cw: eating disorder mention
I’ve never been the type of person to “hate-watch” or “hate-follow” someone. I do the exact opposite—I block and delete and avoid so I don’t have to come across people I don’t fuck with anymore. I don’t know how anyone gets any sense of satisfaction from getting news or content or information about a person that draws up feelings of hatred. Not how I want to be spending my time.
But I accidentally found myself doing that exact thing this evening, hate-watching a show for a dance group I kinda-sorta-used-still am (?)-a -part-of. I had volunteered to be an usher so that I could watch the show for free. I had signed up for this specific showing because it had ASL interpretation (which could have been better integrated, accessibility was definitely an afterthought at times in this production, but that is not the focus of this piece) which I thought would be cool and was really excited to see (I am learning ASL and as a hard of hearing person ASL access is becoming increasingly important to me). I left this dance group at one point for two reasons. One, because it was failing at its mission to be truly inclusive of dancers from all backgrounds and levels of experience, including no experience. The board that had been voted in at the time was unfortunately a clique of friends and they were more concerned about making sure all the pieces were well-put together and that they got to star in as many as they wanted, and so it became not fun if you weren’t already an established dancer or connected to one of the board members. The second reason was that there was a man, a cis queer white man, who I had trusted and who caused me a lot of interpersonal harm that I felt incredibly unsafe around. Unfortunately for me, not only was he a part of the clique and the executive board, and having the privileges and power that comes with being a normatively gendered cisgender white man, but he was incredibly charismatic and the type of person that people who tend to not look too deeply into a person’s character (say, shallow college students for example) would never think to question his “goodness” or “niceness,” especially not from the angry darkie genderqueer negro. Who would ever choose me over him?
He is not the only man to make feel unsafe on this campus. While most of them are gone now, the spaces they used to occupy are still associated with the tensions and anxieties the thought of them bring up in me. I avoid dining halls, extracurriculars, former mutual friends, dorms, and hangout spaces, all in an effort to protect myself from them, or memories of them. And as this university has long kept me on the margins, most of the time I am successful. But then there are nights like tonight, and I begin to question all over again if I can ever be safe here (the answer is no, btw. it’s not possible, ever).
But maybe I should tell you why I first joined this dance group. When I got to college, I was looking to explore myself. I grew up in an authoritarian household and self-expression (among other things) were limited. I wanted to be an individual, and try new things. I auditioned for dance groups and poetry groups and didn’t get in. But this was the largest dance group on campus, no auditions, and it had a beginner friendly dance! My choreographer was from Zimbabwe! Getting to dance with other queer people, with other Africans, to “our” music, was really fun! Exciting! I was still quiet and reserved, but they made a place for me there. I got to rock it out to Beyoncé with a bunch of people cheering me on no matter what. It was a very positive and supportive environment, and I’m glad I had that space and opportunity my first year.
As much as I really enjoyed dancing with this group, it was really hard to maintain. People at my university basically compete for who can be involved in as many different extracurricular or projects at once. I was limited by my mental health, undiagnosed disabilities, and my academic struggles. And also, my family trying to control me from afar. so my sophomore year, I lost access to that dancing space, unwillingly. And that is what spurred the feelings of hate as I watched the show tonight. because it reminded me of how I had to quit all of my extracurriculars because one of the medications I was taking made me randomly black out and the other made me sleep 14-16 hours a day. I barely had time to attend class, let alone do home work and show up to dance practice. I was forced to take a reduced courseload, when I really shouldn’t have been enrolled in school that semester at all. But I was homeless, and school gave me (temporary) housing, and so I was stuck being isolated and lonely. I couldn’t really socialize because my eating disorder was so extreme at that point that eating in front of anyone gave me severe panic attacks, so I had to eat alone, in my room, out of sight. It’s no fun to only be able to hang out with a friend 1-1 in their dorm room, the only space they cannot be triggered, between the hours of 4pm and 8pm on Friday or Saturday evenings. I couldn’t go out to parties, late night hangouts, or do anything spontaneous. I couldn’t get lunch or dinner, and when I wasn’t in class, I was studying. And even with such a strict schedule I was mentally unwell, rapid cycling, binging and starving, hurting myself. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t actively a part of the dance group anyhow, because it had become a bunch of white and non-queer people voguing because it was “trendy” or five Beyoncé songs in a row. The shows were kind of a mess. But there was still the feeling of missing out.
Then the pandemic hit, I took time off from school, and when I returned, nothing was the same. the pandemic was various levels of hard for everyone, but I think it was a particular level of hard as a disabled genderfluid kid living in a city where I knew no one, in an apartment I couldn’t afford, with someone who didn’t understand me. I came back wanting to bring jersey music and afropop into the dance space, but nobody knew enough about it, and didn’t care to listen. I wanted to bring in accessibility, but no one cared about that either. I tried to lead a workshop combining both of those interests, but had low turnout due to my studio reservations time being changed at the last minute. It didn’t matter.
then we had a new board voted in, one of the presidents being an international student who revolutionized the group and made it a worthwhile space to engage with again. i personally wrote him an email thanking him because i felt like the group was returning to its center. and then, tonight’s show, while mostly full of good acts, had an all non-Black group dancing to Lil Nas X’s
“Call Me By Your Name,” and other songs by Black artists. The group always borders on cultural appropriation in the way that they are obsessed with Black music but most of the dancers are non-Black, or don’t have even a single Black dancer.
Another aspect of the show that stirred up unpleasant feelings in me is noticing the role of Black women in these performances. I really love to see Black women being their most beautiful selves. I saw many people who I know would never be able to remember that we were ever in the same original class being confident and sassy and beautiful on stage. and it reminded me of how exclusive Black women are on this campus. The relations between Black students of my original class and above was not great, there was mad beef, mad sexism, mad colorism, mad transphobia, mad classism, mad elitism, and I couldn’t fuck with any of them (or, more aptly put, none of them could fuck with me). I don’t speak often on my identity as a Black woman because it is contentious. It is contentious first of all because I never had access to black girlhood. Dark skinned girls are always masculinized, but being noticeably extremely hairy from the age of 6, I was constantly tested and taunted and referred to as a “man” or some other non-woman entity, like frog. my fatness, my hairiness, my lack of social skills made me the odd one out and so I could never be a black girl. I was an it. This happened at home, at school, at church. When my high levels of testosterone (which would eventually turn into PCOS) had me growing a beard at 14, my Black feminity was irrevocably removed—there was nothing I could do to change that fact. While I have always been genderfluid, the gender I ironically feel the most insecure claiming is the one that I was assigned on my birth certificate. Because even though that’s what that piece of paper says, I was never treated like a Black girl or a Black woman.
I’ve always had trouble identifying with and relating to Black women and girls, especially within my age range, because I have a lot of jealousy. Some parts of it is colorism and texturism, but most of it is the fact that even if the validity of their gender was ever to be questioned, there would be someone to back them up. But no one has ever come to defend or affirm my womanhood. I’ve been ridiculed multiple times, but no one has ever respected my womanhood. And if I can not be in community with Black women, then there is no viability of community with women of other races.
I wanted to change my experiences when I got to college, but it was hard to be in community with other Black women when I’ve been told that I’m “letting myself go” because I don’t walk out of my house with a full face of make up and my body dared to gain weight. For the Black girls who had gone to boarding schools or private schools or just really well-to-do public schools, this majority white institution was the first time they had ever experienced Black community—and it was with a bunch of other Black women who were considerably lighter than a Hershey’s bar, and came from economic privilege that I had never imagined. But I got called out for being divisive by naming class divisions, or an alternate experience of this place—the shock of coming from a place where everybody is Black and migrating to a place where most people are not. It didn’t help that my Black womanhood made other Black women uncomfortable because it involved he/him pronouns and a beard, that it was not static but temporal. In their eyes I was better off with the whyte gays who got “that complicated gender shit” instead of trying to complicate their space and detract from it. And that made me further isolated and angry, creating emotional roadblocks that I don’t think ever can be worked through (especially as my time here comes to an end). When the former BMU president was charged with sexual assault allegations, I found myself feeling numb and disengaged, unable to drudge up any scrap of support for cis Black women on campus being harmed, because nobody cared when it was us genderqueer folx experiencing harm from people who are supposed to be community. It was not a grudge per se, I just felt like I could not be connected to that fight.
I’m writing these words here because I don’t know anyone else who would specifically get it. Like, I came to college with a lot of hopes and dreams and aspirations. But because I did not have the support and care that most other people have (to some degree) I had to settle with the fact that I was never going to fulfill my full potential here. And the closer I get to graduation (which I am not going to, for all the reasons stated above and more) the more real that gets, the harder it hits home for me. Like, that dance group is not accessible to me because of my disabilties, and it was never going to be. It never wanted to be. Black women never wanted to be in relationship or in friendships with me, and they were never going to. I am not one of them, they never saw me as a community member, and they aren’t looking to include me. I am not desired by them or by that dance group. And that goes for almost every social scene on campus, whether I tried to actively engage or not. I saw part of a reel the other day that was like, you do not have imposter syndrome, you are an imposter. This place was not created with you in mind, and you were not meant for it. It does not want to make space for you, and it’s not going to. It wants to kick you out. That has been my entire college career. I am not wanted or included anywhere, and I am met with considerable pushback when I try to create spaces for myself or force myself in. I am not prioritized or valued. And it really sucks to sit with that. Because rejection is one thing, but to spend 5 years of my life somewhere and to not feel accepted anywhere I go? I don’t even feel accepted in my own home because I have a shitty ass relationship with my housemate. I tried to follow what would give me joy, to avoid or to leave what was making me miserable, but everything has brought me back to misery one way or another. And that’s unfortunate, depressing, but also my reality. And that’s how I ended up accidentally hate-watching a 90min dance show.
I don’t have any advice or suggestions about how to cope with this if you find yourself in a similar position. I can say that I recognize you, I feel you, and we can be in solidarity in our frustration and grief (because I am definitely grieving what I lost coming to this university. It was at a great cost).
protect your peace bbs
idk just words yameen 