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All of this has shed a glaring light on my internal struggle.
About a year ago, I came across an article entitled "28 Questions for Black Men Who Only Date White Men." Each question from the article was a damning indictment of my apparently not-so-simple dating choices.
I’m quickly approaching my 25th birthday and have come to the realization that I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. That's not uncommon among millennials, but as a Black gay man, I've begun to wonder how my race has affected my chances of finding love.
I like to think of myself as someone who’s adventurous when it comes to love and sex, someone who’d never rule out potential partners or new experiences.
When I’m on Tinder, the men I’m more likely to swipe right are usually athletic white men between 21 and 30.
But when I discussed my issue with friends, other queer men of color, they all said I have a type: white men.
I tried to deny it, but when I thought about my dating history, I realized that my friends were right.
He wrote, "As Black men, we need to value ourselves so much that no outside force, no prejudice — even one guised as preference — can make us feel second place." Clearly, this dialogue wasn’t only happening in my head.
A larger conversation about the racist, fat-phobic, and misogynist language of gay dating apps has also begun, which has allowed me to see that my dating prospects may also be a result of problematic societal messaging.