The Absence of Melanin in Teen Romcoms

The 50s could be awarded the pioneering decade for the teen movie genre. With that decade came Fred F. Sears Rock Around The Clock, a fictionalised music film that attempts to tell the story of how Rock n Roll came to be. The film helped cement 'teenagehood' as a distinct phase of life—a phase that, as history would show, was often depicted through a white lens.

Although, the 50s sketched the outline of the teen movie, it was the 80s that took the blue print and flipped it into an edifice. In this era, the teen romcom came of age and our screens were plastered with Lloyd Dobler and his boombox raised to the sky, Jake Ryan’s red Porsche and the small wave, Duckie’s “Try a Little Tenderness” lip sync and of cos Cindy Mancini’s hop on a lawnmower. 

The teen romcom has since become a staple, heralded by many, regardless of age. Though beloved, it is not faultless as it carries a glaring absence of melanin. Well, maybe not complete absence as Black teens gallivant in this world wearing the robes of dedicated best friends like 10 Things I hate About You’s Chastity Church or foil love interests like Chloe from The Kissing Booth.  From 10 Things I hate About You to The Kissing Booth, in this genre, Black teens exist as props to make the white characters shine. Black teens don’t get boombox or red Porsche moment, they could easily be likened to NPCs. 

Chloe Winthorpe (Maisie Richardson-Sellers) in Kissing Booth 2 (2020)

When Black teens are centered in teen movies, “romcom” is thrown out the window. It is hardly ever the falling in love in a field of dandelions kind, it’s the Poetic Justice, —an equally important story— kind. One where they are viewed through the lenses of trauma. They don’t get to wish they meet Joey Lockhart or desire the cutest clothes in school. They don’t experience joy on screen or spend the summer dipped in a carefree fleeting romance. The concept of teenhood does not apply to them, it is nonexistent.

On rare occasions where the stars align, we get Tony Byers Love Don’t Cost a Thing, the 2003 remake of Can’t Buy Me Love. And when we bid our time, we get Darby and the Dead, Selah and the Spades. Both great teen movies but may not be classified as teen romcoms. 

The teen romcom has persisted for over four decades and yet the problem lingers. Netflix, who has proven to be an ally of the genre made one of the teen romcoms that marked the 2010s; To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, and other cult classics, has only made one notable Black teen romcom original; Reality High, released in 2017. Yes, it also made Candy Jar but the love interest was white thus the white experience became a fabric of the film. Same goes for Hello, Goodbye and Everything in Between. Why are Black teens constantly supported by whiteness on screen? Is this support the only way they can be centered in this genre? 

Bennett Rusell (Jacob Latimore) and Lona Skinner (Sami Gayle) in Candy Jar (2018)

At first glance, the disregard of the black experience in teen romcoms may seem to be without impunities but it has been proven countless times that storytelling and media shapes our thoughts. The lack of melanin in this genre means the world mostly gets to interact with black teens in a setting hinged on crime, survival, pain. This endless cycle driven by a single story defines society’s perceptions of black teens; they are casualties, traumatic casualties.

In Stephen Graham and Jack Thorne’s Adolescence which has erupted the world, a 13-year-old White boy is accused of murdering his classmates. Throughout the four-part series, his family, therapist and detectives try to make sense of the case before them. The series has been praised for casting a light on the hold incel culture is strengthening on kids. While the show was riding the wave of its success, an opposition sprung up across social media mostly made up of white people affected by the main character’s race. One X user (formerly Twitter) said “Adolescence is an anti-white government propaganda drama”. Another went on a long rant “Adolescence just came out and a real-life black murderer is portrayed as an innocent white child. This isn’t sloppy casting or woke cluelessness, it’s a deliberate psychological warfare, a purposeful inversion of race, morality designed to demoralise and confuse you”.

Despite the white population’s insistence on a race swap for the show, the creators have stood their ground on the inspiration for the show. Co-creator Jack Thorne told the News Agent Podcast “it's absurd to say that this crime is only committed by black boys. There is no part of this that's based on a true story.” He further solidified his point “We're not making a point about race with this. We are making a point about masculinity. We're trying to get inside a problem. We're not saying this is one thing or another. We're saying this is about boys.” And yet there is still a revolt online protesting the choice of the race which has little to do with the series’ core exploration; masculinity. 

One could draw a straight line from this absurd reaction to the lack of black teen romcoms or YAs that chronicle the black teen experience outside the casualty they make them out to be. If a black boy played Jamie Miller, no one would bat an eye. These reactions emphasised the media’s hands in associating Whiteness with innocence and Blackness with guilt such that a crime drama woven around a Black teen is expected and a White kid at the center of a crime series is Armageddon. 

There is a less than one percent chance of White executives greenlighting Black teen romcoms and “unfortunately” this task is hoisted on the shoulders of Black filmmakers. But. within the Black cinematic community, there seems to be a focus on adulthood in romantic comedies. Black filmmakers tend to tell love stories about older characters. Brown Sugar, Love Jones, How Stella Got Her Groove Back are some of the most popular Black romcoms and the characters are all in their adult years. Even on TV, audiences have gotten black stories; Living Single, Girlfriends, Insecure but they are also tailored to adults. While these stories matter, there is a gap in the Black teen content industry. Who do Black filmmakers hyper focus on adult content and ignore this gap?

Darius Lovehall (Larenz Tate) and Nina Mosely in Love Jones (1997)

Moturayo Ojo, a cinephile posits that socialisation plays a role in the staggering difference between White teen movies and Black teen movies. John Hughes, regarded as the master of teen romcoms with cultural shifting films –Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink— under his belt is a White man whose experiences is void of systemic racism. And this view is shown in his very white teen movies. The characters are carefree, light as a feather, unburdened by racial oppressions and given room to ache for teen-esque desires like yearning to be a part of the popular squad, craving the affection of the hot jock.

On the other hand, John Singleton, a Black man who also dabbled into the teen genre – Boyz n the Hood, Baby Boy— experiences a different world, one wherein racism is ever present and this influenced his approach to the genre. His characters often grapple with racial struggles, hyper masculinity and survival. If art imitates life, then it isn’t too farfetched that these two artists towing the path of the same genre will address it differently. Socialisation could also tie into the gravitation of Black filmmakers towards adult content.

In the thesis, Middle-Class African American Families’ Expectations for Adolescent’s Behavioral Autonomy by Christopher Daddis and Judith Smetana, a study carried out showed that European American teenagers acquire autonomy quite early while African American teenagers are dissatisfied with the little or lack of autonomy and strive for more. This push and pull as it relates to autonomy is shown in movies like Let It Shine. Truth’s father rules over him and there is no space for artistic expression but in its white counterpart; Camp Rock, their creative expressions are encouraged. 

Tyler James Williams, Coco Jones and Trevor Jackson @ Let It Shine Premiere (2012)

Even in everyday life, this autonomy tug of war comes to play. TikTok is filled with satirical depictions of Black parents; their reactions to a teen’s locked door or the never knocking trend. Some of the depictions are hyper but they are the experiences of some, if not most Black teens. The “overprotectiveness” is a factor of many things but you could trace the overarching cause to systemic oppression. But these conditions make teenage experience somewhat absent or perforated in the lives of these Black filmmakers raised in less progressive times. The 20s and 30s become an omnipresent time because they have a strong grasp of their autonomy and are more likely to explore these aspects in their art.

However, this does not exempt the joys of teenhood Black teens experience; their hearts summersaulting at the sight of their crushes, their stomachs a field of butterflies when fingers graze, hurried kisses in the shadow of lampposts down the street, falling in love. 

It is culturally significant for Black teens to see themselves experience first love, and the joys linked with coming of age on screen. Stories exist to reflect and affirm us. It is John Baldwin himself who said “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.” The absence of Blackness in teen romcoms negates the fundamental purpose of storytelling. It also pretends that Blackness does not exist and reinforces the idea that our stories does not and should not matter.