Welcome back to another Question of the Week here at The Confusing Middle! After last week’s emotional deep-dive into crying at work and emotionally unavailable dogs, Gregory Stock has decided to pivot from “uncomfortable personal vulnerability” to “uncomfortable social commentary.” Because apparently, we can’t just have nice, easy questions about favorite ice cream flavors or ideal vacation destinations.

This week’s question: If you were attracted to someone of another race, in what ways, if any, would your behavior with them differ from that with someone of your own race? Why?

Let’s Address the Elephant in the Room

Before I even attempt to answer this question, we need to talk about how it’s phrased. “If you were attracted to someone of another race…” If? IF?

That “if” is doing a lot of heavy lifting. It’s assuming that attraction to someone of another race is hypothetical, exceptional, or somehow requires special consideration. It’s framing interracial attraction as a deviation from the norm rather than just… attraction. Which is, in itself, kind of revealing about when this book was written and what assumptions Stock was making about his readers.

The better question—the question underneath this question—is probably something like: “Do you treat people differently based on their race, even when you think you don’t?” But that’s less of a dinner party conversation starter and more of an invitation to uncomfortable self-examination. Which, to be fair, is exactly what Stock seems to enjoy.

So let’s do the uncomfortable self-examination.

The Honest (and Slightly Depressing) Answer

Here’s my answer to Stock’s question, and I’m going to be really honest about it: I have no idea how I would behave differently, because I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone of any race.

Not an interracial relationship. Not a same-race relationship. Not a relationship, period.

The last time I went on a date was 2018. That’s eight years ago at this point. I’ve never been in anything resembling a long-term relationship. I am, by all reasonable definitions, completely inexperienced in the romantic arena. I am the person who, when friends start sharing relationship stories, has nothing to contribute except “One time I thought about asking someone out but then didn’t.”

So would I date someone of a different race? Absolutely. If the attraction was there and it was mutual, of course I would. Race wouldn’t factor into that decision at all. But even that becomes a somewhat meaningless statement when I’m not willing to put myself out there or try to meet anyone at this point in my life anyway.

The question isn’t “Would I date someone of another race?” The question is “Would I date someone?” And the answer to that question, based on my behavior over the past several years, appears to be “No, but not for any good reason.”

The Self-Sabotage Chronicles

Here’s what actually happens: there have been times in my life where I’ve gotten to know women—women I found interesting, attractive, funny, smart—and I’ve considered asking them out. I’ve thought about it. I’ve imagined the conversation. I’ve planned what I might say.

And then I’ve talked myself out of it.

Every. Single. Time.

Why? Because I convinced myself they wouldn’t be interested in me. Because I decided, preemptively, that I would be rejected, so why even try? Because vulnerability is terrifying and rejection is embarrassing and it’s so much easier to just… not.

And here’s the important part: that self-sabotage has nothing to do with anyone’s race. It’s not about cultural differences or family expectations or social dynamics. It’s about my own self-doubt, my own fear, my own unwillingness to make myself vulnerable. Which, if you read last week’s post about crying at work, is clearly a theme in my life.

So Stock’s question assumes a level of romantic experience and confidence that I simply don’t have. It’s asking me to analyze behavior I’ve never actually engaged in. It’s like asking someone who’s never learned to drive how they would handle a car differently on the highway versus city streets. Theoretically, I have opinions. Practically, I have no idea what I’m talking about.

What I Can Observe (From the Sidelines)

But just because I haven’t been in the game doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching it. And from my position on the bench, I’ve noticed some things about how people navigate interracial relationships—or more accurately, how they navigate the social dynamics surrounding them.

First, there’s the family factor. I can speak to the generational shifts within my own family on this one. I’ve always known that neither of my parents would have had a problem with me bringing home a woman of another race. It wouldn’t even be a conversation. It would just be “Oh, you’re dating someone? That’s nice. Is she coming to Thanksgiving?”

My grandparents, on the other hand? Completely different story. And I don’t say that to shame them—they were products of their time and place, raised with different attitudes and assumptions. But the contrast is striking. The perspectives on interracial relationships can change so drastically from one generation to the next that it’s like living in different countries separated by a few decades.

And that generational divide creates its own complications, doesn’t it? Because even if you personally have no issue with dating someone of another race, you’re aware that your grandmother might. Or your uncle. Or that one cousin who makes everything awkward at family reunions. So now you’re not just navigating a relationship; you’re also managing other people’s reactions to your relationship. Which seems exhausting.

The Unconscious Segregation Problem

Here’s what I think Stock’s question is really getting at, though: the gap between what we think we believe and how we actually behave.

Most people, if asked directly, would say they have no problem with interracial relationships. Most people would say they don’t treat people differently based on race. Most people would identify themselves as open-minded, unprejudiced, egalitarian.

And yet.

Look at a high school or college cafeteria. Look at campus activities and student organizations. Look at friendship groups and social circles. Look at who people actually spend time with, who they actually date, who they actually get close to.

The segregation isn’t always intentional. It’s not like people are consciously deciding “I will only befriend people who look like me.” But it happens anyway. Through a combination of comfort, familiarity, shared cultural touchstones, and probably some unconscious biases we don’t even realize we’re carrying around.

I remember noticing this in college. I went to a small Christian university in Virginia—Bluefield University, which was Bluefield College back then. And while the campus wasn’t extremely diverse, there was still enough diversity to notice patterns. The cafeteria had invisible boundary lines. Campus activities drew different crowds. Study groups formed along certain lines.

Was it explicit racism? No. Was it conscious segregation? Probably not. But it was still segregation, just the soft kind, the kind that happens when people gravitate toward what’s familiar and comfortable.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth: I participated in that. Not because I had a problem with people of other races, but because I, like everyone else, tended to connect with people who had similar backgrounds, similar cultural references, similar experiences. Which often meant people who looked like me.

So would my behavior differ if I were attracted to someone of another race? Maybe not in ways I’d notice. Maybe not in ways I’d intend. But probably in ways that exist anyway, buried in assumptions and expectations and cultural scripts I don’t even realize I’m following.

The Cultural Script Problem

Because here’s another layer to this: attraction doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Relationships don’t exist in a vacuum. They’re shaped by cultural expectations, social scripts, family dynamics, media representation, and about a thousand other factors that influence how we think about romance.

And those scripts? They’re often pretty homogeneous. The romantic comedies I grew up watching were overwhelmingly white. The couples on TV shows were usually same-race couples. The “normal” relationship template in most media was same-race, same-culture, same-background.

When interracial couples did appear, it was often treated as a plot point. The relationship itself became the story, rather than just being background detail. Which sends a subtle message: this is different. This is notable. This requires explanation.

I’m not saying media representation is the whole story, but it shapes our assumptions about what relationships “should” look like. And when your mental template for romance is based on mostly same-race couples, it probably influences who you notice, who you pursue, who you can even imagine yourself with.

So would my behavior differ? Maybe the better question is: would I even recognize it if it did?

The Vulnerability Question (Again)

You know what I keep coming back to, though? The vulnerability issue. Because whether the person I’m attracted to is the same race as me or not, the fundamental challenge is the same: putting myself out there. Making myself vulnerable. Risking rejection.

And I’m terrible at that. Demonstrably terrible, given my complete lack of dating history.

But here’s what I wonder: would dating someone of a different race require an additional layer of vulnerability? Not in terms of the attraction itself, but in terms of navigating the social dynamics around it?

Like, if I asked someone out and she said no, that’s one kind of rejection. That’s personal. That’s “you’re not my type” or “I’m not interested.” And yes, that would sting. But if I asked someone of a different race out and she said no, would I wonder if race played a factor? Would there be that additional question mark, that additional uncertainty about what influenced the decision?

Or conversely, if I asked someone of a different race out and she said yes, would I then have to navigate questions I wouldn’t otherwise consider? Would I worry about her family’s reaction? Would I be more conscious of cultural differences? Would I overthink things that wouldn’t even occur to me in a same-race relationship?

I don’t know. I’ve never been in the situation to find out. But I suspect the answer is yes, because we don’t get to opt out of living in a society with racial dynamics just because we personally wish those dynamics didn’t exist.

The Theoretical Ideal vs. The Messy Reality

Here’s what I’d like to think: I’d like to think that if I were attracted to someone—anyone—I would behave exactly the same way regardless of their race. I’d like to think I would be equally awkward, equally nervous, equally prone to overthinking everything, and equally unlikely to actually do anything about the attraction because that’s just who I am as a person.

I’d like to think race wouldn’t factor into it at all. That I would be an equal-opportunity non-dater, consistently failing to pursue relationships with people of all racial backgrounds.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe my behavior really wouldn’t differ in any meaningful way. But I also think there’s a danger in being too confident about that. Because the moment you say “I definitely wouldn’t behave differently,” you stop examining your own biases and assumptions. You give yourself permission to not look too closely at your motivations and patterns.

The honest answer is probably: I don’t know. I’d like to think I wouldn’t behave differently. I believe I shouldn’t behave differently. But whether I actually would or wouldn’t? That’s the kind of thing you only discover by actually doing it, and I have definitively not done that.

What Stock’s Question Really Reveals

You know what this question actually reveals? It reveals that even asking the question indicates we know, on some level, that race affects relationships. If race truly didn’t matter, if it truly had no impact on romantic dynamics, Stock wouldn’t have bothered asking.

The question exists because we live in a society where race does matter, where it does affect how people interact, where interracial relationships still carry additional social weight and complexity. We’ve made progress—my parents’ generation versus my grandparents’ generation proves that—but we haven’t arrived at some post-racial utopia where everyone is treated exactly the same regardless of skin color.

And maybe that’s okay to acknowledge. Maybe it’s healthier to admit “Yes, there are probably ways my behavior would differ, even if I don’t intend for it to” than to insist “Race doesn’t matter to me at all” while unconsciously maintaining segregated social circles and relationship patterns.

The work isn’t in declaring ourselves unbiased. The work is in actually examining our biases, noticing our patterns, and making conscious choices about how we want to behave rather than just defaulting to what’s comfortable and familiar.

The Answer I Wish I Could Give

If I could rewrite Stock’s question, here’s what I’d ask instead: “How do you navigate the gap between your ideals about treating everyone equally and the reality of unconscious bias and social conditioning?”

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it? Most of us genuinely believe in equality. Most of us genuinely want to treat people the same regardless of race. At least I hope so… But we’re also products of our culture, our upbringing, our experiences. We carry assumptions we don’t even know we have. We follow scripts we didn’t consciously choose.

And in relationships—or in my case, the theoretical possibility of relationships—those dynamics become even more complex because you’re not just dealing with your own assumptions. You’re dealing with the other person’s assumptions, your families’ assumptions, society’s assumptions. You’re navigating not just two people trying to connect, but two people trying to connect across potentially different cultural contexts and social expectations.

So would my behavior differ if I were attracted to someone of another race? Probably in ways I can’t predict and wouldn’t notice until I was in the situation. Would I want it to differ? No. But wanting something and actually achieving it are two different things.

And maybe the best I can do is stay aware of that gap. Stay conscious of my assumptions. Stay willing to examine my motivations and patterns. Stay open to being wrong about what I think I believe.

Also, maybe actually go on a date at some point. That would probably help with the whole “not having any practical experience to draw from” problem. Just a thought.

Your Turn

So now it’s your turn, and I genuinely want to hear from you on this one, because it’s such a complex topic with so many different perspectives.

Have you been in an interracial relationship? What was that experience like? Did you notice your behavior differing in ways you expected or didn’t expect? Did you face family resistance or social awkwardness or additional layers of complexity?

Have you noticed patterns in who you’re attracted to or who you pursue? Do those patterns reflect your stated values, or is there a gap between what you believe and how you actually behave?

What about the unconscious segregation thing—have you noticed it in your own life? In your friend groups, your social circles, your workplace? Do you think it’s intentional, or is it just the default that happens when we don’t actively work against it?

And for anyone else out there who, like me, has minimal dating experience to draw from: how do you even think about these questions when they’re purely theoretical?

Drop your thoughts in the comments below. This is one of those topics where I think hearing different perspectives and experiences is valuable, because there’s no one-size-fits-all answer. Let’s have an honest conversation about the messy reality of how race intersects with attraction, relationships, and human connection.

Until next week, when Gregory Stock will hopefully give us something lighter (though I’ve learned to never count on that), this is Aaron, still here in The Confusing Middle, still overthinking everything, and still not actually going on dates with anyone, anywhere, at any time.