I confess. Never have I ever used the words white and privilege together in the same sentence before 2020. I find pop culture’s current obsession with White Privilege to be divisive and frankly problematic. The platitude of White Privilege perpetuates a dangerous narrative that African-Americans are still powerless to improve our own lives and shape our futures. It transfers accountability, thus further empowering White people. Afterall, if White people are the cause of Black misery, shouldn't they be our great saviors, too? And this is precisely the problem with the White Privilege phenomenon. …

Recently a White former co-worker at my old real estate firm sent me a video of looters fleeing a smashed Nike store, their hands filled with shoe boxes. His attached message read: Did you get Nikes, too, babe? (smileyface) When I replied that I felt hurt by his insinuation that I was a thief and that the incendiary event leading up to the looting was no laughing matter, he replied, patronizingly: “Dont get triggered by what you see in the media. You’re better than that.”

In the ashes of the bonfires of protests that have raged in cities across America, and as this country reckons with its centuries-long pile of dirty laundry, I, too, have been forced to face a sobering reality: I am a Token Black Friend. …

After seeing #blackAF heavily hash-tagged and panned on my feed all weekend, I caved into the hype and binge-watched the hotly anticipated 8-episode Netflix show from Kenya Barris, the creator behind Black-ish and so many Black-centric hits. And it wasn’t that bad….it was worse. After watching #blackAF all I could think was, #WTF?

Barris, stars as Kenya, an ornery, uber-successful Hollywood producer, father of six, and husband to a Rachel Dolezal-ish wife, played almost too perfectly by Rashida Jones. …