Your skin is like a chocolate latte with swirls of caramel drops.
Sometimes you say, “Oh word?” even when no one is speaking.
The other characters often come to you for advice because you’re really spiritual and mature.
Your name is either Jade, Ebony, Lebron, Trey, Beyoncé, the name of some other well-known Black person, or whatever Google suggested when the author searched “Black people names.”
You’re the “cool” character.
Your family is full of colorful individuals, like a criminal uncle or a genius cousin at Harvard.
You don’t have any hobbies, because the author couldn’t figure out what Black people do for fun.
You’re sassy, but for some reason can’t speak up to defend yourself in any situation.
If this is a story about college, you go to a PWI.
If this is a story about marriage, you’re marrying a white guy and having a hard time getting his family to accept you.
If this is a coming of age story, you probably deal drugs.
You always smell really good. Like coconut.
Your grandmother is a wise sage with one eye and only tells stories about slavery even though she was born in 1955.
One of your favorite jokes is, “that’s some white people shit!”
You don’t like fried chicken or watermelon, because that’s a little obvious.
Even if the storyline has nothing to do with drugs, you smoke marijuana.
Your hair is never discussed.