yes, I’m aware that I’ve been doing all the “talking,” but I’m a stand-up comic, so me saying all of the words without anyone else chiming in is considered “conversation.” With that out of the way, let’s return to you. I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but I’m fairly certain that you can handle these few requests from me. If not, I’m totally down to come to DC and help you accomplish some of the things on this list. Ooh! You can give me an office, some fancy-pants title, and I can wear fierce clothes like they did on Gossip Girl. Don’t worry, I’ll cover my own moving costs, and so you don’t have to waste any brainpower, I already came up with a bunch of ideas for what my job title can be. All you have to do is choose one:

  Chairwoman of Making Sure Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison” Is Always Played at Holiday Parties

  Secretary of . . . Look, It Doesn’t Matter. Phoebe’s Cool, So She Works Here Now. You Got a Problem with That?

  Super Dope Best Black Friend, but Not in the Offensive Way That Hollywood Does It

  Executive Director of Executive Shit That Needs Directing

  Fiiiiiiiine. Ya got me! I just made these titles up on the spot right now, but whatever. We can figure out my exact title and salary later. The important thing is that I have a brand-new, primo job so I can go to my high school reunion and not have to pull a Romy and Michele by making up some crazy lie about inventing Post-its. LOL. How embarrassing, right? Like get a real job, ladies, like I did. Anyway, I’m really looking forward to working with you, and I’m even more jazzed about taking really long and unprofessional lunch breaks because working in an office kind of sucks. Not sure how you do it, but that’s why you’re the president and I’m just a lowly executive. Wow, I don’t know about you, but I have a strong feeling that we’re going to make a great team. A team in which you do all of the work, à la Nicole Scherzinger of the Pussycat Dolls, while I just look really cute, like all the other people in the Pussycat Dolls. Who else was in the Pussycat Dolls? Exactly. Am I going to ride your coattails to financial success like they did Nicole’s? Of course. Will you eventually grow to resent me because I’m practically dead-weight, the way Nicole probably does the other Pussys? Naturally. Regardless, this has been, say it with me, Future Female President: A. Great. Talk. See you soon!

  xoxo,

  P.S. After watching the movie Creed, I’d like to take a moment and amend number ten above to “Michael Fassbender or Michael B. Jordan.” Holy hell, MBJ is the heaven that’s depicted in Kraft’s Philadelphia Cream Cheese commercials. Yum.

  P.P.S. If I’m being completely honest, I think I’m down for most Michaels at this point. Michael Fassbender. Michael B. Jordan. Michael Jordan without the B (and pre–the Hitler mustache). Also I’m a hard yes to Michael Keaton, whose real last name, fun fact, is Douglas, yet I’m a soft no to the OG Michael Douglas. Don’t know why. He just doesn’t melt my butter. Let’s see . . . what other Michaels are there? Michael Ealy? Yes, obvs. Michael Bublé? Sure. Michael Strahan and Michael Phelps: Why not? And finally, I’m a “Girl, if he’s good enough for David Bowie, then he’s good enough for me” to Sir Michael Philip “Mick” Jagger.

  How to Avoid Being the Black Friend

  As someone who attended a private Catholic prep school, followed by a New York City liberal arts college, and now works in TV and film, being The Black Friend is something I’m all too familiar with. Usually the realization that I’m TBF happens around the fifth or sixth time a white buddy of mine invites me to a group hang, and I notice that my presence is like that of a singular dash of black pepper in a bowl of grits. To be fair, that is somewhat understandable; the numbers aren’t in my favor. The 2013 US Census confirms that black people comprise only 14.2 percent of the American population. So knowing that, I don’t expect to be surrounded by folks who look like me; however, I think it’s well within reason to not be constantly reminded that I’m the only of my kind or (and this is far worse) be made to feel I’m someone’s friend merely to fill a quota or to confirm that they’re not racist. As most POCs can attest to, being used in that manner is the crummiest feeling in the world. If you’re not a POC, let me explain it this way. Finding out you’re a token is like when on Maury, the women learn that the guy they thought was the father is not the father, so the ladies run off set and throughout the Maury Povich studios for a place to hide, but they can’t find one because every room they go into has a cameraman, so the women finally collapse onto a dusty futon near the parking garage and scream, “It’s not true! It’s not true!” Being The Black Friend is like that but times 1,000.

  If you still need further explanation or if you’re black and not sure that you’ve ever been TBF, let me give you some examples via my remix of Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck” series. You Might Be The Black Friend If . . .

  You’re constantly treated like a physical manifestation of the “You Might Also Like” section on Amazon.com (but only for “black people stuff,” obvs): “Hey, Pheebs, I just listened to Kendrick Lamar’s album on Spotify. Who else should I check out? Childish Gambino? Big Sean?” Huh? As if there’s no possible way that I would suggest something other than rappers? Like Esperanza Spalding or Arcade Fire or Genesis, both the Peter Gabriel and the Phil Collins years, and want to talk about that? OK.

  Someone says to you, “I wish I was black because then I would be a really good dancer/have a great wardrobe/tell people to kiss my black ass and it would make sense,” and you’d rather hurl your body into outer space à la George Clooney in Gravity than listen to another second of this foolishness. #LiteralDeathIsBetterThanAWhitePersonSayingTheyWouldGiveUpTheirPrivilegeToDanceTheSoulTrainLine

  If your white buddy treats you and the black coworker they know like two leftover socks from a load of laundry that are roughly the same size and color, but clearly weren’t sold together, aka they decide you and his coworker need to date because that person is also black.

  Sound familiar? Thought so. Well, my friends, this is a new dawn, a new day, a new life for me, and I’m feeling good because I’ve figured out how to avoid being The Black Friend, and I’m sharing my wisdom with you, so pay attention.

  1. Don’t Be Black

  HAHA. LOL. J/K! That was just a little something something to get you going. Carry on.

  2. In Times of Need Say, “Don’t You Legend of Bagger Vance Me.” It Is the Equivalent of “Satan, I Rebuke You in the Name of Jesus.” Use It Wisely. Use It Often.

  Maybe your white comrade has seen too many romantic comedies in which the black best friend exists solely to be the protagonist’s confidante, providing humorous takes on her pal’s love and work life. Or perhaps The Help isn’t On Demand anymore, but your white friend still needs to get his “You is kind, you is smart, you is important” fix, so he turns to you. Whatever the case may be, your name is not Frank Gehry, so it’s not your job to build white folk up whenever they need an ego boost. If you’re only called
upon when your friend is down in the dumps or needs comic relief, then you, my friend, are like Will Smith’s character in Legend of Bagger Vance. Nothing but a mystical and ageless 1930s caddy (read: magical Negro) who appears out of nowhere to help a down-and-out golfer find his swing again and reunite with an ex-girlfriend, and then he disappears and materializes decades later to help another white person with golf. Did this dude not know Martin Luther King Jr. was a person? Furthermore, did Bagger Vance not realize he himself was black? And most important, did he not realize that he was a magical, mystical black dude who has the ability to time jump? When you are a magical, mystical black dude who has the ability to time jump, you have ONE JOB: Make life better for black people in big and small ways. That’s it! That’s all you gotta do.

  I mean, you could’ve skipped to the ’50s and been the hype man for Rosa Parks when she refused to give up her seat on the bus. A few Awww, shits would have been perfect. You could’ve gone to the ’60s and put some Gold Bond foot powder in MLK’s wingtips to help keep them smelling fresh while he’s marching, and I would be like, “Great job.” You could have hit up the ’80s and found a black person to direct The Color Purple the way it should have been. No shade to Steven Spielberg; he did a good job, but he shied away from a lot of the book’s ugliness in a way that a black director simply wouldn’t have. The options are practically endless, Vance! Yet, you were like, “I’m going to be straight chilling in the racist-ass 1930s so I can help this white dude win a golf tournament.” This is why we can’t have nice things.

  Anyway, the point is that if you are nothing more than a self-help coach for a white friend, you’ve been Vance’d. Now, don’t panic. Remain calm. Seek medical attention immediately, but if you’re not near a hospital, this simple at-home remedy always does the trick:

  Say “Don’t You Legend of Bagger Vance Me” three times and you’ll be transported to your safe space. In case you were wondering what mine is, it’s bottomless brunch. Literally at any restaurant. Doesn’t matter. All that’s important is that when I say this phrase, I open my eyes, and I’m sitting across from a Helen, two Gails, and a Denise, getting day drunk.

  Once at your desired safe space, make a George Washington Carver shrine, which is just stacks of Jif jars and lit peanut butter–scented Glade candles, and ask for serenity.

  Take a shot of tequila. Or two. Or three. Whatever it takes to make you feel like you’re being covered in Anita Baker kisses.

  Repeat until symptoms go away.

  3. Do Not Start Any Friendships with White People during the Summer Months

  This may seem extreme, but hear me out. Inevitably, at some point during the summer, a white person will say to you, “Haha. I’m blacker than you,” after she gets a tan and presses her arm against yours like she’s doing a paint swatch comparison at Home Depot. This is not a good way to begin a friendship. You’ll feel weird while your new pal will feel content in finding the one black person required to conduct this color test; therefore, no other black friends are necessary. And you know what that means: You’re The Black Friend. So skip this awkwardness and wait until October to befriend some white peeps when you two can bond over pumpkin spice lattes.

  4. While Tempting, Do Not Take on the Role of Arbiter of Cool

  Don’t get me wrong; at first, it’ll feel awesome that people consider you judge and jury on what’s dope or not. But that gets old real quick, right around the time a white friend will ask you to cosign their coolness because they know the theme song to a ’90s black sitcom. Despite your pleas, they will demonstrate by going, “Mo to the E to the—” Stop them right there. “Mo to the E to the” doesn’t count because the Moesha theme song is mostly just those six words on the repeat. Tell that person to get back to you when they have the 227 theme song down pat.

  5. Call People Out When They Say Unintentionally and Intentionally Racist Garbage

  “Hey, what are you going to do to celebrate MLK Day? Eat fried chicken and watermelon?”

  No, this is not an excerpt from some cheesy after-school special in which white students are comically racist but it all sort of works out in the end because the ostracized black student rises above and graduates with honors. Nope. This was a real comment that was said to me while hanging out with a few white peeps back in college. In 2004. In Brooklyn, which is richly diverse. And everyone laughed at it. I was told this comment was only a “joke.” Hell to the no. I don’t care how chummy we are, you don’t get to be racist in the name of comedy. There’s nothing funny about reducing me to the damaging stereotypes that have stuck around for centuries. Unfortunately, in that moment, that’s not what I said. Being the only person of color in the room, I was uncomfortable and felt embarrassed, so I left. Big mistake.

  I should have spoken up, but I didn’t, because on some level, I still cared what they thought of me, even though they clearly didn’t think much about my feelings. And, unfortunately, this series of events—being wronged by another party and saying nothing about it—is all too familiar for many black people, especially black women. Often, we will not defend ourselves against micro-aggressions for fear of being labeled “the angry black woman.” It’s just easier to internalize these things rather than burden the offenders by calling them out. Well, I’m older and wiser, so screw that. If someone is going to be racist toward you, BURDEN them. Place upon their racist little shoulders all the reasons why their trifling comments will not be tolerated. And if they fire back that you’re too sensitive or that you’re angry or that you’re just out to make everything about race, that’s when you tell them to send all complaints and comments to my e-mail address: LookingForAFuckToGiveButCouldNotFindOneSoGirlBye@gmail.com.

  The same goes for the less offensively rude stuff, like someone stating that you’re not black because you speak in a certain way, eat certain kinds of foods, or know how to swim. While these are not likely to ruin your day, these comments fall in the column of lazy-ass ignorance, right underneath “the batteries in my remote died and I don’t feel like getting up, so I guess I’m watching Degrassi for the next two hours.” While I understand that half the time people are merely regurgitating whatever nonsense they heard from family, friends, and the media without thinking, it doesn’t change the fact that they repeated it, so they cannot deny culpability. So it is up to you and me to call out this behavior every time it transpires. If the offenders are good people who made a mistake, I will allow you to find the tiniest of fucks to give about their damaged feels. And if after you present that minuscule fuck and they still don’t get why they’re in the wrong, or try to defend themselves, then, by all means, tell them to e-mail me at the above address and I’ll educate them myself.

  6. Do Not, I Repeat, DO NOT Cosign Nonblack People Singing the N-Word around You Because Y’all Are Listening to Rap

  Because you will now be the go-to black person when they need approval to do other ignorant, racially insensitive things. So if anyone tries to get away with rapping the N-word to your face, I give you permission to snatch all the hairs off their chinny chin chins as well as the rest of their body. And they can spend the rest of the evening trying to piece their hair back on themselves like they have to papier-mâché together a piñata last minute for a quinceañera they didn’t know they were hosting.

  7. Don’t Let February Turn into a Twenty-Eight-Day Press Conference in Which You Are the One Answering All the Questions

  Most black people have experienced this moment: The teacher brings up the civil rights movement and all your classmates are staring at you the way groups of married couples did with one another during 1970s key parties while deciding if they wanted to play a game of “Pass the Peen.” Everyone is waiting to see what you’re going to say about some of America’s darkest times, and it becomes super uncomfortable. Your classmates and teachers aren’t entirely at fault, though. Folks like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who seem to be summoned every time three old black chu
rch ladies say, “Oh, Lawd,” in unison while fanning themselves, rarely miss a chance to speak for the entire black community, whether that is asked for or not (and often it isn’t). So the assumption that black people are a monolith and that any one of them, including you, can speak on behalf of all blacks is slightly understandable (but still not OK). I urge you to resist the peer pressure. Don’t be the spokesperson just to get everyone to stop staring at you. You’ll end up frustrated, and your fellow students and teacher will erroneously believe what you said is how all blacks feel about a particular topic. Instead, do what I do when someone asks me to sum up the opinions of the nearly forty-five million black people who live in this country: Ctrl + alt + del the conversation and shut it down like it’s a Dell computer.

  8. Tell People to Take Off the Kid Gloves

  Once I was getting ready for a first date, and a white girlfriend of mine said to me, completely innocently, “You can use my makeup if you want.” Sigh. I get that there are good intentions behind the whole “I don’t see color” theory, but it’s makeup. Makeup’s whole jam and jelly is painting one’s face with colors that will make it look like she woke up like dis. But if I wear white people makeup foundation, I won’t look like I woke up like dis, I will look like I motorboated a mound of cocaine, Tony Montana–style.

  This makeup scenario is just one example of many situations black people go through when others pretend that race and racism don’t exist. Of course, this hypercorrection is born from good intentions, but it’s still not helping matters. When others pretend that they’ve never noticed you’re black, or tense up anytime the word black is mentioned, then they are treating you like The Black Friend, aka their “special” friend. No one likes being the special friend because the special friend is the person everyone has to tiptoe around for fear of offending him or her. It’s the person who ends up being the example that people can show to the world and go, “See? I’m so enlightened because I’m friending the eff out of this black person who I didn’t even notice is black, by the way.” It’s the person who is treated as a fragile object and not a person. Well, guess what, kid glove wearers, black people aren’t fragile. History has proven that by now. So take off the gloves, put them away, and help your friend, who happens to be black, pick out some blush from the Iman collection.