twenty to one: the ratio of women to men in atlanta.

when i was at luckie with candace she informed me that there are more thirsty women in atlanta than anywhere else in america.  i almost concurred, but then the truth hammered me over the head:  the women aren’t more thirsty, they’re more beautiful.

 a hundred beautiful women in the club that night, all competing for the attention of three men.  there were more than three men in the club, but only three were eligible–i know because i counted.

candy noted that all the girls were just awkwardly looking around, and it was true–they all were.  but i didnt think they were looking at the men.  i felt like they were all noticing how beautiful all the women were.  i know i certainly do.  maybe the anxiety that women experience when hoping to find men is a result of the overabundance of beautiful women moreso than the lack of men.

i asked candy what all the girls are supposed to do then?  with all this competition?  and nobody wants to be alone! candy assured me that its not being lonely–its called being selective.  i told her that whatever she calls it–loneliness or selectivity– it sucks.

a while ago, i wrote a short piece on the challenges that women face as a result of the shortage of black men.  i gave up on the piece though because i wasnt sure if i was ready to assert that there is a shortage of black men.  that very idea, that somehow there aren’t enough men for all of us so we must compete for what’s left, is what perpetuates the issue i was trying to address.  i’ve always, perhaps ideallistically, believed our choices as black women are endless.  i dont want to see us discouraged, settling for knights in shining armor when we deserve kings. 

but the real is that i’m standing in this lounge and the disproportionate number of women to men in the room is undeniable. 

here is an excerpt from the aforementioned piece entitled “for little black girls who never believed in fairy tales”:

“I am not one of those women who denies that there are good black men.  I’ve been blessed to have met so many.  But I’ve met far more good black women—women who are seamless in grace, beauty, style and flair.  Ive also seen these women fight with each other—spiritually, mentally, and even physically—to win the hearts of what good black men are left.  Black women would often times rather compete—or fight—against each other than abandon our loyalty to our men.  For us, there is nothing like the black man.  Big, strong, talented black men are incomparable to any others.  Why, then, are we so easily abandoned for them?

 This is not another rant about black men dating white women.  I care less about that than I do about the fact that black men are so willing to abandon us, period.  Even if it is to be with another black woman.  Why are we so often left alone?  With our children and with our hearts?  When did our love stop being enough?

 What’s often left of our “good black men” is a sense of arrogance.  Because they are convinced that they are a hot commodity, they feel they deserve no less than a goddess.  I hear men brag all the time about the fact that they are honest about their whorish ways, and they still have women falling at their feet.  I know the psychology that makes a black man feel like he must get all that he can possibly get, squeezing everything in his path dry, to prove that he is not inadequate.  But it still hurts.

 It hurts that we are so desperate now for the kind of man that we deserve, or so disenfranchised about the prospect of having a good man all to ourselves, that we are willing to settle with being one of his many females, just to have some semblance of love and affection in our lives.

I’m saddened at the thought that my own daughter might feel the weight of being passed over by the boy she adores, for a pretty Latina…and not because she’s less pretty, less kind, less witty, or has a weaker vibe with him, but because he has something to prove.

 I wish that black men would spend less time trying to prove to the world their greatness, and more time proving that they can love the women who already knew how great they were. 

 Black men are in a position where they can half-ass greatness and still pull women who are absolute winners.  They are in a position to flit from woman to woman, trying each one on for size, and discovering themselves in the process of completely breaking down what’s left of the black woman.  So many times in our lives, we, as human beings, are in a superior position.  We can either take advantage of this, or we can take advantage of our God-given nature to do what is right.  This choice is what determines our character.

 I just wish that our men would exhibit character.  (Just because you can doesn’t mean you should take advantage.)  Consider and be sensitive to our position as Black women, as we have for decades, been sensitive to their unique position as black men.  Love us.  Appreciate our loyalty.  Give that back to us.  And while I don’t suggest that men force themselves to love, I wish they would choose carefully who to love based on a woman’s merit.  Her honesty.  Her exhibition of love.  Or, based on whatever qualities are beautiful and lasting and pleasing to God—then, be faithful and good to her.  These are my hopes.

 I am not Jesus, but in the event that the aforementioned wishes never do come true, I bring Good News:

 We, as women, always have ourselves to discover, and our own greatness to nurture.  We must, in lieu of these Black Love dynamics, continue to shine.  We must never settle, because it is our settling for less than what we deserve that perpetuates us not getting what we deserve.”

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i’m not yet convinced that the situation here is as hopeless as we sometimes think it is, but i do know that it hits home.  while i cant complain that i have trouble gaining the interest of men, i definitely cant continue to pretend that i dont see it.  its the elephant in the room: will there be enough men left for all of us?