A Shoutout to the Weird Black Girls

The weird black girl. Queen of her niche, the epitome of intersectionality and yet so awfully

ostracised.

She’s esoteric but not in an endearing way. Not pale enough to be manic pixie dream girl

material, though I have to suppose that’s for the best,  seeing as pandering your weirdness

for the gaze of men isn’t something to aspire to.

It’s ironic though. To be a pillar of your community yet an outsider because you don’t fit

some narrowly crafted mould.

So why is she so alienated?

As you can guess, I grew up as this so-called ‘Weird Black Girl’. ‘Normal Girl’ by SZA was

practically my theme song.

My interests were intense, but I’d often cease talking about them for fear I would be judged.

Unless a friend brought up a shared fixation, I’d stay silent regarding my own, not letting

them stray any further than my buzzing mind.

As a result, I was a quiet child, only really thriving in online spaces where uniqueness was

expected, celebrated even.

Of course, like most, I had a Wattpad phase. But it was more than a phase for me. It was a

community. Skin colour isn’t the first thing someone sees about you when you’re hidden

behind a screen. I could just be associated with the things I loved. Physical attributes hold no

merit when you’re fan-girling in the comment section of a new fan-fic chapter.

I don’t think I ever grew out of my weird girl phase, rather evolved with it. It became a

lifestyle. Sure I’d still blast the same musicals I used to listen to in secret, but everyone grew

to love them. Particularly my white friends. And they were loud about it. I was

happy in some sense, to be able to talk about what was kept inside for so long, to gush

about what brought me joy, but I couldn’t help my underlying annoyance. 

I spent years keeping my interests private, years isolated and all of a sudden it was okay for them to be

weird about what used to be such a central part of my life. But then I realised it was always

okay for them to be weird about things. They didn’t have to consider the factor of their interests whitewashing them.

Skin colour, though always an unwavering factor, wasn’t the only issue. When one part of

my existence wasn’t contested, the next was.

I often felt an outsider to my own girlhood. I dressed femininely, adored makeup, skin-care

and other so-called ‘girly things’ like everyone else but that did not matter. I’d miss out on the

traditional experiences so intrinsic to my female friends. I never experienced the same

teenage love everyone else did. I even got told by a former friend that I was ‘too aggressive’

for anyone to want to be with me. Racism slipping in again of course.

My male friends often forgot I had the capacity to be feminine at all. I remember explicitly being told that I was not a

woman, just ‘Keesha’ by one of them. It was as a joke, but a part of me being discredited like that didn’t exactly seem humorous to me.

It was like something about me was off-putting. What would be appealing in any other context was off on me.

One part of myself always contradicted the other.

In the last half a decade, I became more alternative. But I came to realise I did not have the

Eurocentric features associated with it, and for some reason that mattered. Authenticity may

be punk but my fro was still too loud, my skin not pale enough for the deathly white gothic

makeup.

And my friends, though appreciating that part of me, couldn’t help but take the piss out of it

sometimes. The term grunge would be hurled at me every time I tried something different.

So much so I’d reject it, even if I’ve come to welcome it now.

Even my weirdness was policed. When I got to a point in my life of allowing it to take the

wheel, I was told I wasn’t weird enough. Being the ‘most normal’ felt like an insult even when

I had spent forever wishing I was that ‘normal girl.’

It is only now that I realise that all of it, everyone’s opinions, the debate of every facet of me,

the wish to be accepted, did not matter.

I will never be what someone wants me to be. It’s impossible. Someone will always want

something else, something more. I am a human being. I can’t fit into one box, and I’d be

awfully boring if I could.

So to all weird black girls reading this, embrace it. Your uniqueness is beautiful. Your intersectionality is something to be desired. Adore the fact that you cannot be categorised.

You are beyond cool, even if no one else has told you that.

Written by, La'Keesha Stewart