"You're so articulate!"
I was receiving an award as a young alumnus for my alma mater. I was the first Black woman to receive this prestigious award, and I accepted it in front of a predominately white audience.
I had the opportunity to give a short acceptance speech where I discussed my experiences as a doctoral student, and how achieving a Ph.D. wasn’t simply a degree credential but instead a symbol of the hard work and sacrifices that I—and my parents—made.
At the conclusion of my speech, an older white woman came up to me and said, “I enjoyed your speech, and you are so articulate.” While her comment may have been well-intentioned, I, as a Black woman, have to constantly interpret interactions with my white counterparts through a racialized lens. These well-intentioned comments and gestures show up as racial microaggressions to many people of color.
I couldn’t help but think that she said what she said because she didn’t expect a woman of color to be well-spoken or to possess a verbose vocabulary.
The Unwritten Expectations for Black Women
Even though I have spent most of my young adult career in predominately white spaces, I still experience this pervasive feeling of not completely belonging in the spaces I inhabit. There's an unshakeable and omnipresent belief that I am an outsider, an imposter, and a fraud. I constantly feel as if my actions and behaviors are under surveillance.
In a world where the achievements and accomplishments of young minority women are contested, and interrogated, I know that I must always appear competent and polished. Being articulate isn’t a free choice—it’s a forced choice for many women of color who know that appearing pleasant and intelligible in predominately white spaces is a survival tactic.
As an accomplished Black woman, I'm often met with assumptions that my life has been void of struggles and obstacles. I'm the first in my family to graduate college and earn a PhD, and I'm currently in a role that affords me both creative autonomy and positional power and influence.
I acknowledge that my accomplishments and professional stature have allowed me entry and access to more predominately white and affluent professional spaces—spaces where other women of color from less affluent backgrounds or professional positions would not have access to. Society tends to believe that when Black people have made it or achieved a requisite level of success—that they are exceptional, and most importantly, they are an exception to the rule.
The Birth + Myth of Black Exceptionalism
Black exceptionalism is a myth. Society tends to believe that Black people who express socially desirable attributes like being articulate, poised, and diplomatic are atypical, which is why they tend to be over-accentuated or highlighted in predominantly white spaces.
Racist stereotypes of Black womanhood have been deeply embedded in our nation’s history. During slavery, Black women were sexually exploited, raped, and treated as mere objects, without any value placed on their own humanity. Black women were also viewed as subservient, lacking intelligence and agency, serving primarily in the role of a maid and caregiver for their slave masters.
As Ronald Reagan expressed resentment and anguish towards the poor in the 1970s and 1980s, the myth of the Black welfare queen was born. Black women were seen as lazy, incapable of holding and maintaining a job, and over-dependent on government assistance.
We continue to see many of these images and portrayals of Black women in contemporary media, which often makes it difficult for different variations of Blackness to exist. Black exceptionalism is born from not seeing the multiple dimensions of Blackness that exist and not being exposed to Black people who exhibit many desirable and admirable traits, daily.
Black Exceptionalism Ignores Lived Realities
Black exceptionalism also ignores the lived realities of Black women. Even in spite of my success and accolades, as a Black woman, I still have to navigate the daily complexity of being both Black and a woman—and these complexities are often not readily understood by people who do not share these identities.
As a Black woman, my opinions are still discredited in meetings, I am often interrupted by men, and I still have to be hyperaware of what I say, how I dress, and how I move in predominately white spaces. When people of color defy societal odds or don’t conform to racist notions of how society believes they should act or what they should achieve, we glorify them and classify them as an exception to the rule.
The Urkel Effect
This is best exemplified by the “Urkel Effect,” a term derived from the character Steve Urkel on the critically acclimated show “Family Matters.” Urkel is a black male nerd with a quirky personality who stood in stark contrast from more stereotypical notions of Black manhood—athletic, uber-masculine, angry, or prone to violence or criminality.
Urkel became the glorified or celebrated version of Black manhood, as he is viewed as less threatening and more successful—or an exception to the widely held societal perceptions of Black men. The same is true for Black women. This is why society prefers women like Oprah over Cardi B or Megan Thee Stallion.
When Black women discuss their accomplishments in the workplace or choose to display themselves as cordial, wholesome, diplomatic, and non-confrontational, they are often more readily accepted—and many Black women know that.
As a result, in order to create a less contentious workplace and be accepted by their white counterparts, they display these more "favorable" characteristics and refrain from talking about how racism and gender discrimination has impacted their professional careers.
Here's The Lie
Viewing people of color through this lens leads us to falsely assume that because of their perceived success, they no longer have to navigate or undergo systemic discrimination. This also supports the commonly-held premise that we’re living in a post-racial society where racism is no longer impacting the daily lives of people of color.
The concept of the “exceptional Black women” assumes that success among Black women is abnormal or an anomaly. It also assumes that those who are successful aren’t like other Black women. This is why we victim-blame Black women who do not choose acceptable forms of societal success, and we typically view them as lazy, unruly, or unmotivated because they are unable to transcend racial and social stereotypes.
Many Black women have heard the remark from white colleagues or friends: “You’re not like other Black people.” Or perhaps they've been asked the question, "Why don't you act like other Black people?"
"You're Not Like Other Black People!"
This statement, while disguised as a compliment or an acknowledgment of your exceptionalism, is also inherently racist. It conveys that you are only being accepted or acknowledged due to your ability to display attributes that most closely resemble white standards of professionalism.
Black people who do not display an affinity towards whiteness are ostracized and barred from accessing their social circle. This is exactly how white supremacy is maintained. It happens when the white majority makes a strict delineation between which Black people are allowed in a given space based on the Black person’s propensity or ability to acquiescence to white culture.
Black exceptionalism doesn’t make room for Black women to choose their own culture. Black exceptionalism means that in order to be accepted, you must display an affinity towards whiteness.
Black women exceptionalism is a myth, and society only continues to reinforce it when we define socially desirable Black womanhood as limited to one type of persona. It denies Black women the individuality and humanity that is regularly afforded to white women.
Growing up, I learned early on that I had to work twice as hard and be twice as good as my white counterparts in order to succeed. We have to be articulate and poised to be viewed as credible. Black women are unable to be mediocre; we’re not allowed to fail or flounder. Being close to perfect is emotionally exhausting.
Black women exceptionalism is oppressive.
The next time you compliment a Black woman on how she presents herself or how articulate she may be, it’s important to reflect on how much of her individuality and authenticity she must hide in an effort to be seen as credible.
Black women need to be given permission to just be: to be embraced for being articulate and speaking in slang, to be poised and carefree and free to make mistakes. We need to embrace the multidimensionality of Black womanhood that exists.
