The sexual currency and experiences associated with Black men are rarely discussed at length or with nuance. While that lack of nuance does not absolve men of their privilege, the topic does require perspective and compassion. Let us examine how the objectification of Black male bodies shows up not only in porn but also in history and our romantic experiences.

The objectification of Black men is not a recent phenomenon but extends back to chattel slavery. In a popular YouTube video, anti-racism educator Jane Elliot injects her blue eye/brown eye experiment onto a predominantly white college campus. By doing so, Elliott triggers a young white female student who temporarily derails the experiment by abruptly exiting.

“You just exercised freedom that none of these people of color have. When these people of color get tired of racism, they just can’t walk out, because there is no place in this country where they aren’t going to be exposed to racism. They can’t even stay in their homes and not be exposed to racism if they turn on the television,” said Elliott.

Thanks to the recent success of Jordan Peele’s Get Out and Us, Black horror has become a force to be reckoned with in the horror genre. The subgenre has always been there, but not taken seriously outside of the mainstream horror audience and academics alike. Although there were several pieces written about black inclusion, or lack thereof, throughout the years. A quick Google search for “Black Horror” pulls up a lot of these pieces, as well as suggested watching lists that chronicle not only black participation in horror, but the history of black horror itself. However, when you do a quick Google search with the terms “Black gay horror,” you will find little to nothing concerning the black queer experience in horror.

In case you haven’t noticed, fat bodies are having a moment.

It’s apparent in marketing strategies like Victoria’s Secret’s recent 180-degree turn toward size inclusivity; in the abundance of plus-sized TV and book characters reaching beyond stereotypical “fat friend” roles, and every time pop phenom Lizzo proudly struts her extra-large frame across the stage to wild applause.

The new era message is fat positivity, and to the casual observer at least, it appears there’s never been a more affirming time to be a big person.

Da'Shaun L. Harrison knows better. Large, Black, and queer, they exist at a precarious nexus of historically undervalued identities with complex social stigmas that reach far beyond what a few size-inclusive ad campaigns can address.