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. 

People do not always understand how insidious the media is that we consume. Imagine watching content and being constantly bombarded with racist, colorist, or anti-Black rhetoric without realizing it. Now compound that with the pornographic content we consume and how it manifests in the real world.

Two repeat offenders of this are the porn websites Blacked and NoirMale. Blacked utilizes the racial stereotype of Black cis hetero men as Mandingo tropes in pursuit of “innocent” and “barely legal” white women, with recent releases appearing to support the notion that “urban” aesthetics found in popular Black culture is being intentionally removed from Blacked’s productions to make their Black models more palatable to white audiences. 

By calling their website “Noir—” a French cinematic term that is defined as Black with tough and cynical characters—the name “NoirMale” is misleading, especially when the majority of their content depicts interracial sex. If the name is supposed to center Blackness, then why are there so many white men? And why would any Black male porn star subject themselves to this specific objectification?

People must understand that porn is fantasy, albeit a problematic one. It is not far-fetched to surmise that many Black performers have agency and are using the racist tropes prevalent in the adult film industry to their financial benefit. Adults should have the right to determine the use of our bodies. This is imperative for Black people in a racist, capitalist society. But what I know for certain is that many people cannot separate the half-truths of how we’re depicted on screen because white people generally perceive anything in the media concerning us as the full truth.

Mainstream media and porn depictions of who Black queer men are choosing for partners often lead consumers to believe that Black people are dating outside their race more than not. While a Pew Research study shows an overall increase in interracial marriages (such unions have tripled since 1980), statistics also show that while Black men marry outside their race more than Black women, it is still not the majority of Black men. 

How does this manifest in the real world? 

For straight and gay Black men, it becomes an experience of overt fetishization and objectification. The experience can feel devaluing and triggering, especially when aligned with the current racial warfare in the United States. We become a caricature of our Blackness. Our humanity is reduced to having very dark skin and Afro-centric features, having a large penis, being hyper-masculine and aggressive, and/or even reduced to how we dress and maintain a thug appeal. Even how we sound makes a difference. 

The problem I’ve noticed in racially mixed spaces (i.e. nightclubs, colleges, workplace events) when interacting with non-Black people is the arrogance we’re often confronted with. The truth reveals itself when they assume that we desire them based on their whiteness and then proceed to dangle themselves in front of us like a prize. In some situations, this can lead to sexual violence. I immediately disengage and remove myself from public spaces with non-Black queer men when it becomes clear that I’m being fetishized. 

The energy given to the objectification of our bodies often leads to harmful generalizations about our sexual prowess, sexual assaults and youth molestation, which is often dismissed under the guise of us being men (even though we are boys) while being introduced to sex prematurely. 

From slavery to the present day, our history in the United States has also commodified the Black male body as living property or as an animal to be tamed. We are human beings having a human experience. We are more than that. The other problem with objectification is that many of those who are objectified are willing participants. 

In Black queer subculture and online discussions, these men are commonly referred to as the “Black Ok's.” The term comes from a screen-captured exchange on the gay dating app Grindr. A Black queer man messages a white queer man and in the conversation, he asks; “Is Black ok?” There is a subset of Black men who specifically utilize access to whiteness to gain upward mobility. While getting ahead is not necessarily bad, it most certainly can be if other Black people become disenfranchised in the process. It can be as simple as "cock-blocking," but a broader and more detrimental example is setting someone up for failure in the workplace because the "Black Ok’s" want to be tokenized. 

In the scope of this article, I have not mentioned whether I am for or against interracial dating. But it is imperative that if you are, you are comfortable talking to your partner about their racial biases to determine what you can and cannot manage. The objectification of Black bodies may be unavoidable, but being able to call it out when confronted ensures you continue to retain your power.