Blackprint: Why Society Fears Black Women

Hey loves,

I haven’t written here in over a month, but I’m back and better. I know I tend to drift in and out of blogging, disappearing for a while and returning, but life has been real. Proper adulting has been keeping me BUSY and STRESSED.

These past few months have been tumultuous, but with the support of my loved ones, I’m slowly finding my footing again. And here I am.

The internet was buzzing recently after an explosive moment on BkChat LDN. Ginga Jay went off on a panel discussion, openly saying he “doesn’t date Black women” and making some deeply unpleasant comments to fellow panellist Zilla. He criticised Black women for wearing lashes and hair extensions, implying that we are somehow undesirable. He even went as far as to say that Black women “don’t like to be put in their place” and “behave like men.”

Let’s unpack this, because what does it really mean?

For context, BkChat LDN is a platform where mainly Black men and women gather for brutally honest debates on topics ranging from dating and family life to personal experiences. It has been around for a few years, building a reputation for uncensored discussions.

But Ginga Jay’s outburst reminded us why Black women can never seem just to breathe. We are constantly policed, criticised, and belittled. We are accused of being masculine, isolated, or aggressive, and often the criticism comes from within our own communities. And the ironic thing is, he was the one being aggressive and unpleasant in his delivery, infringing on Zilla’s right to speak. Linguistically, men have long been prone to this kind of interruption, and unfortunately, it has been happening for as long as anyone can remember.

Sigh. Can we breathe?

This is not just about personal preference. When Black men openly berate Black women, it raises serious questions. How can someone speak so harshly about Black women while having mothers, sisters, aunties, and cousins in their own family? When the criticism targets our hair, skin tone, or assertiveness, it is no longer about dating preference. It becomes a relentless policing of Black women’s identity. More often than not, the attacks land on dark-skinned women, showing the deep-rooted colourism that continues to affect our communities.

Where is this hate coming from? Black people in general face systemic oppression, discrimination, and societal marginalisation. We are collectively at the bottom of many ladders socially, economically, and politically. Yet some still choose to tear down the women who share their struggles, history, and culture. This is more than interpersonal bias. It is a social phenomenon that reflects internalised hierarchies, colonial legacies, and colourism. The politics of beauty, power, and desirability are tied to centuries of oppression that tell Black women we are too much while also demanding we conform to impossible standards.

The philosophy of it is equally troubling. What does it mean to diminish someone for being unapologetically themselves? When Ginga Jay praises his non-Black partner while disparaging Black women, it is not a neutral statement of preference. It is a comparative act designed to make Black women appear lesser. It sends the message that Black women are inherently inferior or undesirable. This is not only harmful. It is dehumanising.

Sociologically, this reflects a failure of solidarity. Black women are not the enemy. They are part of the same community, enduring the same systemic pressures. The relentless critique fractures unity, perpetuates misogynoir, and allows harmful narratives to persist unchecked. When this happens publicly, on talk shows or social media, it reinforces cultural stereotypes and encourages others to do the same.

Change is needed. Preferences should never justify demeaning an entire group of people. Black men and society need to recognise Black women's humanity, worth, and beauty. Internalised biases must be challenged, and solidarity must replace criticism. Appreciation and respect should come without comparison. Praise for one should never mean disparagement of another.

We have to dismantle misogynoir at every level, personal, social, and systemic. Being a Black woman is not a flaw. It is a statement of resilience, power, and identity. When we recognise this, hold people accountable, and refuse to accept belittlement as a preference, we move closer to a culture that uplifts instead of tears down.

We need to look at its politics to understand why this behaviour persists. The treatment of Black women is not just a personal or social issue. Misogynoir, the specific intersection of racism and sexism faced by Black women, is reinforced by systems that benefit from division within the community. When Black women are criticised, it distracts from larger structural issues such as economic inequality, discrimination in the workplace, and underrepresentation in positions of power. The result is a form of social control where Black women are positioned as other, and the focus shifts from collective liberation to individual blame.

Another key concept is colourism, the preferential treatment of lighter-skinned individuals over darker-skinned individuals within the same racial group. This is why so many attacks specifically target dark-skinned Black women. Colourism is a legacy of colonialism and slavery, where lighter skin was historically associated with proximity to whiteness, privilege, and social advantage. Recognising colourism is essential because it shows that these attacks are not random. They are part of a historical pattern that continues to shape beauty standards, desirability, and social capital today.

This raises a difficult question. Could these dynamics be part of why some Black men choose to date women with lighter complexions or women who fit into Eurocentric beauty standards? Eurocentric standards are societal ideals of beauty rooted in European features, such as lighter skin, straight hair, or narrower noses. While attraction is personal, privileging Eurocentric traits over natural Black features contributes to the isolation and devaluation of Black women. It reinforces the idea that Black women are less desirable within their own communities, perpetuating internalised biases and systemic inequities.

We also see the politics of representation and narrative control at play. When figures like Ginga Jay publicly compare Black women to non-Black partners, they are shaping cultural narratives about who is deemed worthy of love, respect, and attention. This feeds into stereotypes, reinforces social hierarchies, and normalises discrimination. It is not just about personal preference. It concerns who gets seen as desirable, influential, or usual in society.

Finally, there is the concept of intra-community accountability. In many communities, particularly marginalised ones, there is a shared responsibility to uplift one another. When Black men critique Black women in harmful ways, it undermines this accountability. It erodes trust, perpetuates misogynoir, and weakens the social fabric. Understanding this helps us see that the problem is bigger than individual comments. It is about how historical legacies, systemic oppression, and cultural narratives intersect to shape daily life for Black women.

Recognising these dynamics is the first step towards change. It is not enough to call out a single comment. We must challenge the systems, histories, and internalised biases that allow these patterns to persist. Black men and society at large must question preferences, confront internalised colourism, and actively support Black women. Only then can we move towards a community and culture that values everyone equally, celebrates diversity within the Black community, and dismantles harmful narratives that have been centuries in the making.

Black women are strong, resilient, and unstoppable.

We are the blueprint.

Disrespect is not a preference. It is a choice, and it must end.

With love and curiosity,

Just Jenni