Jungle Fever, is NOT a Love Language

I recently matched with someone on a dating app who made me want to delete the whole app.

Now listen—my intentions weren’t exactly pure. I wasn’t out here looking for “the one” or on some deep soul connection shit but…. I was just hoping the man was kind, intelligent, and—if we’re being honest—had a yacht.
Because it’s summer. And I like boats. 

But now I’m wondering—these dating apps need to expand their preference section and let it live loudly on peoples profile.

BECAUSE….. 

If you're going to say, “I prefer Black women,”
and you’re a 50+ white man with a smooth jazz playlist and suspicious jazz hands, then at the very least... WARN US.
Give the sister a heads-up.
Let her make an informed decision so she can swipe left. 

Anyway, his profile gave:
Quirky, quiet white guy with a passport and too much free time.
Real estate mogul. Professorial Glasses. And some peaceful beach vibes.
Nothing about it screamed fetish.
It just looked like your average white man with soft privilege and a mild personality.

Needless to say, there was no warning.

And right out the Gate he says after I give him my number: 

“I’m so attracted to Black women.”

There it was, the statement that Black women hate to hear from white mouths—because we understand the underlying reason, even when they don’t. Yes, let’s be real. You are not telling white Becky from Lithuania that you are so attracted to Lithuanians. You are not telling her shit like, I like the way your skin looks against my white sheets. (Yes, someone has actually told me this!) 

But it didn’t stop there.

He got even more excited when I said I was from the South. And the very next morning, he decided to really set the tone by sending me his favorite song.

Brace yourself.

🎵 De Gospel Train (Negro Spiritual) — straight from YouTube.

No, I’m not joking. That was the full title. So I ask him: “Are you into Negro spirituals?”

He replies: “Just a few. I play them over and over.”

Then he calls. I press ignore.

I text: “Why do you like Negro spirituals, exactly?”

He answers: “My dad used to sing them when we were young.”

And I couldn’t ignore the math not mathing, so I replied: “Isn’t your dad… German?”

That was my final message. Because what else is there to say?

Let me be clear.

No one’s mad that you're attracted to a type.
But this isn’t attraction—it’s fetish.
It’s giving safari.
It’s giving Forbidden Fruit meets 12 Years a Cringe.

Stop calling Black women exotic.
We are not rare animals or cultural vacations.
We are not curiosities or conquests.
We are not your redemption arc.

We are beautiful, YES.
But we are also the origin.
We are where humanity begins.

So when you speak to us, put some respect on our name.