The Age of Pleasure: A Fantastic Ode to Freedom 
Caught in the Web: Across The Spider-Verse 
A Meal Fit For A King: Online Obsession, Memes and Succession Spoilers 
Yellowjackets: The Truth We Tell Ourselves is the Wildest Lie 
The Little Mermaid and Camille Friend, The Woman Behind the Locs 
By: T. Olajide
I’m either 1000% invested in something or I’m not and I’ve always admired that about myself, it rids me of pretence and means that I have a little less inner turmoil to deal with.
The only things I have ever wavered with have been my faith and my love for the nerd community. As you might have guessed, I’m not here to tell you what I think about evolution. I’m here to dismantle and unpack a lot of harmful, perpetuated tropes within this community and also share my experience as a black woman who so desperately wants to embrace nerdy culture but can’t seem to catch a break.
The experience of the average black girl nerd, is like being locked in limbo. Or, more like fighting your way through ravenous alligators in a thick swamp. (I think the second instance is quite the apt allusion.) Between dudebros and problematic gatekeepers, there are so many things about this nerd life that I can’t deal with.
My experience as a black girl nerd, while not as dramatic as cult classics have portrayed, has never been a walk in the park. I got picked on, ostracised and ridiculed for enjoying comics and speculative fiction. To be honest, I got picked on for breathing — so I wasn’t really hurt by the fact that I was a target for playground sadists, but I was hurt every time I had my blackness discounted and questioned because I had ‘alternative’ interests. That was, and quite frankly, still is an assault to my person.
Nerdy spaces are heavily dominated by cishet, white males who have very little, if any, exposure or appreciation of the outside world. What this makes for is uninspiring and or offensive work, that doesn’t reflect reality. What’s more frustrating about the nature of gatekeepers in this community, is their willingness to remain in the dark. In so many ways, gatekeepers shun progressive rationale or inclusive dialogue, there is this fierce obsession with maintaining the status quo of ‘dudebro’ culture. I find that ‘post-racial’ and ‘post-feminist’ rhetoric is heralded in an effort to silence and gaslight black women. For instance, while many of us were excited at the prospect of a a new Iron Man, we were not as delighted to find that in order for her to be a darker-skinned black woman she had to be hyper-sexualised. Not surprisingly, this was still chalked up as incessant whining and a push for ‘censorship’.
Another major point of concern is the staunch dedication to regressive rhetoric perpetuated within this community. Which brings me to this stage — are we truly a community if we aren’t all accorded the same respect? To tag this pocket of culture a community is a far stretch at this point in time. Commentaries and opinions provided by black women on comics, speculative fiction, anime etc. attracts abuse firmly rooted in misogynoir from fellow nerds of all shapes and sizes. We cannot claim to be a unit when Hollywood executives, writers and other nerds are still so defensive when confronted by black women.
There cannot be any progression within this pocket, if we do not open up the gates for minorities to share their experiences with audiences who might use comics or speculative fiction as their window to the world. When we stop entering every narrative on the privileged top tier we stand a chance to really create something substantive and impactful, but until then all we’ll have is over-flogged narratives that — quite frankly — I’m so over.
Do you know what it feels like, to have to search far and wide for a story that edifies your experience, while the world expects you to celebrate with everyone else? Do you know what it feels like to finally, finally get something that uplifts you and then watch it get glossed over, whitewashed and marketed for the masses, when everyone else gets a shot at consuming a piece for themselves? Do you know what it feels like to have people invalidate a piece just because it centres a woman like you? Do you know what it feels like to be invisible to the world?
It sucks.
I grew up idolising Storm {X-Men} for these very reasons. In Storm I saw all the things I wanted to be — assertive, gracious, eloquent, focused and revered. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to, and looking back I count that as a grave injustice. Black girls aren’t a monolith — we deserve diverse representation, we are entitled to heroines and villains who appeal to the deepest parts of us. But not only that — these heroines and villains deserve to be brought to life by black women. This means we deserve thorough and genuine representation. Don’t sprinkle a bit of colour on a page just to tick a box, inclusive representation isn’t a fad. When comics, novels and screenplays are being created, CHOOSE a black woman. Give that dark skinned girl a shot. Let the African/Caribbean woman give it a try. Be honest or don’t do it all.
Life as a black-girl-nerd is tough, but I am still optimistic that there is room to make a change in the real world through this industry. The platform that we share gives us the opportunity to connect with like minds, have progressive conversations, connect and empower each other. I hope one day we can move on from begging for edification and explore our different facets.
Keshav Kant, aka Mx. KantEven, is a med student tuned Executive Director of Off Colour!
You’ve probably seen her on Twitter and TikTok, both @MxKantEven, or caught her work on Off Colour's many channels.
From consulting on films & shows, manuscript review, conducting interviews, or hosting podcasts & panels, if there is some way to bring sensitivity and authenticity to diversity, inclusion and equity conversations, Keshav will be there.