I watched as this kind man yanked carts out of their holding space and passed them to each woman, offering a cheerful “Have a great morning!” with each one. After the woman in front of me wheeled away, I stepped forward ready to smile and thank the self-proclaimed gentleman for being so helpful. He tugged at the next cart, threw me a sideways glance, then let go and began to walk away. The sudden shift in behaviour shocked me, but I had a feeling I knew what happened.

I got my own cart, trailed behind the man, and as I passed said, “I guess I wasn’t lovely enough today?”

He looked at me with surprise then stuttered, “Oh, uh - uh - I’m sorry! I, uh, I thought you were, uh, a man!”

This gentleman was White. The women he helped? All White. Me? I’m a Black woman, and this was not the first time that my femininity has been erased in predominantly White spaces.

While Black femininity is often hypersexualized, there are many instances when our womanhood—and our humanity—is ignored. Aside from blatant racism or general rudeness, I posit that there are three main reasons why this happens:

My femininity looks different in White spaces.

I don’t think I have a very masculine look. In fact, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think I was pretty on most days. My deduction through years of personal research is that my 6-ft tall brown frame is often instinctively linked by White people to fit the description of a man before realizing that I am very much a woman. Living in a predominantly White area, I’m generally taller and browner than most of the women (and men) I encounter. When niceties like having doors opened or being allowed to step into an elevator first aren’t afforded to me, I sometimes chalk that up to the offender being in a rush or just being plain rude. But then situations like GroceryGate happen, when I’m in the presence of White women who receive general politeness and chivalry that isn't given to me. Then I know this goes deeper than someone having bad manners. And when the offender admits to misgendering? Then the depth of understanding how my race and gender intersect and are view by White people goes to a whole new level.

You believe that I’m a strong Black woman that don’t need no help.