Welcome back to 100 Dates in Houston, a dating blog series chronicling my journey as a thirty-something woman on a quest to go on100 dates in Houston, Texas to find the love of my life. In this post, I share my experience and conclusions about interracial dating. If you’re new here, start with my intro post, explaining the details of this challenge. Enjoy!
Are you ready to jump into date #24, my second with The Italian? Remember, the prickly conversation we had about race? Well, it gets even better! (Take that any way you like. 🙃)
Date #24 – The Pit Room
After reading through my blog, The Italian theorized that Blasian Bae was the man to beat. So to top my Korean barbeque experience, he suggested I try “the best barbeque in town.”
The Pit Room in Montrose was one of the first legit barbecue spots to hit central Houston. Unlike other knock-off barbecue joints in the city, The Pit Room uses real wood and has two five-hundred-gallon barrel smokers. As I pulled up to the restaurant and walked towards the patio, I immediately noticed the scent of burnt oak drifting through the air. I’ve only tried a few barbecue spots in Houston, but based on my limited knowledge, The Italian was right – The Pit Room has been the best to date!
My date and I sat outside enjoying brisket and chatting while the sun set and a full moon rose. I liked that he had a sense of humor and a silly personality. He held strong convictions. True to his culture, he spoke with passion and used his hands for emphasis when words weren’t enough. He upheld traditional gender roles and wouldn’t let me touch doors or my wallet. Yet at the same time, he supported women’s rights – one of my favorite green flags!
However, between bites and travel stories, The Italian would occasionally pull a vape out of his pocket and take a few drags. 😖 Immediate points deduction…
Part 2- Bar Boheme
We’d been enjoying our time together and decided to extend our date for part two. The Italian knew I loved Salsa and professed to be a decent dancer himself. We figured the Friday night live salsa set at Bar Boheme, just a five-minute drive from The Pit Room, would be a nice way to conclude the evening.
Although it was still early, the bar was already abuzz with people when we arrived. Rather than squeezing onto the crowded dance floor, we made our way to the outdoor patio towards the back of the building. I enjoyed a Kentucky mule as we continued to chat the night away. I liked the Italian. He was a cool guy. But I wasn’t quite sure I felt a romantic spark.
And then the pebble in my shoe reappeared…
can I touch your hair?
“Can I touch your hair?” The Italian asked as we sat talking.
He’d never touched hair like mine and was curious.
I’m generally comfortable with my hair being touched with my consent, so I allowed it. Not only had The Italian asked for permission, but we were on a date. A caress of the hair is not so unusual given the circumstances.
Yet something in me felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t the act of him touching my hair that rubbed me wrong. It was the request itself. As a non-American, The Italian didn’t realize that such an ask was quite loaded.
“I can’t run my fingers through it. It kind of gets caught.”
Well, buddy, I don’t know what to tell you. I thought to myself.
I knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but was speaking in ignorance, so I chose not to respond to his comment.
We finished our drinks and moved towards the dancefloor where the band was playing. I swayed my hips to a Bachata four-count. My date bopped up and down. He had no clue what he was doing as he twirled me around off-beat to the tune of his own rhythm. I was having fun, so I didn’t mind.
And then the pebble grew to a rock . . .
“Teach me how to dance like Black people.”
“What?!” I asked, stunned at his invitation. “Black people don’t dance a certain way,” I shouted back over the music. And even if they did, I certainly wouldn’t be the one to teach him — I just found my rhythm a few years ago.🤷🏾♀️ 🥴
The request had been playful and innocent, yet also ignorant. Both amused and turned off, I chuckled, shook my head, and kept dancing. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if I should have said more.
Following his ridiculous request, my date and I moved to another patio, away from the crowd, but still close to the music. The Italian acknowledged he hadn’t a clue about Latin dancing.
“That’s ok. Just do what you feel.” I suggested it without thinking.
Immediately, The Italian’s countenance shifted. It was a familiar expression, universal to men of nearly all cultures and common across ethnic backgrounds. It was the look of desire.
His stance matched his expression as he positioned his body closer to mine, head tilted slightly to the side.
“Oh yeah? Do what I feel?” He flirted with bedroom eyes.
His expression needed no translation and neither did my reaction. I shrunk back – not quite a recoil, but strong enough to notice. I wasn’t ready to welcome a kiss.
“Ok, you’re not ready. Everyone has a different pace.”
We lingered at the bar a while longer and eventually called it a night. My date walked me to my car and left me with a hug. Later that night, he checked in with the obligatory “Did you make it home” message. I appreciated his chivalry.
The Verdict
Date #24 hadn’t been so bad. He had been a gentleman, funny, and engaging. However, The Italian was ignorant of some of the basic cultural nuances that matter to Black people – or at least those that matter to me.
Over the next few days, I pondered whether or not I could entertain a relationship in which I would have to educate my partner on why it’s inappropriate to say things like “teach me how to dance like a Black person.” Did I want to take on the labor of educating a well-intentioned but ill-informed adult man? And what about raising a little Black child in such a scenario? If these issues were arising so early on, they’d likely only intensify down the line.
I returned to the standards and boundaries list I’d crafted while working with Coach Joyice. (Here’s a post where I explain the tool and why I love it.) Towards the bottom of the list was my answer, clear as day.
“Understands and is sensitive to the cultural issues impacting Black women.”
Strangely enough, that standard hadn’t been created for White men. I’d written it after one too many negative experiences with Black men who held preferences for non-Black women. (See Malcolm X and Mr. Hairline for a reference). These men struggled to understand my hurt and frustration as they articulated their preferences for those unlike me – while also trying to date me.
I had expected better of those men and believed (perhaps naively) they would know better. You see, I have little patience for those who are willfully obtuse about issues of racial bias and gender inequality. Black men know the facts and understand issues of colorism, prejudice, and race-induced self-hate. Yet some choose to ignore it all.
Perhaps this is why I was willing to give the Italian a bit more grace. He was unfamiliar with Black American culture. Without personal interactions or deep, intentional study he had no way of knowing what would and wouldn’t be culturally acceptable to me. I couldn’t fault him for that.
. . . But I couldn’t date him either.
Even when both parties share the same worldview, relationships require a hefty amount of intentional work. This was more work than I desired to bear. Add in the fact that my date had a vaping habit and my decision had become clear. The Italian wasn’t my guy.
Reverse! Reverse!
Funny enough, as I pondered my concerns regarding if and how I should release him, the Italian sent a message, letting me go. Though he was intrigued and willing to take a risk in exploring the possibility of us, he also sensed that we were radically different and struggled to feel any chemistry coming from me — which was important to him.
I thanked him for his transparency and agreed. Simply put, the chemistry wasn’t there.
The Italian had been the first non-Black man I’d dated in a long time. For a brief moment, I wondered if the racial issues I’d experienced with him were an expected part of interracial dating. If so, it made no sense to even try dating other non-Black men.
I’ve since concluded through talking to other Black women in interracial relationships, as well as through self-reflection, that The Italian’s ignorance was simply one experience. Of course there are White men out there who are educated on Black culture and have been invited to the cookout. If I happen to bump into one, my heart will remain open! ❤️
Back to the dating train I go, my loves. 🚞 Let’s see where the next stop takes me!
What did you think about my experience with The Italian? Drop a comment below and let me know what you think. As always, if you’re enjoying this content, feel free to tap the “Buy me a coffee” or share this post with a friend to further support this project.
P.S. Did you know that I wrote a journal? I created The Confidence Project Journal for self-reflective women who love journaling and luxury experiences. The luxury VIP package includes 52 journal prompts, a signature gold pen, a gold metal bookmark, a confidence playlist, and souvenir packaging. Click here to purchase your copy!
Everything that gives me pause about dating outside my race happened with this dude, the dreaded, ” Can I touch your hair?” question and ” Teach me how to dance like Black people” comment. Whew! This would’ve been tough for me because not only is there a racial difference he’s not even American too! I honestly don’t think I have the bandwidth to navigate both race, cultural issues! Then I think about Tembi Locke who’s love story with an Italian became a best selling book and Netflix series” From Scratch”. It all comes down to our openness, values and worldviews if we wanna navigate through these and make it work. Your experience gives me much to ponder. Am I too closed off wanting to stay in race and culture bubble? Is it that bad to navigate through these questions and comments that may come up? Let me ponder and journal myself. Thanks for sharing your journey Kaity!
I love that this is helping you ponder and explore these questions for yourself, Tamara! As you mentioned, ultimately, it comes down to our values. There is no right or wrong in this. I imagine the more pro-black a person’s values, the harder this would be — and honestly, nothing wrong with that!