“No One Sees Me Romantically”: Gendered Colorism in Black Women’s Dating and Intimate Experiences

Abstract

Research on Black women’s romantic lives routinely cites their unique exclusion within dating and marriage markets. However, fewer studies examine how colorism, or skin color stratification, exacerbates these structural inequalities for Black women. In this article, I merge the literatures on dating stratification and colorism to clarify how Black women, across the color spectrum, negotiate their disadvantaged status as they search for romantic partners. I analyze in-depth, semi-structured interviews with 27 heterosexual Black women between the ages of 18 to 35 years with diverse skin tones to highlight how they experienced fetishization, sexual exploitation, and romantic marginalization. Overall, I find that women’s romantic experiences are largely patterned by their skin color and body size, creating unique challenges in their search for romantic partners. I conclude by implicating these results in the broader scholarship of race and gender inequalities, and by suggesting directions for future research to disentangle how colorism contours the romantic lives of Black women and how securing romantic relationships is a form of “intimate justice.”

Plain language summary

Research on Black women’s dating lives shows that they face unique challenges in finding romantic partners. However, fewer studies explore how colorism—skin tone discrimination that favors lighter skin—intensifies these challenges. To address this gap, I conducted interviews with 27 heterosexual Black women ages 18–35, representing a range of skin tones, to understand their dating experiences. Many participants described feeling fetishized, viewed as sexually deviant, or not seen as potential romantic partners at all. Overall, I find that their skin tone and body size significantly shaped these romantic experiences. I conclude that an “intimate justice” framework is essential for understanding Black women’s romantic lives.

Introduction

Colorism, or skin color stratification, hierarchically ranks individuals based on skin color ¹ and systematically privileges lighter skin with greater resources and pathways for social mobility (Burton et al., 2010; Hochschild & Weaver, 2007; Keith & Herring, 1991; Thompson & Keith, 2001). Rooted in white supremacy and resilient racial inequalities within the United States, colorism promotes in-group distinctions based on one’s position along a skin color spectrum (Monk, 2014; Reece, 2019a, 2019b). Research on colorism untangles divergent social experiences for members within a racialized group who are often treated as cohesive. For example, online dating research consistently stresses Black women’s unique exclusion compared to other racial groups of women (Adeyinka-Skold, 2020; Curington et al., 2021; Lundquist & Lin, 2015; McClintock, 2010; Robnett & Feliciano, 2011), yet possessing darker-skin tone further penalizes Black women (Robnett & Feliciano, 2011; Santana, 2020, 2024, 2025). While studies have captured these broader patterns, how Black women across the skin color spectrum navigate colorism in pursing romantic partners requires further investigation.

This study examines the romantic and dating experiences of heterosexual Black women to illuminate how gender, race, and skin color intersect in their pursuit of romantic connections. It asks: how does gendered colorism structure Black women’s dating and intimate experiences and how do women manage it? I draw on in-depth, semi-structured interviews with 27 Black women across the skin color spectrum to answer these questions and illuminate how they contend with a constrained dating market. As highlighted by previous research, romantic relationships can act as catalysts for social mobility and personal development (Collins, 2004), while simultaneously reflecting how broader social inequalities shape the most intimate corners of Black women’s lives (Monterrosa, 2021, p. 425).

Literature Review

Formation of Colorism in the United States

Colorism, or skin color stratification, is a significant dimension of inequality that continues to shape both within and between racial group dynamics (Burton et al., 2010; Hochschild & Weaver, 2007; Keith & Herring, 1991; Thompson & Keith, 2001). Rooted in white supremacy, colorism highlights how lighter-skinned individuals of color are bestowed greater material and social privileges relative to their darker-skinned counterparts. Additionally, colorism is multidimensional and captures other important phenotypical features such as facial features and hair to produce and perpetuate racial distinctions among groups (Patton, 2006; Reece, 2019b; Roth, 2016). While colorism affects all ethnoracial groups globally (Dixon & Telles, 2017), Black Americans have a distinct history of colorism in the United States. Birthed from European colonialism, the transatlantic slave trade, and chattel slavery, colorism systematically distinguished lighter-skinned enslaved Africans from darker-skinned Africans, creating a social hierarchy within a group (Roberts, 1997) and infusing lightness with positive, valuable characteristics such as attractiveness, intelligence, and moral superiority (Hill, 2002). The perception that lighter-skinned enslaved Africans closely resembled white Europeans in terms of skin color “afforded more resources and were assigned more duties that placed them indoors and in direct contact with white slave masters” (Wilder, 2010, p. 186). Darker-skinned enslaved Africans were routinely characterized as undesirable, lazy, and deviant thus justifying their harsher mistreatment laboring outdoors (Dixon & Telles, 2017). As a result, slavery not only institutionalized anti-Blackness through the legal conversion of human beings to property, but also fortified unequal social and material outcomes through skin color (strmic-pawl et al., 2021).

Contemporary research on the significance of skin color for Black Americans is clear: skin color matters. “Light [skin] privilege” (Hargrove, 2019) perpetuates a color hierarchy whereby social institutions ascribe unequal social outcomes that shape health status (Hargrove, 2019), educational attainment (Hunter, 2002), the labor market (Abascal & Garcia, 2022; Goldsmith et al., 2006, 2007; Monk, 2014), wealth building (Adames, 2023), and arrest and incarceration rates (Monk, 2021). However, while it is nearly universally agreed that colorism drives within group inequalities, how colorism accomplishes this is arguable (Reece, 2019b). Reece (2019b, p. 6) critiques the “preference [for whiteness]” theory and favors robust structural explanations such as “inherited (dis)advantage” to capture the generational effects of colorism (Abascal & Garcia, 2022).

Gendered Colorism and Beauty Politics

Women across racial groups are evaluated based on their beauty, particularly in the context of romance (Hill, 2002). Known as “gendered colorism” (Hill, 2002), Black women are penalized compared to Black men for possessing darker skin (Hunter, 2002; Mathews & Johnson, 2015; Patton, 2006; Wilder, 2010). Lighter-skinned Black women tend to exhibit higher self-esteem indicating receiving positive appraisals about lightness and/or exemption from skin color discrimination (Mathews & Johnson, 2015; Wilder & Cain, 2011). However, lighter skin can jeopardize Black women’s “racial authenticity” (Long, 2024). On the other hand, darker-skinned Black women with Afro-centric features such as natural hair styles and certain facial features are perceived as less attractive (Mathews & Johnson, 2015; Patton, 2006). Privileging lightness underscores the tenacity of anti-Blackness in marginalizing darker-skinned Black women’s beauty (Hill, 2002; Newton et al., 2024; Rosario et al., 2021) and the psychologically devastating effects for their self-esteem and sense of desirability (Bond & Cash, 1992; Hill, 2002; Mathews & Johnson, 2015; Patton, 2006; Ryabov, 2019; Thompson & Keith, 2001).

Black women’s racialized beauty politics also include their preference for “thicker” or curvaceous bodies, both as a celebration of Black cultural beauty standards and a form of resistance to Eurocentric standards of thinness (Craig, 2006; Gentles-Peart, 2016, 2018; Hughes, 2021; Patton, 2006). While Black communities embrace more voluptuous bodies as symbolizing Black femininity (Gentles-Peart, 2016, 2018), broader society pathologizes larger Black bodies as deviant given the thin ideal (Strings, 2019). This cultural incongruency forces Black women to balance “thick” ideals with oppressive white ideals of thinness, creating a cultural double bind and potentially body dissatisfaction among women (Hughes, 2021). Fewer studies, however, consider how skin color and body size simultaneously shape Black women’s beauty politics, leading to a more complex intersectional analysis. As an exception, Reece (2019b) examined how skin color and body size collectively affected wages among Black Americans. He concluded that darker skin tone and larger bodies did not produce income disadvantages, contrary to the logic of social penalties when considering race, skin color, and body size (p. 398). The current study contributes to this line of inquiry by also considering how skin color and body size produce divergent social outcomes in dating, depending on women’s social location in the “beauty queue” (Hunter, 2002).

Black Women’s Status in the Dating Market

The existing scholarship on race and relationships highlights multiple structural factors that undermine Black women’s desirability in the heterosexual dating market (Curington et al., 2021). First, “controlling images” culturally locks them into one-dimensional stereotypes as deviating from standards of femininity based on white supremacist ideals (Collins, 2004). Dominant “controlling images” such as the “angry Black woman” (Childs, 2005) or hypersexualized “jezebel” (Stephens & Thomas, 2012) often depict Black women as undesirable romantic partners relative to white women who are glorified (Roberts, 1997). As such, desired traits of femininity routinely rely on characteristics such as submissiveness and fragility which have been historically incompatible with the realities of Black women’s lives (Collins, 2004, p. 257). These inaccurate, yet far-reaching, public beliefs about Black femininity inform both Black and non-Black men’s perceptions of Black women, reducing their likelihood of romantic formations (Adeyinka-Skold, 2020; Curington et al., 2021).

Secondly, scholarship documents a shortage of “eligible” or marriageable Black men (Banks, 2011; Ford, 2012; Ross, 1997; Tucker & Mitchell-Kernan, 1995). Structural forces such as labor market discrimination, un(der)employment, and disproportionate rates of incarceration reduce the availability of (financially stable) Black men (Cohen & Pepin, 2018; Council, 2021; Monterrosa, 2021) and generate a gender imbalance in the dating market or “marriage squeeze” (Tucker & Mitchell-Kernan, 1995), contributing to “romantic precarity” or instability of Black relationships (Monterrosa, 2021).

Lastly, online dating research consistently finds that Black women remain uniquely isolated in dating and marriage markets (Adeyinka-Skold, 2020; Bany et al., 2014; Buggs, 2017, 2019; Lundquist & Lin, 2015; McClintock, 2010; Robnett & Feliciano, 2011). This reflects “sexual racism” (Bedi, 2015) or the “erotic nature of racism” (Holland, 2012) that “[prioritizes] partners in a way that reinforces racial and gendered desirability hierarchies” ( Lundquist et al., 2024, p. 441). Additionally, Adeyinka-Skold (2020) examined college-educated women across racial groups in their search for relationships and highlighted Black women’s specific barriers to finding a romantic partner (who desired same-race partners) such as limited opportunities via location and “culture of place.” However, darker-skinned Black women are exceptionally marginalized in this search (Ellis & Destine, 2023; Hunter, 2002; Hunter, 2007). Collectively, these structural realities limit Black women’s opportunities to secure romantic partners which may compel them to either broaden their racial preferences to non-Black men (Adeyinka-Skold, 2020; Childs, 2005) or opt out of relationships altogether ( Council & Marsh, 2023).

The Current Study

Prior research has emphasized Black women’s exclusion in dating (Adeyinka-Skold, 2020; Buggs, 2017, 2019; . Lundquist & Lin, 2015; McClintock, 2010; Robnett & Feliciano, 2011), yet fewer studies have examined how gendered colorism shapes their pursuit of romantic partners (Craig-Henderson, 2014). A notable exception includes Buggs’s (2019) study that finds multiracial women leverage skin color to determine what constitutes an “interracial” relationship. In other words, women compared their skin color with their partners’ to create racial distinctions, even when overlapping racial identities, which influenced their desire to pursue these relationships or not. Therefore, bridging past research on sexual racism and colorism, this study examines how Black women—across the color spectrum—negotiate their status in the dating market. This study asks: how does gendered colorism structure Black women’s dating and intimate experiences and how do women manage gendered colorism? To answer these questions, I draw on 27 in-depth, semi-structured interviews with Black women embodying diverse skin tones and body sizes.

I leverage intersectionality, a theoretical framework developed by Crenshaw (1990), that destabilizes binary or categorical conceptualizations of inequality. Rather, intersectionality highlights how Black women’s experiences of oppression have been imprecisely compartmentalized within antidiscrimination law and beyond (Crenshaw, 1990). As members of multiple structurally disadvantaged groups, intersectionality exposes their unique marginalization (Cho et al., 2013; Crenshaw, 1990). Centering Black women’s vantage point is necessary given that research routinely documents their exceptional alienation within dating and marriage without considering how they negotiate these disadvantages. Furthermore, this study is inspired by other scholars who frame “intimacy as a matter of justice” (Bedi, 2015, p. 998) and “the inability to access satisfying romantic partnerships is a hidden (and often disregarded) disadvantage for Black women” (Monterrosa, 2021, p. 440).

Methods

Sample and Data Collection

The sample consists of 27 in-depth interviews with heterosexual Black women, based on a larger project examining Black men and women’s experiences of colorism within dating. Eligibility for the study included that participants: (1) self-identify as a heterosexual Black or African American, (2) be 18- to 35-years-old, and (3) currently reside in a metropolitan city along the East Coast. I selected this age range as it was likely women would have some experience dating. The average age of the sample was 27. Most of the sample self-reported “single” as their dating status (n = 15) and several reported they were currently in a relationship (n = 10). One participant reported she was married (n = 1) and one was engaged at the time of the interview (n = 1). I invited self-reported skin color without imposing categories given that past research generally implements interviewer’s observed evaluations or a colorism scale to assess skin shade (Harvey et al., 2017) which may invite interviewer biases and/or produce assumptions about a participant’s lived experiences (Roth, 2016). Instead, participants provided their own skin color assessment which may be a “better predictor of internalized measures such as perceived discrimination” (Roth, 2016, p. 1317) relative to observer assessments. While many invoked binary logics of skin color (n = 5 as “lighter-skinned” and n = 11 as “darker-skinned”), nearly half of the respondents self-reported “medium” or “brown” (n = 11), potentially activating social desirability bias to label oneself in the intermediary group. Some research suggests that “medium” or “brown” skin color acts as a “protected position” (Wilder, 2010, p. 198) that may hold a more neutral status in the color hierarchy (Mathews & Johnson, 2015). The sample skewed toward medium and darker skin tone likely given that darker-skinned women might be more motivated to share their challenges in dating than women who experienced “light skin privilege” in the dating market. Additionally, participants would oscillate between skin color categories within their responses. For example, while several self-reported “medium,” they would also at other points of the interview refer to themselves as “lighter,” reflecting skin color’s elasticity depending on social context(s) (Gonlin, 2020; Hannon & DeFina, 2014; Roth, 2016). Lastly, I asked participants to reflect on how their overall physical appearance shaped their dating lives and many offered body shape as significant in addition to skin color. I used self-reported body shape to maintain consistency with participants’ own self-reported skin color, rather than interviewer-based evaluations.

Data collection occurred in two phases from 2022–2023 and 2025. The second data collection phase was to pursue themes to reach theoretical saturation or when “no new properties yield any further insights about the emerging grounded theory” (Charmaz, 2006, p. 189). For both phases, I recruited primarily through social media with a detailed project flyer. I also recruited through snowball sampling in which former participants shared the flyer in their social networks. After participants e-mailed their interest in participating and confirming they met the inclusion criteria, I provided a standard script and consent form. All interviews were conducted via Zoom and audio-recorded, enabling greater access to participants along the East Coast. Participants provided verbal consent in accordance with the Institutional Review Board at my home institution.

The interview protocol covered topics ranging from family dynamics, body image, dating, and relationships. I intentionally asked open-ended questions to invite participants to steer me toward pivotal dating experiences revolving around colorism. The study design facilitated open-ended exchange in knowledge production to reduce the interviewer-participant hierarchy (Few et al., 2003). Interviews ranged from 1 to 2 hours, with an average of an hour and a half. Participants received a $30 gift card as compensation for their participation. I provide their self-reported skin color, age (at the time of data collection), dating status, occupation, and pseudonym to protect their identity when quoted.

Coding and Analysis

After transcribing the recorded interviews from audio via a transcription service, I imported them into Atlas.ti 8 for coding and analysis. Relying on a “grounded theory approach” (Glaser & Strauss, 1967), I reviewed the transcripts multiple times without any preconceived codes. After establishing codes to capture broad themes, I refined the themes to a structured coding schema. After preliminary analysis, I then sifted the data for any deviating cases. I treat these interviews as “social products” rather than objective realities, recognizing that women are offering a filtered account shaped by the interview setting.

Positionality and Research Team

The research team consisted of myself, the principal investigator, and two undergraduate students who identified as Black American. As the principal investigator who conducted the majority of interviews (n = 24), my privileged status as a light-skinned, thin, multiracial Asian American woman shaped the interview process. While sharing some positionalities, or “insider” status with participants across education and age, I firmly recognized my “outsider” status in how participants encountered anti-Blackness, colorism, and/or weight stigma, and the history of institutionalized violence toward Black women in science (Roberts, 1997). I conveyed my academic interests in the interest of assuring transparency and trustworthiness (Few et al., 2003; Mayorga-Gallo & Hordge-Freeman, 2017) and delicately positioned myself as a “learner” to abate power differences (Kim, 2024). Participants may have felt more comfortable sharing their dating lives without feeling pressured to convey “authentic” Black womanhood to a racial “outsider” and it is possible that they responded more candidly assuming my unfamiliarity with it. I did not find any substantive differences between the interviews I conducted and those conducted by the research assistant (n = 3) who matched gender and race with participants.

Findings

In the following sections, I trace Black women’s experiences of colorism in their search for romantic partners. First, lighter-skinned women’s desirability in the dating market made them more selective about romantic partners’ intentions. Secondly, darker-skinned participants routinely felt dismissed as romantic prospects due to the devaluation of their darker skin. Lastly, across the color spectrum, “thicker” women experienced specific forms of hypersexualization that shaped beliefs around their sexuality and worthiness of a serious, long-term relationship. Therefore, colorism—in addition to body size—stratified romantic and intimate experiences in ways that produced unique barriers for Black women as they searched for romantic partners.

“It’s Not Always Good Attraction”: Fetishizing Lighter Skin

Given the legacy of preferential treatment toward lighter-skinned Black women (Dixon & Telles, 2017; Mathews & Johnson, 2015), participants articulated social privileges that accompanied their lighter complexion. They shared receiving remarks from family, friends, and even strangers that praised their lighter complexion. As Mathews and Johnson (2015, p. 258) note, lighter-skinned women “have the benefit of being psychically admired by both African Americans and whites.” However, participants described feeling uneasy, even disturbed, with such messages. They were critically aware of society’s premium on lighter skin that characterized them as desirable. In this section, lighter-skinned women conveyed “light privilege” (Hargrove, 2019), yet also unique dilemmas as they navigated the dating market.

Cianne, a 23-year-old educator, who described her skin color as “smacked dab in the middle” between white and darker-skinned, said “older white strangers” would frequently make unsolicited comments about her “beautiful complexion.” Cianne is single and “focused on [her]self” and desires to be in a “better position” before she “dives” into another relationship. However, in her search for a partner, she felt objectified during conversations with primarily Black men. She expressed:

I’ve had guys tell me that I was pretty and they’ve always liked light-skinned women, offered to buy me drinks. On dating apps there’ll be guys and in their [biography] they might super like me [. . .] And then, in their bio it’ll say that they love light-skinned women and that’s to the point where it’s like you’re fetishizing me, and it feels gross. [. . .] It just doesn’t feel genuine. It just feels like you’re trying to fill in a mold and it’s not a compliment.

She referred to this fetishization as a “stupid mentality” and was cautious entertaining men who were aggressive about their lighter-skinned preference or who had a history of dating only women with lighter skin tones. Instead, Cianne wanted men to appreciate her [“individuality”], not that she fulfilled racialized desires. Similar to Phoenix and Craddock’s (2024) study of British Black women’s experiences of colorism, women felt apprehensive when they were desired solely for their lightness, viewing this preference as a barrier to forming genuine connections.

Moreover, non-Black men also participated in fetishizing lighter skin. Taylor, a single 30-year-old working in marketing with “golden melted caramel” skin tone, also experienced fetishization, particularly from white men, on dating apps. While feeling “disregarded for being Black” at times, Taylor too acknowledged the social privileges that lighter complexion engendered. She sensed white men perceived her lighter skin as “more acceptable” for interracial relationships, yet this also made her more vulnerable to their sexual fetishization. She explained:

I don’t necessarily message them, but there are white men who I personally feel like fetishize Black women who [will] reach out to me. Because I always noticed in their profiles they’re looking for a chocolate woman, looking for a Black queen, or something like that. It’s like, you wouldn’t put looking for a vanilla honey for a white woman. It’s just very specific things they’re calling out, and I’m like, okay, you have this fantasy you’re trying to go after and so I think men, white men like that message me a lot on dating apps.

Taylor felt irritated that men fetishized Black women (e.g., referring to her as a “chocolate woman”), in contrast to how she believed white women were spared. And given her lighter skin, white men may have been more motivated to message her due to her perceived closeness to whiteness.

Additionally, several participants indicated that men fetishized their lighter skin beyond messages of physical attractiveness. Women shared that men possessed distorted beliefs about their sexual behaviors, which may have contributed to women’s desirability as romantic partners. While “controlling images” of Black women generally characterize them as hypersexual or sexually deviant (Collins, 2004), lighter-skinned women experienced a distinct form of hypersexualization—due to their proximity to whiteness—that was racially coded with notions of purity and sexual innocence (Hunter, 2002). For example, Jada, a 33-year-old recruiter, described her skin color as a “light enough complexion where I tend to blend in white areas.” Prior to her current long-term relationship, she used dating apps and preferred to date darker-skinned Black men and would even find it “difficult to swipe right on a white man.” Her lighter skin became a focal point when men glorified her “perfect skin tone” and saddled it with sexual implications that she appeared like a “good f__k.” Even her current partner in the initial stages of their relationship had made sexualized assumptions that she was “[sexually] innocent.” Jada noted that this sexualized impression didn’t undermine their relationship; rather, it likely facilitated its development.

These sexualized assumptions based on lighter skin also impacted Carol, a single 33-year-old public health worker. She considered herself “bordering medium” and a “[shapeshifter]” given the fluctuation of her shade across life span, racialized spaces, and seasons of the year. When reflecting on how lighter skin shaped her romantic relationships, she explained:

I think it attracts a lot, but it’s a lot that also needs to be filtered out because it’s not always good attraction. Men tend to be more vain. So, I get compliments and passes from guys that look all types of ways, all different ages, everything. And sometimes it feels very fetishized when it comes outside of my race. And I have heard white men be like, “oh, you’re so pretty for a Black girl.”

Here, Carol illustrated that while romantic attention from men across race and age seemed ubiquitous, she carefully discerned genuine romantic connections. She navigated assumptions about her sexual preferences based on her lighter complexion, particularly the expectation that she would be “submissive” in relationships. Like other women in the sample, Carol perceived fetishization from white men as particularly audacious.

Kiara, a partnered 34-year-old program coordinator, acknowledged the “halo effect” or “pretty privilege” associated with her lighter skin and felt discouraged by men’s desire to serve their own interests by “making [her] a wife” without putting in time and effort to truly get to know her. Before her current relationship, Kiara suggested that some men pursued a sexual relationship to increase their status dating a lighter-skinned Black woman such as “if I f__k her, then maybe those things [i.e., lighter-skin] will osmosis into me.” When elaborating about sexualized assumptions, men had a deep-rooted expectation that she was a “good girl” and “not into any type of freaky.” Even Kiara’s current partner shared these assumptions, despite her interest in exploring sexual fetishes. For Jada, Carol, and Kiara, their perceived sexual preferences—(i.e., sexual innocence and submissiveness)—frequently elicited romantic attention from men and elevated their desirability, even though the attention felt inauthentic and, at times, deeply objectifying.

Hypersexualizing Lighter Skin and Thicker Bodies

For some lighter-skinned participants, their “thicker” bodies also figured into their romantic interactions. Given the cultural ideal of “thickness” that Black women embody a curvaceous, hourglass figure (Gentles-Peart, 2016, 2018; Hughes, 2021), several participants noted how their larger embodiment and lighter skin made them vulnerable to sexual exploitation. Grace, a single 27-year-old hospital worker, acknowledged how her lighter complexion (“between peanut butter and caramel”) afforded her more license to be critical of dating experiences with Black men without summoning the “angry Black woman” trope (Collins, 2004). College was a formative period romantically in a racially diverse space. While receiving compliments on her skin color, she also conveyed body weight anxieties which persist as an “insecurity.” She asserted:

When I go to college, I know that I’m around 215, 225, in terms of weight. And I’m starting to get attention from men. I’m still a virgin. But I’m noticing that I’m also attracting older men. So the people that were giving me attention, were either seniors or fifth year seniors, or just men outside of college that were already 26 or something. And I couldn’t really understand it at the time. I just thought, oh, people have always told me that I’m mature for my age, but now I realize for some of it was definitely predatory.

Given that Grace possessed both lighter skin and a heavier embodiment, she felt particularly sexualized by older men. While her physical embodiment heightened sexual attention—something she initially rationalized as her “maturity”—she now retrospectively interprets this attraction as exploitative. Both historically and contemporarily, Black girls and women have contended with “adultification” or a process that constructs them as older than their actual age to legitimize such sexual exploitation and violence (Collins, 2004).

Hannah, a partnered 27-year-old government worker, shared Grace’s experiences of early sexualization based on her embodiment. Others described her as “a thick redbone” (from romantic prospects) to “light-skinned” (from darker-skinned peers) despite identifying with “brown.” As Wilder (2010, p. 192) notes, “redbone” has historically impregnated lighter skin with greater social capital. Hannah explained:

I’ve always been a thicker girl where it’s at a young age I was perceived as sexualized because I have breasts. And at fourth grade, maybe a D by then. I have hips and curves and things like that. [. . .] I definitely do think through dating, it’s been something that either some men or people I’ve dated like being thicker. But I also think that me being brown skin, considered a fair complexion, light skin, men also gravitate towards that as well.

Recently, she had an argument with an acquaintance who delegitimized her experiences as a Black woman due to her lighter skin. Despite his insistence that she wasn’t “Black enough,” he nevertheless pursued her romantically. Hannah felt very confused at the dissonance between his efforts to undermine her Blackness, yet simultaneous romantic attraction to her. His attitude about her racial “authenticity” as a lighter-skinned Black woman ( Hunter, 2002; Ross, 1997) did not deter his romantic pursuit and may, in fact, have fueled it.

While participants articulated their desirability in the dating market, namely that their skin complexion attracted greater romantic and sexual interest from both Black and non-Black men, lighter complexion didn’t automatically guarantee romantic success. Kim, a single 33-year-old graduate student, identified as “brown-skinned,” but on the “lighter side” in the winter. Romantic prospects attributed her with “pretty privilege,” yet she emphatically resisted internalizing or [“using”] it. In fact, she subverted the assumption that lighter skin secured more robust chances in the dating market and expressed:

It’s definitely an advantage [i.e., her skin color], but I have friends of all hues who pull men all the time. So there’s moments where I’m like, everybody’s getting a guy around me, but me. It doesn’t make me feel like I have any advantage. I feel like I have gone long stretches with zero, zero options [. . .] or the options I want don’t really want me, so I’m humbled. [emphasis added]

While Kim had several past relationships, most of whom were with darker-skinned Black men, she also reported significant gaps in her dating history while actively pursuing a partner. She swiftly acknowledged her privilege, yet also complicated the assumption that lighter skin would secure the relationships she desired.

The narratives above highlight that while lighter complexion carried greater perceived attractiveness in the dating market, this attraction was also fraught with problematic assumptions. Women described interactions with men that objectified their skin tone in ways that felt uncomfortable and exploitative and only served men’s interest. As Montemurro and Hughes (2025) argue, “erotic capital,” in this case lighter complexion, may yield greater desirability, but may not produce “erotic dividends” or “guaranteed or consistent benefits to its possessor” (p. 3). Meaning, lighter skin may garner greater romantic attraction, yet not mitigate the challenges in forming relationships for women. This was especially true for women who described how their curvaceous embodiment made them more vulnerable to sexual exploitation. As such, women approached romantic prospects with caution, seeking to assess men’s authenticity before forming intimate connections.

“You’re A Very Beautiful Girl, But You Are Just Not His Type”: Devaluing Dark Skin

Narratives among darker-skinned participants significantly differed. Women rarely articulated feeling desirable or “wanted” in the dating market and many expressed how colorism shaped the romantic void in their lives. Illustrating “primary and secondary marginalization” (Hochschild & Weaver, 2007), Black women’s race and darker-skin produced a lack of romantic interest and opportunities. They expressed frustration navigating a romantic marketplace that valued lightness above all other traits despite their personality and educational and/or professional achievements. Yet despite the structural disadvantages they encountered, darker-skinned women asserted agency in their romanic lives through terminating unfulfulling or disappointing romantic connections that did not meet their standards

Participants articulated how dominant beliefs about darker skin adversely influenced their body image and perceptions of desirability within romantic contexts. They observed lighter-skinned friends and family members engage in successful relationships while they remained on the romantic sidelines. For example, Samantha, a 24-year-old clinical researcher, unequivocally identified with “dark skin” particularly given that she felt “people just not wanting to call it [i.e., dark skin].” She was currently in a relationship, but growing up she often felt excluded. She explained:

In high school a lot of people in my grade dated and I had a lot of guy friends in high school, and it just started getting to me. So I have really great friendship connections with all of these guys, but no one sees me romantically. And I was like, what’s different between me and so-and-so who has the same friendship connection with them, but [for them] it’s going in a romantic way?

While she had genuine friendships with male counterparts in high school, none of these friendships materialized romantically which affected her both psychologically and emotionally. Not feeling desired or chosen only intensified after graduating high school to the point that she actively questioned her own attractiveness. She continued:

There was a white guy that I knew who was obsessed with Black women, but he was only obsessed with Black women of a certain shade of lighter skin tone and he wanted to go on a date with [me]. And I remember talking to my friend. I was like, “I feel like I’m not his type.” And I didn’t necessarily mean that in a way against myself, but I meant I know your history and every single woman you’ve been with looks the same. And if that’s honestly your criteria for dating, then I already know that I’m not fitting whatever your standard is for who you’re looking for. [. . .] I was conscious of other people’s perception of did they want this certain type of skin tone? Did they want light skin, curly hair? Okay, I’m not that so don’t waste my time and I won’t waste yours.

In this candid quote, Samantha disqualified herself given she believed she would not fulfill this person’s preference for lightness.

Similarly, Leticia, a single 32-year-old marketer in patient care, conveyed not being men’s “type.” Moving to the United States from Africa without her parents, she lived with relatives in the Northeast with a small African community. Fighting back tears, she described a difficult childhood given the distance from her parents and harassment in school due to her accent. While she “internally [had] no issues” with her “cocoa bean” skin tone, her feelings about her skin color shifted within a romantic context. She revealed, “I think I lack a lot of confidence in dating and approaching men because of my skin tone. Because I don’t know if they will like me because of my skin color” or that she would embody someone’s “type.” Consequently, Leticia admitted that she rarely approached romantic prospects (mostly Black men) given her assumption that the “attraction [wouldn’t be] reciprocated.” Leticia reasoned that since society—especially men—already devalued her skin color, she would avoid any situation that might further intensify her feelings of undesirability.

Recently engaged, Mya, a 29-year-old graduate student, offered “chocolate” and “velvety smooth, but soft and glowing” to describe her skin tone. She finally reached a point in her life where she “[stopped] seeking validation from other people” and embraced her skin tone and physical appearance of 200 pounds and 6′ height that had “intimidated” people. In high school and college, however, she experienced the devaluation of her darker-skin which played a significant role in shaping her self-esteem. She was twenty pounds lighter leaving high school due to participating in basketball and “Insanity” workouts which helped her “[build] a lot of muscle” and “develop a figure.” However, despite her efforts, she faced a similar exclusion romantically in high school that accompanied her to college. She stated, “I graduated high school on top of the world. I got into all of my colleges. I had a great body” and yet, she felt “romantically confused” about her lack of success. She continued, “no one was [direct messaging] me. There was just zero attention. And there were a ton of good parties the first year of college. There were opportunities to go out and meet people and have a little liquid courage. No one paid attention to me.” Instead, young men in college paid attention to two of her closest friends, one she referenced as the “angel” (with lighter skin) and the other as “fast” (who shared her skin tone) Yet, none of the romantic attention reached Mya despite her educational achievements and slimmer figure. She firmly believed that she had desirable attributes, and yet, her darker complexion precluded men’s romantic interest.

Hypersexualizing Darker Skin and Thicker Bodies

Consistent with prior research, Black women with darker skin and curvaceous bodies were particularly associated with deviant sexual behavior (Stephens & Thomas, 2012). Subjected to a distinct form of hypersexualization (such as sexually “freaky”), women in this group felt relegated to casual and sexual relationships, and desirable only under these conditions. Hadesa, a 23-year-old educator and esthetician with “brown complexion with yellow undertone,” was “single and ready to mingle.” Hadesa ultimately desired marriage and children, but she perceived her darker skin tone and heavier embodiment as significantly reducing the number of men who would be seriously interested in her romantically. She shared:

It’s so toxic, but it [her darker complexion] kind of gives me my bracket of these are the guys that like you. This is your window. These guys are out your league. You know? I had a crush on this one guy that came to my house through mutual friends. [We were] just getting to know each other. And I told his friend, his close friend, he was light-skinned, “I find him really attractive.” And mind you, we had each other on social media. I would comment. And she told me, “You’re a very beautiful girl, but you are just not his type.”

While her crush and her had a “[bond]” and shared sense of humor, this connection never realized. Hadesa further investigated on social media which confirmed her suspicions that his “type” involved lighter-skinned women such as his prior relationships and the mother of his child who appeared as a “light-skinned, mixed Latino girl.” However, this wasn’t the last time that Hadesa felt overlooked for not being someone’s “type” and devalued for a long-term committed relationship. She asserted:

We’re [darker-skinned women] the stepping stone. I dated a guy before, like six months. We broke up. A couple of months later, he was getting married and I went to the store to buy food. And I saw him with his wife and his wife was very light-skinned. And all this time, I didn’t even know that was his type. And you can’t judge somebody for having a preference, but when you date dark-skinned girls, and then you marry a light-skinned complexion, was we just your scratch? Did you take the light skin girl more serious as wifey material and we was just your whores?

Hadesa’s sentiment was not unique; darker-skinned women felt only considered for casual relationships. Several women lamented feeling like the “stepping stone” to men’s actual desired relationship with women with lighter skin tone, which they could not physically embody. Given that lighter-skinned women are more likely to marry than their darker-skinned counterparts (Hunter, 1998; Keith & Herring, 1991), Hadesa’s belief that men discounted darker-skinned women for serious, committed relationships reflects these harsh realities in the marriage market (. Hunter, 2002).

Similarly, Anne, a 26-year-old engineer who was currently in a relationship, had “brown skin” and considered herself “right in the middle.” She felt insecure about her weight growing up as a “chubby kid” and that insecurity still lingers today, particularly as it shapes her dating life. She disclosed that her previous interactions on dating apps predominantly involved men seeking casual sex, despite her own desire for a serious, long-term relationship. She stated:

Men kind of treated me like a second option and not the first option. And I feel if I were a little skinnier, if I were not looking how I am right now, maybe they wouldn’t treat me like that. I do find that on dating apps I hear a lot about women who kind of just like go on dates with guys, but no one’s ever like overtly sexual to them. Whereas with me it was like at least eight out of the ten messages were overtly sexual and [. . .] that’s kind of disheartening even though I tried to steer away from like that kind of talk.

While Anne wanted a meaningful relationship, she often felt “left hanging dry” in these fleeting connections.

While it became evident that darker skin and larger body size relegated women to (unwanted) casual and/or sexual relationships, they actively resisted by refusing to engage in unfulfilling connections. This underscores women’s self-determination in navigating romantic decisions, even amid structural conditions of “romantic precarity” (Monterrosa, 2021) and a persisent shortage of “eligible” Black men that systematically disadvantages Black women ( Lundquist & Lin, 2015; Robnett & Feliciano, 2011). Several women invoked “not tolerating nonsense” as a strategy to protect their overall emotional well-being and preserve self-respect in their search for a partner. Paige, a single 25-year-old research associated, cited as having “triple whammies” (i.e., Black, darker-skinned, and possessing a fuller body), and despite her disadvantaged status in the dating market, she would not succumb to any type of relationship. In fact, she admitted having a “short tolerance for nonsense”:

There are things that people expect dark skin, heavier girls to do and to put up with versus what they expect skinnier or even lighter girls to do and put up with. So there’s already the stigma around being plus size, but then there’s a stigma around being dark-skinned versus light-skinned, and when you’re dark-skinned and plus size, oh my goodness, you’re supposed to put up with a liar, a cheater.

Paige would not accept dishonesty and infidelity or even entertain a casual relationship. Despite not having “many options” and a “limited circle” of potential romantic partners, she maintained her relationship standards, particularly her commitment to abstaining from premarital sex. Aware of the challenges she faced as a darker-skinned, plus-size Black woman in this dating landscape, Paige refused to enter casual relationships, firmly prioritizing her needs over men’s (sexual) expectations.

In these narratives, darker-skinned women routinely received messages about their skin color in ways that negatively impacted their sense of desirability, consistent with prior research (c.f. Phoenix & Craddock, 2024, 2025; Rosario et al., 2021). Women spoke candidly about feeling unattractive—and at times even invisible—to men. These demoralizing experiences made some respondents more quickly to sever burgeoning romantic connections, or remain single altogether, to protect their emotional well-being (Council & Marsh, 2023; Monterrosa, 2021).Despite a dating market that undermines (darker-skinned) Black women’s romantic opportunities ( Council, 2021; Council & Marsh, 2023; Curington et al., 2021; Monterrosa, 2021), they still hoped for meaningful romantic relationships in the interview accounts. Hence, they made the decision to end casual connections and to wait for a relationship that felt truly worthy of their time and commitment.

Discussion and Conclusion

Colorism hierarchically ranks individuals based on skin color, systematically privileging lighter-skinned individuals with greater resources and pathways for social mobility. Thus, racial oppression has fundamentally shaped Black women’s intimate relationships (Collins, 2004), limiting their romantic choices and opportunities for satisfying relationships (Council & Marsh, 2023). Research on online dating consistently documents Black women’s alienation compared to women of other racial groups (Bany et al., 2014; Curington et al., 2021; Lundquist & Lin, 2015; McClintock, 2010; Robnett & Feliciano, 2011). And yet when considering colorism, darker-skinned Black women face more severe social penalties for deviating from beauty standards rooted in white supremacist ideals (Craig, 2006; Hill, 2002; Hunter, 2002; Patton, 2006; Vitro & Carter, 2024).

The current study explored the dating experiences of heterosexual Black women to illuminate how gender, race, and skin color intersect in their pursuit of romantic relationships. As highlighted by my findings, Black women across the color spectrum faced romantic barriers based on their skin complexion that often prevented them from finding genuine partners and relationships they desired. For lighter-skinned participants, they navigated a dating market that fetishized their lighter complexion in ways that felt insincere, as men’s attraction was rooted in racial and gender inequalities that glorified whiteness. As a result, they felt apprehensive when men approached them with such remarks, disregarding their more important (non-physical) qualities. This is likely why many lighter-skinned women attempted to distance themselves from their self-acknowledged “light privilege” (Hargrove, 2019) given that it contributed to their experiences of objectification. On the other hand, darker-skinned Black women reported feeling romantically invisible and not fitting into men’s “type,” a persistent theme in their romantic experiences. And for some with “thicker” bodies, who were (mis)characterized as sexually deviant, men pursued casual sexual encounters rather than serious, long-term relationships. Thus, the intersection of darker skin and a heavier embodiment functioned as a romantic liability in a society that privileges both lightness and thinness. Yet, despite their marginalized status, darker-skinned Black women expressed agency by terminating romantic connections that failed to meet their ideals. Overall, these findings highlight Black women’s self-determination in shaping their romantic lives, despite the social forces that cast them as undesirable romantic partners.

Examining colorism is significant given that skin color will likely determine the future of racial stratification in the U.S. much like racial structures in South America (Reece, 2019a, 2019b). Race scholars have posited that the United States is moving toward a “tri-racial hierarchy,” wherein skin color will increasingly dictate racial classification and serve as a greater predictor of significant social outcomes (Burton et al., 2010). Therefore, skin color will continue to shape access to social and material benefits enhancing one’s life opportunities. This extends to intimate life as well. Given the valuation of lighter skin in broader society, significant social inequalities persist within and beyond romantic relationships for Black women. Therefore, it is essential to challenge and dismantle both sexual racism and gendered colorism in the romantic marketplace to affirm the desirability and romantic worth of Black women. As other scholars have argued, “romantic justice must be centered in the fight for social justice” (Monterrosa, 2021, p. 441), particularly for (darker-skinned) Black women who have been historically overlooked as desirable romantic partners. And as one participant, Grace, implored, “something that I wish that people knew in general about plus-size Black women, no matter what their skin color is, is that they’re worthy of love in the same respect as anybody else.”

Limitations and Future Directions

Several limitations should be noted. First, this study focused on heterosexual Black women’s experiences of gendered colorism in dating. Future research should investigate how gendered colorism shapes queer and lesbian Black women’s experiences. Given that Black women—across sexualities—are aware of the penalization of darker skin in romantic contexts, do queer and lesbian Black women internalize and perpetuate colorism in their search for romantic partners? Some research suggests that internalization of colorism may be stronger in heterosexual relationships (Vitro & Carter, 2024). Therefore, to what extent do queer couples deprioritize skin complexion in their search for romantic partners? Additionally, future research should attend to inter-ethnic differences given the growing diversity of Black immigrant communities in the United States. That is, how do Black immigrant daters experience and manage gendered colorism across global contexts? Answering these questions would continue to untangle the complexity of colorism in Black women’s romantic lives.