But is this what it really was? As a petite white female I might have treated Questlove the same way, even if the musician was a five-foot-two, 100 pound white guy. Probably would have (and not because the only time I can recall racially profiling anyone was in Arkansas, where I found myself crossing one too many a street to avoid the numerous, sketchy-looking, hoodie-wearing white dudes in downtown Little Rock). Especially if it’d been one of those long stressful days that put me in no mood to make small talk with yet another random guy I wasn’t interested in who thought I was hot. In his piece Questlove referred to the elevator stranger as “bangin’,” followed by “so inside I was like, "Dayuuuuuuuuuuum, she lives on my floor? *bow chicka wowow*!" Instantly I was on some "What dessert am I welcome-committee-ing her with?” The fact that he didn’t make any moves on the woman, or explicitly let her know that he viewed her as a sex object, makes little difference. Like African-American men, pretty women of every race are highly attuned to how they’re perceived. And, like Questlove, oftentimes overreact defensively.
Yet when all is said and done, the sole absolute truth is that the bigger one’s world the less fearful one is. And so, ultimately, I’m grateful to Questlove for sharing his point of view, for refracting light from his honest mirror in order to expand our understanding of one another. I can only humbly hope that I’m able to do the same.
