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I’m a 50-year-old Black woman, and one of my dreams is to fly comfortably in a pair of sweatpants. You might wonder why this seemingly trivial matter means so much to me, but it’s hard to understand unless you’ve faced the realities of racism the way I have.
Traveling has always been a part of my life, whether through work or as a personal passion. I’ve explored over 50 countries, experiencing new cultures, cuisines, and traditions along the way. However, one observation I can’t shake is the connection between my attire and the likelihood of encountering racism. It appears that wearing sweatpants as a Black individual can lead to a host of prejudices in places like the U.S., U.K., Germany, and Italy. Conversely, donning a sophisticated pantsuit seems to shield me from such discrimination.
It’s as if airport officials equate Black people in casual wear with danger or distrust. When I wear sweatpants, I’m often subjected to “random” searches, with my passport scrutinized as if I might be carrying forged documents. I’ve become so accustomed to this pattern that I sometimes place bets with my white friends on whether I’ll be stopped—and I’ve won every single time.
In navigating this world, we often make sacrifices to avoid confrontation. We experience overt racism but choose silence to keep the peace. We endure poor service due to our skin color without complaint. We comply with police demands even when we’ve done nothing wrong. Being Black in a world rife with racism requires a great deal of restraint and resilience.
The night before my travels, I set out my best outfits. Yet deep down, I resent this necessity. Why must I conform to these unspoken rules? The idea of wearing my favorite sweatpants while dealing with the pressures of travel—especially post-9/11 and during a pandemic—feels overwhelming. It seems futile to add the burden of potential racism to an already anxiety-inducing experience.
With the rise of electronic checkpoints, I’ve noticed a reduction in racial profiling at immigration. While there are concerns about biased algorithms, I find myself relieved to be assessed by a machine rather than a human, who may harbor conscious or unconscious biases. However, the presence of immigration officials behind these checkpoints still brings me stress, as they have the authority to override the machines’ assessments.
I often think about the wastefulness of targeting Black individuals for searches while true offenders often slip through unnoticed. My white friends have smuggled everything from luxury items to alcohol without raising an eyebrow from customs officials, leading them to feel untouchable.
Writing about racism compels me to confront how it influences my choices. While some suggest that I shouldn’t let it control my life, escaping its effects is easier said than done. The trauma of racism is significant, and I’ve learned to navigate and avoid situations that could lead to further pain and humiliation. If you were in my position, wouldn’t you do the same?
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In summary, my experiences highlight the intersection of race and travel. While I long for the comfort of sweatpants, the realities of racism compel me to dress in a way that minimizes the likelihood of discrimination. Understanding this dynamic is crucial in fostering empathy and awareness.
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