Black and White: How Race Impacts Our Queer Experience

By Darnell Richards

Community is what the LGBTQ+ acronym is meant to represent. A group of people ostracised by society, coming together to create a safe space. But even in our space, our experiences differ, and the impact that the Black queer community has had on popular queer culture is undeniable. From ‘New York Ballroom’ creating the groundwork that launched drag into the heart of pop culture to Marsha P. Johnson leading the 1969 Stonewall Riots, one of the first monumental moments in queer activism and visibility.

Our contribution is irrefutable, yet we are not regarded with the same desire as those who are white and LGBTQ+. With online dating and media representation, the voyage through life as Black and queer is something uniquely shared through similar experiences.

There’s a phrase commonly used, particularly among gay men: ‘No Fats, No Femmes, and No Blacks or Asians’. Originating from the ‘dating’ app Grindr, it was (and is) frequently used by white members to deter people who didn’t fit their ‘preference’ from messaging them. Grindr itself has a multitude of unethical and immoral aspects, nonetheless, it serves as a lot of queer men, trans men, and trans women’s first exposure to the community. For the closeted young adult, it is an introduction to other queer people.

Being Black and on Grindr is something indescribable. Labels such as ‘BBC’, which of course regards a Black man’s genitalia size, or ‘Black Femme’, which refers to Black trans women. Grindr exposes marginalised groups to unsafe environments and increases the chance of its Black members being fetishised. In 2018 #KindrGrindr, a campaign to promote equality on the app, was launched, but a lot more needs to be done. Measures need to be put in place that consider people of colour, assures them of their safety and lets them exist in spaces without fear of fetishisation or prejudice.

‘Designed to be deleted’ is the slogan that Hinge saturated their advertisement campaigns with. But for who? Who was this app designed to be deleted for? Dating apps like Hinge or Tinder entertain the premise of a popular section or top-pick section that highlights the popular ‘attractive’ users. These areas are populated with people of European descent, and there is an obvious lack of a certain POC community.

In my experience, these organisations are still implementing a European standard of beauty. Advertisements for these apps are diversely cast: a girl with an afro, and interracial relationships. Yet in reality, the app lacks this incorporation and there is a low percentage of POC members compared to those of white or European descent. As a POC, it’s less likely that you will meet POC users on these platforms. As I watched my white friends match with people, be pursued, receive more likes and have a generally positive experience, it made me feel less desirable. Unwanted. 

Black trans women, the most marginalised members of the LGBTQ+ community, have contributed to some of the greatest assets of queer culture. In 2021 alone, forty-five trans people, mainly Black and Latinx, were murdered. The Black trans community has higher rates of hate crimes against them, and rarely receives protection or help from law enforcement.

Pepper LaBejia, the renowned mother of the House of LaBejia, was a trans woman and drag queen who soared in Ballroom, winning around 250 trophies and taking homeless queer youth off the New York streets. However, her name was nowhere near as popular as another drag queen who was out at the same time, Divine. Divine, at the height of their popularity, starred in movies and theatre, even having international musical success from their songs ‘I’m So Beautiful’ and ‘Walk Like a Man’.

Both are legends, however only one ever got the respect and popularity they deserved by popular culture: Divine was crowned Drag Queen of the Century; LaBejia remained an underground legend until Paris Is Burning was released, a documentary that follows Ballroom Culture and the spearheads behind it.

Easily the biggest of queer media is RuPaul's Drag Race and all the branch-off series; all originate from Ballroom. Having been started by a Black drag queen and the basis of the show coming from these black queer spaces, you would think that black visibility and representation on the show would be high. Conversely, white drag queens have been able to use the platform they were given to elevate and commercialise their success, whereas black queens must suffer at the hands of racism from fans and even fellow challengers.

Scarlett Adams, a contestant from the Down Under spin-off, has dressed in blackface in a social media post. Karen from Finance, another contestant from the same spin-off, had a tattoo of golliwogs. Though both apologised, ignorance can only be used as an excuse in an age where the internet doesn’t dominate society. In this day and age, we have access to knowledge in the palm of our hands.              

This is the Black queer experience. In spaces that we fought to create, we aren’t esteemed the same. The next time you scream, YASSSS or BITCHH, remind yourself it comes from the lexicon of BLACK drag queens. The house music you’re dancing to at the club derives from Black queer DJs, and the sassy attitude you emulate for comedic purposes is fashioned from the supposed negative caricatures of Black women.

If our culture can be assimilated into the popular queer culture, so should the community that brought this vibrant culture to life. The experience should be the same on both ends of the spectrum regardless of race. As members of the LGBTQ+ community, we are all already shunned by society. Why ever shun those in our community?