The scene is a happening area of New York City called the Meat Packing District. All sexual innuendo aside, the name of this area is actually derived from the fact that it used to be a key area of the city for… well, packing meat. Not that long ago, one could see large slabs of cow strung up on hooks being hustled too and from by workers on these blocks during the day. At night, it became a freaky wonderland with early clubs in the area attracting sex fetishists, drag queen prostitutes and more. And of course that made it “cool.” Now it’s an extremely expensive residential and party zone, and the meat being sought day and night is of a more carnal variety.
APT is one of the older spots in the area that has retained a bit of its cool charm, before the area totally sold out to posh hotels and super-expensive shops. One night a few years back, me and my buddy headed over for a little mid-week shindig, knocking on the unmarked door that only people “in the know” would realize hid a cozy meeting place. Decked out to look more like a fancy bachelor pad than a club, APT has a bed, little gathering nooks — and that night a bevy of black men.
My friend — who is Filipino and a gay man — headed downstairs with me to the much hipper basement lounge, which tends to attract the hip-hop audience. What did we spy by the bar in the yellow-toned glow of the sultry seduction space? Wouldn’t you know it. A bevy of rather hefty (but blonde) white women being worshiped by black men.
Don’t immediately skip down to the comments to write that you don’t care if black men date white women. At that moment, neither did I. In New York, seeing black men with white women is so common I would get whiplash if I tried to avert my vision every time an interracial couple passed me. I have become so immune to it, I actually expect most black men I see in Manhattan to be with a white woman. While it always stings a little, I certainly don’t make a show of it. It’s New York. I believe in live and let live.
But my companion noticed immediately. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He kept bringing it up, tugging me on my elbow, and repeatedly brought this spectacle to my attention like he was witnessing a mother eating its young.
“What is going on over there? Those black men are all over those white women! They are SO ugly!”
He had a point. Yet the brothers were swooping over them like sea gulls over garbage at the beach. I am not saying that men do not have a right to their preferences. But it was objectively shocking for my friend to witness a bunch of good-looking black men fawn over rather unappealing white women — while totally ignoring me.
“Gargoyles. They look like gargoyles. What is going on here?”
He said it, not me.