For lunch I decided I wanted grilled cheese.

There’s this little spot not too far from my gig that has mastered the melted cheese to bread ratio, and once I had some free time I moozied on down to partake. But in between leaving my work desk and arriving at the sandwich spot, I encountered a bevy of looks, raised eyebrows and stares.

An hour before I left for lunch, I interviewed a kid named Dylan Chenfeld who created a T-shirt line with the words “I Met God, She’s Black” The 19-year-old New Yorker said he’d heard the statement and thought it would be great to put on a T-shirt. So that’s exactly what the Upper West Side native did, which unintentionally thrusted his shirts in the middle of an unspoken, yet widely accepted social commentary.

The general belief-at least in America-is that God is white. Whenever depicted in movies or television shows such as “South Park” or “Family Guy” God is an old white man. That’s just how it is and no one has challenged that thinking. So walking down the street wearing Dylan’s shirt, that obviously ixnays the common belief, I wasn’t surprised by the glares and stares I received. But I was more so taken back by the body language that accompanied them.

As I waited for my order, a few Midtown button ups in their corduroy blazers, and Windsor Knot argyle ties read the shirt but never made contact. The brave ones who did acknowledge I was the body the shirt was hanging on gave me a quick grin as a peace offering to a war I wasn’t waging, and then quickly turned their backs in retreat.

I wore my shirt proudly, braving the winds of an October day making sure not to zip up my leather jacket, which made people more uncomfortable. Being black in America has always been a problem, but we as African-Americans are only tolerable if we aren’t prideful. I didn’t hide my shirt, I flaunted it. It’s a dope shirt! The idea of being “pro black” in this country brings to mind unruliness and disobedience for some. So for onlookers to see a young woman of color wearing such a “boastful” shirt, despite how peaceful and minimal my demonstration was, it placed people on the defense.

“Shenequa? Pepper jack grilled cheese?” the sandwich shop employee said.

As I walked to the counter, I noticed the workers darting their eyes between my face and then my shirt but never actually speaking. I grabbed some napkins, said thank you and headed back to the office.

A black guy holding a leather folder pointed it in my direction and chuckled as he complimented me on my shirt. A woman with braids swooned over it, too. One dude mouthed the words as he walked by and then said “Oh word!” But really meant “Yeah, aight, home girl. Whatever!”

It was only while walking pass a few middle-aged white guys I realized what the shirt also meant. Wearing a shirt that says “I Met God, She’s Black” can be taken in many ways. But couple that with black suede ankle boots, a great hair day, perfectly arched eyebrows, and throw in some black girl from Queens attitude, I’ve now taken a controversial shirt and made it defiant.
Most people read the shirt and kept a straight face as they mentally formed their opinions. Others raised their eyebrows in skepticism as if trying to answer a question I didn’t ask, but mostly people looked at me as if I was sacrilegious. How dare I say what God is? How dare I elude God is black? And how dare God be a woman?

I hadn’t received this many real life sub tweets since 2008 when I rocked my Barack Obama T-shirts before the election. It rubbed me the wrong way that my shirt rubbed folks the wrong way. What year is this? Are we not at a point where we can at least entertain another idea? Another philosophy? Are we not advanced enough as a society to at least challenge the general consensus? As I made my way back to my office building, I got on the elevator and got a few more stares. I’m a music editor, a black girl who works in a stuffy building, so I’m used to people thinking I’m out of place, but these looks were accompanied with… I want to say, fear.

I finally got back to my desk, took a swig of my water and put on my headphones. Sade’s “Kiss of Life” was playing on my Pandora and then I relaxed a bit.

Once I finally bit into my sandwich, it hit me.

All of that for some grilled cheese?

Shenequa Golding is a music/lifestyle freelance writer based in New York City and has written for outlets including The Associated Press, VIBE, MSNBC.Com, HelloBeautiful.com and more. When she’s not writing her life way, she can be found praying in a corner, hoping she can afford to pay her student loans for the month. / Twitter / Instagram / Blog