Blogging While Black: Telling Travel Stories that Speak to Everyone

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For me, blogging while Black means being honest about how race shapes, but doesn’t limit, my travels. Still, I’ve been told more than once that white audiences can’t relate to Black travelers. Not just by strangers online, but by people in travel marketing who shape the narratives, control the budgets, and decide who gets heard. But the truth is, I’ve never set out to write only for Black women. I am blogging from the perspective of a Black woman who travels, yes—but I blog about aging, joy, rest, grief, wonder, marriage, fear, and freedom. I write about getting lost and finding new ways to be seen. Those are not Black stories. They are human stories.

Table of Contents

• My Experience Is Specific—But Not Exclusive
• What Marketing Gets Wrong
• Vulnerability Is the Bridge
• Growing Reach Without Shrinking Truth
• What I Hope Readers Take Away

My Experience Is Specific—But Not Exclusive

There are things I experience that not every traveler will—like being followed in a luxury store or stared at on a temple path– not knowing  it’s because of my skin color. I name those moments because they shape how I move through the world. But I also write about sipping tea on a rooftop in Morocco, hiking to a hidden shrine in Thailand, and eating street food by the river in Laos just like everybody else. Those are things anyone can do. I’ve never believed that describing my own view closes the door to yours. I believe it opens it.

I’ve been stared at all over the world. Southeast Asia. The Middle East. Europe. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s something else. Once, a man pointed his phone at me and smiled. I couldn’t tell if I was being complimented or collected. That feeling—of being looked at but not really seen—isn’t unique to Black travelers. I’ve heard white travelers say the same, especially those with blonde hair, tattoos, or above-average height in places where those features stand out. Being visibly different draws attention. But it’s what that attention carries that shapes the experience.

We all crave connection. We all want to be inspired, understood, or challenged by something real. When I share a vulnerable truth—when I say, “I felt unsafe here” or “I came alive in this moment”—I’ve found that people of all backgrounds respond. Not everyone, but enough to make me believe this work matters.

What Marketing Gets Wrong

The idea that white readers can’t relate to Black travelers says more about marketing than actual humanity.

Why can’t white people be inspired by me? That question really irritates me— it assumes curiosity only works in one direction. It assumes white readers don’t want to stretch, don’t want to read outside themselves. It suggests that Black stories are only for Black audiences, as if our experiences are somehow too different to be universal. That mindset reduces Black travel to a trend or a niche—something to celebrate during Black History Month, then ignore the rest of the year. It erases the full spectrum of who we are: solo travelers, luxury lovers, backpackers, retirees, caregivers, language learners, expats, and everything in between. We are not a sidebar. We are the story too.

I remember blogging about a temple in Laos countryside—how the quiet moved me more than the golden statues or incense smoke. I shared how I hesitated before entering, unsure if I would be welcomed. A woman emailed me afterward. She told me she had been to that same temple. She said she never thought twice about going inside. But after reading my post, she realized how much her comfort came from never being “othered.” She appreciated the post—not because I taught her something abstract, but because my story gave her a fuller view of what travel feels like for someone who doesn’t always move through the world as easily as she does.

I’ve also had Black women tell me they finally saw someone travel the way they wanted to—slowly, fully, with intention. That matters to me more than any campaign click-through rate.

Vulnerability Is the Bridge

I stopped trying to write for algorithms or avatars. I write because it’s the most honest way I know to make sense of the world. When I share how a place made me cry, or how I felt invisible in a crowd, or how I rediscovered joy walking through a rice field alone—I’m not trying to be a black traveler. I’m just being real. And somehow, that should be universal.

Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s clarity. It tells people they’re not alone in their longings or fears. I’ve found that when I drop the mask and show the full range of my experience, that’s when readers lean in—Black, white, or otherwise.

Growing Reach Without Shrinking Truth

Blogging while Black doesn’t mean writing only for Black readers. It means bringing my full self to the page and trusting that truth, when told clearly and honestly, connects across race, gender, and background. I don’t strip away my identity to make others comfortable, but I also don’t believe that identity limits who can relate.

I’ve had readers from all walks of life tell me that something in my story mirrored something in theirs. That’s the power of leading with experience, not explanation. My voice is shaped by being a Black woman, but my stories speak to something broader—being human.

• Lead with story, not identity. I center the narrative. Identity can be a part of it, but not the whole.
• Use specific moments to draw bigger meaning. The more personal, the more it resonates.
• Speak to emotion. Everyone understands longing, disappointment, wonder, or fear.
• Engage across platforms. I show up in spaces that weren’t built for me, and leave something there.
• Collaborate widely. I partner with creators and brands who get it and aren’t afraid to challenge norms.

What I Hope Readers Take Away

If you are reading this blog and you don’t look like me, I hope you still see something of yourself in my stories. I hope you feel moved or inspired, or curious to travel. If you do look like me, I hope the same thing. I hope you know that our stories are valuable, our perspective matters, and that we don’t need to translate our truth for anyone.

Travel continues to change me, but blogging about it teaches me how to take up space and star in my own story—without edits, without apology. Some of my travel experiences have very little to do with the color of my skin. Some feel shaped entirely by it.

I offer that truth with a warm smile, a wink, and a knowing nod—if you know, you know. So, I reject the idea that blogging while Black is too niche—truth always finds an audience.

I don’t believe what I write needs to be filtered to feel universal. As a result, I write in full color, not grayscale. I write from my view, not for approval. And if that makes some readers uncomfortable, that discomfort is theirs to unpack—not mine to carry. Blogging helps me stay grounded as a Black woman always on the move.

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