Why Don’t Black Folks Kiss in Public?

A case for more PDA

Normally called "Something Good - Negro Kiss" this 19th-century nitrate print was discovered at the University of Southern California Hugh Hefner Moving Image Archive. According to scholars and archivists, this recently discovered 29-second film may represent the earliest example of African-American intimacy on-screen…. "What makes this film so remarkable is the non-caricatured representation and naturalistic performance of the couple. As they playfully and repeatedly kiss, in a seemingly improvised performance, Suttle and Brown constitute a significant counter to the racist portrayal of African Americans otherwise seen in the cinema of its time.” Read more here.

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Expressions of love, intimacy and affection are all highly loaded topics in the the Black community- especially in America. The tropes and characterizations of Blacks, our allure, sexual appeal, and exoticism places us on precarious ground when it comes to public displays of intimacy both within and outside of our homes.

Because of this, the list of cultural and historical factors impacting perceptions of public displays of affection is likely longer than a CVS receipt. Despite this, it does not sit well with me that for some reason PDA for Black people is akin to committing a crime.

Valentine’s day is upon us and while some are great at showing how much they love someone with grand gestures, it brings up a question that I ask myself quite often “Why don’t Black people kiss in public?”.

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Before I could date, during a car ride with my mom she saw two kids making out on the sidewalk. I was oblivious to this until she called my attention to. She then proceeded to put the fear of God himself in me by warning me that if she ever caught me kissing anyone like that, no matter how old I was , she’d “pull the car over and whoop your ass”. Being a Black parent in America can sometimes mean raising your children under intensely strict conditions and while I would not choose to do the same, I understand why she said this with the sense of urgency that came with it. I know for a fact that this impromptu lesson on behavioral expectations, proper presentation and overall decorum was likely informed by experiences my mother had in her own life, but at that age, it was a perplexing notion to reconcile with.

Okay, I noted mentally- no PDA. Ever.

I had actually never really seen my own mother in soft, affectionate situations with anyone. Sometimes when her boyfriend whispered sweet nothings in her ear and I happened to be in the same room, it was, as it is for most high school children, thought of as a repulsive act, especially because did not happen frequently or throughout our childhood. In our house, verbal sentimentality was prioritized over physical affection and while we said we loved each other often, kissing, hugging, holding and touching was rare.

I’ve always suspected that my brother, who has been married for well over a decade now, shaped a large part of how he loves his wife from the way physical affection was unfelt in our home. Not only does he love her out loud, but he intentionally makes a show of it in front of their children, likely with the goal of ensuring they can see and experience what he and I did not.

In my dating life, there was a silent but mutually agreed upon position with regard to PDA and the men I encountered- we just didn’t do it. It is highly likely that they had been warned by their parents like I had, or that it quite simply would not be the “cool” thing to do. As I got older it became a game of not wanting to be seen by the wrong eyes, especially if we were just getting to know each other. So hand holding, hugging, kissing, or doing anything affectionate in public that felt like claiming the other person was, quite simply not a common factor in my dating life.

Record Scratch.

I’m speaking on romantic situations here, but I feel that I should also mention that affection with my friends was also very rare- something that wouldn’t don on me until my college years.

I was attending a PWI and became highly perplexed at the way I was constantly welcomed back to campus - smothered with a barrage of hugs, shoulder grips, high pitched squeals and a lack of personal space from people who had only known me for a few months. It felt invasive, overwhelming and foreign. I was VERY uncomfortable. Despite this, I went along with it because it seemed like the thing I was supposed to be doing.

During the next break, when I returned home to see the friends I grew up with- a lively, intelligent group of dynamic Black women of whom I loved deeply, I decided to see how they’d respond to a more enthusiastic welcome ceremony similar to the parade of events I experienced on campus. It did not go well. Not only was the gesture not reciprocated, my friends looked at me as if I had grown two heads. We laughed about it, and I shrugged it off and used it to confirm the fact that I was not crazy for feeling violated by my college peers.

However, that moment stirred a something else in me that I was unaware of. It soon became clear to me that my friends and I (at that age at least) felt that we did not have permission to be soft with each other. It also seemed that we were all being raised the same way, in non-touching, non-affectionate households. I would eventually learn to return to school and later to certain colleagues at work to receive the kind of affection in new connections that I was unable to receive back home.

Back to the main event.

I have a complicated relationship with following the rules and living the way I want to live. At my core, I am a rule follower. Breaking rules, no matter how small, brings about the most annoying kind of anxiety in me unless I find the rules to be irrational. This is when things get interesting because, if they are irrational I almost always find new ways to exist around them and in spite of them.

Add this to the crippling fear I have of living life without risk and we have a more colorful picture of what drives me. The idea of living a safe, mediocre life scares the shit out of me. I can’t fathom looking back on my life and thinking “I wish I had more fun and took more chances”. To prevent regret, I find ways to inject new, scary tasks, hobbies or goals into my life; seemingly random things that are unexpected for such a rule-following person.

Enter the quarter life crisis challenge.

Around age 25 I decided I wanted to kiss a stranger. And not just any kiss, I wanted it to happen like it does in movies where two people meet, vibe and ultimately can’t help themselves. I became pretty obsessed with this idea because I feared that I would soon be too old to something so silly and seemingly reckless and irresponsible (because adulthood feels so much like a thing we are meant to navigate with conscious responsibility versus childish antics like making out in public) . So I put it on my to do list, and once it’s on my to do list, it’s going to get done and later that same year, at a Grits and Biscuits party I was able to have my moment.

I met and danced with a very cute guy who had stolen all of my attention. We danced and talked, and danced and talked some more. I wasn’t even checking in with the friend I had come there with because it felt like he and I were the only ones in the room (this attendance at party was easily three thousand people). I’m not sure how it happened but at some point we were facing each other talking and at the next, in a Black as fuck party, we were kissing in the middle of the dance floor- open mouthed, with tongue, eyes closed. It was slow and modest, rhythmic and enchanting. More than anything it just felt right.

When we stopped however, I distinctly remember opening my eyes and realizing that the crowd had parted around us, and formed a circle that we were in the middle of and everyone was staring. I naively thought no one would notice us in a crowd of hundreds but this was not the case. The handsome guy and I quickly parted ways. Never one to stick to rules for too long, this served as a catalyst for exploring PDA taboos in Black culture.

Later, in my early thirties I met a man who I liked right away but was not ready to allow in my home. After a few dates, he and I found ourselves kissing on sides of buildings, in subway stations and on private corners across NYC. The desire to do so was strong, but the strangeness of it for me was undeniable. I remember being very aware of others around us, people passing by and witnessing our make out sessions. I wanted to feel more comfortable doing it, but the comfort did not come naturally. Clearly, I still had some work to do.

The next opportunity came in my mid thirties where PDA happened whether I liked it or not. The reason? For starters, we had significant cultural differences. He was not a Black man. For him, touching me, holding my hand, and kissing me freely, when and where he wanted was as simple as breathing. His intensity towards me was intoxicating, and despite it still feeling quite foreign to me, I let it happen. It can be said that the privilege that individuals with fair skin have is not being concerned with the thoughts and opinions of others, and in this case, that sentiment felt completely right. This man was all over me all the time, and there was often a need for me to negotiate and decide how much PDA was too much PDA.

Last year I met someone and finally got it right. Although our time together was short lived, he was a man whose company I fully enjoyed and felt safe in. His demeanor was not hurried or impatient, and unlike in other experiences,  it made me want to pull him into my orbit when we were around each other. On our first date we made out in Union Square park and on random sidewalks, quite uninhibited. We leaned into each other. Held hands. And whenever we could we’d stop to kiss on street corners or sides of buildings. It was great. I felt completely comfortable being with him and being myself with him which made our affection towards each other much more enjoyable and less shameful.

The freedom I felt with this man made me realize that perhaps I’ve secretly wanted to be more affectionate with people more often than I knew, I just did not know how to begin, and I didn’t trust it. It makes me wonder how many other Black women may desire the same but can’t shake free from the cultural expectations of our parents and our community.

Either way, as I inch closer to 40, it seems that,PDA with someone I’m into will no longer be an option, but a requirement.