The Brilliant, the Black, and the Bourgie

Brilliant: adj., having or showing great intelligence, talent, quality, etc.; splendid or magnificent

Black: adj.; pertaining or belonging to any of the various populations characterized by dark skin pigmentation or belonging to any of the various populations characterized by dark skin pigmentation, specifically the dark-skinned peoples of Africa, Oceania, and Australia.

Bourgie: adj. (usually pejorative), to be pretentious in matters of taste or dismissive of other tastes, in a manner that follows a particular middle class mode of thinking. From the French “bourgeoisie.”

People who exemplify all three of these words are collectively known as “the Talented Tenth.” I’m just kidding. Or am I?

Depending on how you know me, my name is either Lyssa or Bre. If you don’t actually know me, go with the first one. I’m pretty smart, one of my cousins calls me Chocolat, and if your beer isn’t Belgian you can get it out of my face.

You've heard of The BBC? I'm The BBB. I am brilliant. I am Black. I am bourgie. In that order.

But as fabulous as we are, it’s hard on the yard for us brilliant, Black, and bourgie kids. We’re too weird, we like strange things; no one understands us. There usually aren’t enough of us in one place to be friends with one another so we’re usually forced to make friends with people who are 2 out of 3: either brilliant and Black, Black and bourgie, or, last and certainly worst in the eyes of our peers and family, those who are brilliant and bourgie—but not Black.

Or at least that’s what happened to me. I catch hell every time my extended family meets my non-Black but brilliant and bourgie friends. I know it’s all jokes and y’all don’t mean any harm, but for real? Do we really have to do this every time I have company? Is this really necessary? REALLY?

Things only get worse when you go to college—or at least they got worse for me when I went to college—especially if you, like me, attend a PWI. Here on the internet, PWI stands for “Predominately White Institution,” and I went to the PWI of PWIs: Clemson University. With a student body that’s roughly 82% Caucasian, Clemson is home to all things involving frat boys, wearing cowboy boots with short dresses in the summer time, and cornhole.

What even IS cornhole? Like, what is it? Please someone tell me. Please.

To make matters even worse, I graduated from that Gap Ad of a university in May and was all ecstatic at the prospect of never having to go back only to realize that it was really my only option for grad school. I may or may not have cried for a week after. Actually, I may or may not still be crying.

But maybe delving into this strange, strange world is my calling in life. Perhaps I’m meant to be the explorer observing the non-brilliant, non-Black, and/or non-bourgie (or any combination of the three) in their natural habitats because sweet minty Jesus there has got to be a reason why I keep ending up in these situations. Because I swear this is a plot designed by God to make me learn some lesson I obviously haven’t learned yet, I’m starting this blog.

I do not promise to always be nice. I never promise to be tactful. If you don’t want to read any speculations on any group you belong to or trait you identify with, get out now and maybe we can still be friends. If you’re going to tell me that I’m too sensitive, get out and we probably won’t stay friends. If you don’t want to hear unpleasant things about sexism, racism, or any other –ism I can come up with—if you especially don’t want to hear anything about sexism, racism, or any other –ism I can come up with from a little educated Black girl, you might not want to hang around.

Really, though, this should be about what fun adventures I have navigating Gap Ad Graduate School. There will be adventures. I can feel it. I am way too awkward/socially inept/strange for there to be no adventures. I fully expect y’all to laugh at me for the next 2 years. Hopefully, sometimes I’ll be laughing too. There’s no backing out now. I’ve already paid tuition.

Let’s do this.