We're Going to Need More Wine

by Gabrielle Union

I had been warned, of course. My parents gave me the pep talk when I started school, the same speech all black parents give their kids: You’re gonna have to be bigger, badder, better, just to be considered equal. You’re gonna have to do twice as much work and you’re not going to get any credit for your accomplishments or for overcoming adversity. Most black people grow accustomed to the fact that we have to excel just to be seen as existing, and this is a lesson passed down from generation to generation. You can either be Super Negro or the forgotten Negro.

Making them laugh gave me the illusion of agency and control. Minstrelsy makes the audience comfortable. Now that I am on the other side of it, and proud of my blackness, they wouldn’t know what to do with me. People don’t know what to do with you if you are not trying to assimilate.

No one understands how much female celebrities are physically touched and grabbed and shoved and fondled. We all talk about it. I can’t tell you how many times people—men and women—feel your body. “Oh, you’re just a little bitty thing,” I hear, with someone squeezing my thigh. Men take pictures and get you under the armpit so they can feel the side of your boob. But we’re supposed to just take it.

You can love what you see in the mirror, but you can’t self-esteem your way out of the way the world treats you.

“The other thing to remember is this: you are always going to be able to find people who don’t want to watch you fail.”

But so many people really love the attention they get by trolling. It’s a temporary cure for their invisibility.

The problem is, there’s always an audience for negativity. There could be someone with a bullhorn screaming, “I’ve got a beautiful script here that gives a deeper insight into the human experience.” And few in a crowd would pause. And then someone says “I’ve got Jennifer Lawrence’s nudes,” and a line will form. Negativity and the exploitation of other people’s pain drive so much of our culture and conversation.

“Do you know why no one asks men how they balance it all? It’s because there is no expectation of that. Bringing home money is enough. We don’t expect you to be anything more than a provider, men. But a working woman? Not only do you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up, you gotta be a size double-zero, too. You’ve got to volunteer at the school, you’ve got to be a sex kitten, a great friend, a community activist. There are all these expectations that we put on women that we don’t put on men.

“How are you watching ER?” I said. “You’re Prince.” “I see everything,” he said.