Standing in the middle of the muddied grass tailgate with the heat blaring down my back, I couldn’t help but notice a familiar pattern. People were glued to their mini circle of friends, maybe exchanging a quick greeting here and there with an acquaintance, but never really branching out.
Despite the lively atmosphere, social groups remained fixed, no one daring to truly engage in a way outside their comfort zone.
This isn’t just a one-time observation for me either. In Black social spaces, whether at parties, events, or campus gatherings, exclusivity can subconsciously define interactions.
So, I began to wonder: we pride ourselves on community, but how much are we really embracing it?
To examine any issue, we must look at the why. For starters, I believe as the generation changes and the pressures of capitalism turn us toward individualism, it shifts the social climate. People are burnt out and tired. Third spaces are disappearing, and our forms of communication have become digitized. A generation that spends all its time online is going to be less reliant and more reluctant when it comes to in-person socializing because we have a digital world to connect us (or so we think).
Relevant to this, social capital is a surefire way exclusion can happen. A friend who attended Sam Houston State University observed this firsthand. She was once invited to a party, and the follow-up question was, “How many followers do you have?”
What an interesting choice, I thought.
Having more followers apparently meant more opportunities to open doors for yourself and create friendships. Being a pretty girl on Instagram meant the next girl might want to be friends with you.
My sister experienced this first hand at the University of Houston. With an Instagram page adorned in Baddie symbolism – stylish outfits, bikinis on foreign beaches, perfected makeup, the right angles, the right locations – this image didn’t just shape how people perceived her; it influenced how they treated her. Strangers were kinder, more eager to befriend her, and more willing to engage because they had already formed a positive perception of her. And by extension, people wanted access to her.
Being two women on opposite ends of the spectrum, my friend had a harder time fitting into social circles compared to my sister. She wasn’t invited to hangouts as often, which made her journey to finding her “people”, as everyone calls it, much longer. In stark contrast, my sister walked into college and built her social circle within two weeks.
And here comes my own experience.
In my freshman year, I would describe myself as “kitsch” — a little tacky, naive, garish. My Instagram presence was nothing like it is today. A few scattered pictures, including one from my high school graduation. I had a small following and was practically unknown, just the way I liked it.
Strangers were more hesitant to get to know me, presumably because they had no perception of me. Even people I already knew didn’t seem to care to form deeper connections. I take it that my lack of social capital and my “kitsch” look created a barrier to forming friendships. I often found myself on the outskirts in different social situations.
Now, in my sophomore year, things feel different.
I became more creative with my Instagram page, curating my digital profile to reflect my authentic self, including my interests in fashion, writing, and literally anything I found funny. What started as a personal digital scrapbook turned into something more. I gained more followers and a positive perception of me began circulating through the grapevine.
Strangers seem more receptive to getting to know me, conversations flow easier, people are now curious and kind. I can’t help but notice that as I’ve grown out of being “kitsch” and developed a more tasteful style — one that Gen Z would stamp with approval — I’m met with more acceptance, and my social capital is greater.
It’s just a little… strange.
All of this goes to show that humans are vain. That’s not a judgment, but an honest observation of the world we live in.
Humans have long existed within hierarchies. If we think back to our high school world history classes, ancient civilizations like the Roman Empire, Mesopotamia, and West African kingdoms all had clearly defined social classes based on wealth, lineage, and profession.
While hierarchy is a natural part of human society, present in nearly every historical context, white supremacy has amplified exclusion within Black communities, shaping how we navigate inclusion today. This is just one piece of a much larger conversation, but ultimately, hierarchy is deeply embedded in group organization — whether among humans or animals.
A marginalized community doesn’t automatically escape these structures; it simply reshapes them. The key is recognizing when and how they manifest, particularly when barriers like social capital become a defining factor in belonging and access.
Yes, there’s comfort in familiarity, and Gen Z may be hesitant to branch out, but as humans, we have the ability to question and reject the social systems that prioritize individualism over unity. Hierarchy may be instinctual, but how we define and enforce it is a choice.
Of course, life isn’t just black and white, and this conversation runs deeper than a simple word count allows. I’ll be exploring this further with the launch of my joint website, FemmeThoughts.
(And yes, the title is totally inspired by my favorite childhood series– The Mysterious Benedict Society!)