The Brown Paper Bag Test was a form of social and racial discrimination practiced in the African-American community beginning in the early 1900s. The test was used as a way to determine whether or not an individual would be afforded certain privileges in society. It was simple: if your skin color was lighter than a brown paper bag, you were easily granted admission to institutions like fraternities, churches, social clubs, and so on. It was only a matter of time before white community leaders and business owners caught on and started using the Brown Paper Bag Test as a hiring practice. Today the Brown Paper Bag Test isn’t explicitly used in hiring or admissions, but you would be mistaken to think that colorism isn’t a major factor in determining someone’s social status, regardless of their economic or educational status.
I first heard about the Brown Paper Bag Test on an episode of the Tyra Banks Show around 2005 when I was a teenager. That was my first exposure to the idea of colorism. At 14, I hadn’t yet learned to identify the subtle forms of racism I had encountered up to that point. But that day it all started to make sense. That’s why people are always asking to touch my hair. That’s why the bus driver asked if I was sure that blonde, white lady was my mom. That’s why some parents told their kids not to play with me at recess 8 years ago. The realizations came to me slowly over time and they hit me hard. They distracted me for days. I’d have imaginary arguments in my head where I’d come up with the perfect comeback for those now-that-I-think-about-it-what-you-said-was-fucked-up moments. I started anticipating them too. I stayed ready for battle. But what I wasn’t ready for was the most cutting retort, “Why are you mad? You’re not even that black.”
Damn. You’re right.
Hold a brown paper bag up to me and I’d pass. It sounds like a good thing, but what do I gain? I get to have all (or most of) the privileges afforded to white or white-passing people in exchange for hearing what those who hold this privilege inherently really say when they think no one else, no one “other,” is listening. If it sounds like espionage, it kind of is. If it sounds like fun, it’s definitely not. Trust me. It’s exhausting, humiliating, and unexpectedly humbling in some ways.
I’ve been around white people enough and cursed with being white-passing enough for them to drop their guard around me and say shit I know they wouldn’t say around another black person.
Me, 2019
I’d be lying if I told you I used my advanced degree in White-Passing to call out every instance of normalized racism or every microaggression I’ve experienced first- or secondhand. I’m only one person. That’s a poor excuse, but put another way, I’m often the only person woman of color present in those situations. It can be terrifying. But I’m tired of being terrified and I’m tired of being confused and, above all, I’m tired of being unheard. And until I get past my fears and work through my confusion, I’ve made this.
This is where I’ll tell it like it is. This is where I won’t be afraid. This is where I’ll define myself and the space I occupy. This is a space for me to talk about my experience with colorism. This is a space for me to talk about how I’ve been used as a token. This is a space for me to confront my white privilege. This is a space for me to live openly on the borders of blackness and whiteness. This is where I will be heard.
Postscript: I have been fortunate enough and careful enough to surround myself with people of privilege who don’t subscribe to racist ideology, who don’t act on it, who don’t treat me differently because of my race, and who graciously self-correct when I do call them out on their transgressions. To those of you who have given me the courage and support to do this work – thank you. You all know who you are.
Brown Paper Blog 