(and admittedly not the best…I’m getting better)

(insert blush here…after all, I’m more a Carrie than a Samantha.)

So I know that my blog is supposed to be primarily for Black women and our experiences (specifically mine), but if you’ll allow me, I want to divert from the path a bit for this topic and discuss men’s body issues.

Especially Black men.

I think we know what I’m talking about.

Yes, I am talking about the stereotype of Black men and their penises.

Yes, I am talking about dick size.

For some time now, I’ve been front row, center (stage, field, and court) to the damage that that stereotype has had on someone incredibly important to me. Someone I love and who also loves me. Sadly, I can’t always say that I’ve been the most sensitive to this issue, even asking, several times, why it’s such a big deal. I haven’t been supportive in the way that someone who claims to love another person, especially when they’re hurting, should. And while I’m grateful that he has been patient with me on this journey, I know I need to sincerely apologize for taking so long to fully understand. And before I get into the thick of this post, I want to do that—publicly.

I’m sorry for the times that I didn’t hear what you said, for the times I got defensive, or tried to smooth things over. I’m sorry for the times that my discomfort was more important to me than your very real pain. Thank you for being patient with me, and revealing a blind spot that I had. Furthermore, I’m sorry it took me watching an Asian woman demean Black men under the guise of a joke to get it.

_________________________

Our society doesn’t take men’s body image issues seriously, especially not in the way that we do for women. We don’t discuss how some stereotypes, while considered complimentary, can be incredibly damaging to a man’s psyche. Larger penises sizes are praised, but at what cost? I’ve borne witness to someone watching a movie, tv show, or comedy special, enjoying every second but immediately defeated once the dick jokes start flying. His pain was palpable. And in those moments, I can honestly say I didn’t know what to do. It felt like we’re back in elementary school, but instead, this time, I can’t yell back at the bully. Because the bully is inside the screen, the bully is society. The bully, may have even been me. And he certainly can’t say anything.

The assumption that men, especially Black men, are supposed to be tough, brute, and “real” encourages them to withhold their feelings. We tell our boys not to cry, because they “don’t”, then wonder why they don’t know how to appropriately process and understand emotion as they age. We have a hand in creating the toxic masculinity (for lack of a better term because I feel this one is overused) that we say we hate. And no, we don’t acknowledge that. We don’t hold ourselves accountable. We don’t say it enough, and yes, it’s perfectly alright to say.

It’s very easy to think that loved one should seek therapy, and believe me, I have suggested it and he agrees that he should. However, his therapy is for him to help heal himself—not the world. That’s on us. Suggesting therapy then doing nothing about what actually created the pain in the first place is dismissive, demeaning, and removes all accountability. It is not on the person being hurt to fix society. That’s our responsibility.

I can think about how I used to be self-conscious when I was growing up because I wasn’t curvy like Black girls are “supposed” to be. As I grew into my womanhood, I still didn’t have the shape, the hips, the butt that Black women are “supposed to” have. I wanted to be thicker. I didn’t want to be as petite as I was. Fortunately for me however, I had a family and support system that affirmed me so my body image didn’t impact me in the way it could have (e.g. people dying to achieve their desired body aesthetic). Not everyone is as fortunate. Especially when you’re a man. The idea that all Black men are supposed to have animalistic penises (the average size is around 5-6 inches erect, race be damned) robs them of their humanity. What’s most insidious is that this isn’t even a stereotype we created ourselves. It was created for us, to demean Black men and justify the abuse brought upon them. While I don’t have the space or time to do a deep dive into that point (it’s a topic that deserves its own post) please research “Mandingo” or read this journal article if you want historical context…it ain’t pretty. And it isn’t something we should want to perpetuate.

While I hope it isn’t too late for my loved one to experience a full life free from self-doubt, the reality is, it could very well be a struggle that he battles for the rest of his life. And even if he’s able to heal to the point where a joke on a movie or tv show wouldn’t make him question his level of desirability, he will have some days that are worse than others. It isn’t too late, however, for society, and our future. Just imagine how better life would be for the adults 30 years from now who were taught that they were worthy because of, not despite, who they are and how they look.

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“Preference? Please. More like conditioning…Do you really think your ‘preferences’ aren’t influenced at all by what you see on TV and magazines? By what you’ve been told is beautiful and desirable…” (Welteroth, 2019).

I’ve been in many a sister circle where the topic of size comes up and most, if not all, admit we don’t want what we consider to be a large penis because of the pain. “Larger” men, because of this stereotype, have never learned how to adequately please and pleasure; most men (in general) learn about sex through pornography (perhaps I’ll discuss how pornography has ruined our generation one day), and porn oftentimes is directed from the male gaze…reflecting both size insecurity and desire to dominate a woman in order to prove to himself that he’s worthy. No, simply having a certain size does not pleasure give. You’re not getting a gold star because you hit my cervix. That hurts, I’m done. Get off.

Look, I get it. Different strokes (giggity) for different folks, right? Sure. But as the quote above suggests, we should be interrogating why we hold the preferences we do. Is it true pleasure you’re feeling or were you just told you should so you in turn convince yourself you do? Or are you truly a “size queen” (another term I wish we’d do away with)? Preferences are fine as long as they’re rooted in truth, not what society says you should want, and certainly not at the expense of another person. Penises, like vulvas, come in all shapes and sizes and are not based on height, race, hand, finger, or shoe size. Relegating a man’s manhood or ability to please you to the size of his member, or laughing when others do it, is ill-informed and, more times than not, a lie.

And ladies, it’s time we’re honest about that.

More men need to actually be honest about their size as well. Men run around using Magnums for what they think is clout. When, in fact, studies have proven that a very small population actually needs that size. And honestly, it seems that Black men had that problem bad. I went to a predominately white high-school, and while I’ve never personally bedded a white boy, I would sometimes hear conversations or see the Durex or regular Trojan package in their wallets as I stood behind them at the lunch counter. Whereas every Black man I’ve been with believed he needed that gold package. Because having that gold package means that they have something especially special, when it’s really an improper fit. Not because you have an unusually small penis, but because Trojan created Magnums to play to the male ego by tapping into size insecurity.

We all buy into this “bigger is better” BS, and despite my “its not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean” stance (swear I’ve had this for years), I didn’t really feel comfortable in my pleasure until I was approaching 30. So it is possible that at some point I may have also unconsciously believed that Black men were supposed to be the largest, or that they would somehow be better in bed. In truth, I actually prefer an average size; my experiences with larger have frankly been painful and don’t allow me to fully experience pleasure. So honestly, I don’t like them, and that’s okay. I guess that’s the lone beauty of having been active for 17 years: you see and learn a lot. And where I am at 32 is here— no longer laughing at or allowing dick jokes to be told in my presence, not believing the myth, not giving energy towards false damaging stereotypes, speaking up for what pleases me instead of faking it to satisfy an ego, and celebrating others because of what they offer.

Welteroth, Elaine. 2019. More than Enough: Claiming Space for Who You Are (No Matter What They Say). New York, NY: Viking