There is a phrase which, when uttered in describing the changing demographics of a restaurant’s patronage, club’s clientele or the frequenters of some other social space, indicates that the space, whatever its original intentions, “just isn’t what it used to be, you know”.
It is a casual, careless phrase.
One that is bandied about without second thought amongst friends and other acquaintances – it is one of those social markers that is rarely disputed.
It needs no explanation.
Everyone who hears it nods in distracted agreement.
It is up there with “tennis is a sport, but only when Serena Williams is playing it” and “when life hands you lemons, become Beyoncé and make Lemonade”.
Unchallenged and universal, the phrase is part of pop culture.
By using it, the speaker usually means that something, when it first launched, had a fresh and promising start; that a place, when it first opened, was a bit exclusive, either because of the admission costs, the prices on the menu, or its distance away from public transport routes.
You know the types of spaces.
They are usually secret spots in a city.
They are drenched in gentrification, populated by preppy fashion couture and are up to their ears in misplaced, jaded youth.
They are the types of places that require you to pay double to get there, triple to enter and demand that you remain on your best behaviour so as not to offend established sensitivities.
The phrase basically describes a myopic utopia in which people from a certain class of privilege get to spend their time around each other, not worrying about difference, not having to watch their slurs.
The phrase shows a disdain for diversity, and a mutual disdain for a group of people enjoying their comeuppance.
” _____ was really good. Until black people discovered it.”
The restaurant whose patrons converse a bit too loudly; that mall which is a tad bit crowded on weekends; the shop, once frequented, now only visited in the greatest of need; the club whose name we will not mention; this new phone, once desirable, now commonplace and tacky; this suburban neighbourhood, once serene, now riddled with ‘For Sale’ signs on the lawns – there is no shortage of things that are really good until black people discover them.
Once they do then they just aren’t the same any more.
They are plain, they are second-rate.
It is surprising how often the phrase is used to devalue a thing or a place. White people saying it is racist; black people using the phrase shows a painful need for social stratification to protect their newly-acquired better black status. It is sad.
But if things and places lose their value when black people find them, my people, can we please find these land, rent, food, and healthcare prices? Because, damn, they are high as heck right now, but I am sure we could bring the prices down by just by rolling up in a packed minibus taxi.
I mean, that’s how these things work, right?
