In this op-ed, filmmaker Chanel Dupree and me too. International's Jazmine Wilson examine the adultification bias against Black girls, and why they're left vulnerable to harm. me too. International recently released a PSA on this topic in connection with their recent campaign, What Do We Owe Black Children?
While school boards ban books and shut down honest conversations about race and gender, another silence takes hold: the quiet adultification of Black children, especially Black girls. Black girls are often both hyper-visible and invisible; constantly watched, rarely understood. And in schools across the country, they face undue punishment that can impact their future potential. This is all because Black girls are commonly viewed through a racist and misogynistic lens, one that encourages adults around them to treat them as fellow adults, not the children that they are.
When Black girls are not recognized as children, their whole experience of childhood is rewritten in ways that come with deep consequences.
This systemic denial of their girlhood shows that 'childhood' is not a fixed or universal experience. Childhood is a concept largely shaped and given meaning by the adults who surround children. For many, meanings and roles are assigned before a child is even born. Some expectant parents have already decided that their child will be “unruly” or “troublesome,” and some even predict their sexual behavior or sexuality before they have even taken their first steps. (“He’s gonna be a heartbreaker!” or “You gotta watch that one; she’s gonna be a problem!”) Jokes about harsh discipline, silencing children, or asserting parental dominance are routinely woven into everyday conversation, and equate to a loss of innocence.
For Black girls, this loss of innocence is not theoretical; it’s measurable. According to a report from Georgetown Law’s Center on Poverty, as early as age five, Black girls are more likely to be seen as older, more mature, and less in need of comfort, protection, or guidance than their peers. This perception, known as adultification bias, follows them into classrooms, playgrounds, and every institution that shapes their lives. In schools, it means that curiosity can be mislabeled as defiance, energy is read as aggression, and emotional expression is punished instead of nurtured.
By the time they reach adolescence, this bias mutates into a dangerous label: Black girls are stigmatized as “fast,” even as the violence they face escalates, according to the National Black Women’s Justice Institute. The cruelest part? These harms are framed as personal flaws, rather than evidence of a broken system.
This bias is not new. It is rooted in a long history of violence and control. During slavery, Black women were denied bodily autonomy and legally excluded from the category of womanhood. They were often hypersexualized to justify rape and simultaneously cast as immoral to deny them the protections white women received. These same logics, rooted in misogynoir (a unique discrimination that affects Black women and girls), continue present-day, and inform how Black girls are perceived in contemporary society.
Black girls are not safe when the world sees them as women before they’re even allowed to be children. Time and again, society places the burden of safety and survival on their backs, expecting them to self-police, shrink, and obey unwritten, ever-changing rules that were never designed to protect them in the first place.
“Don’t wear that. Don’t talk like that. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too grown.”
We have created a world where Black girls are expected to be fearful of the dangers around them; but too often, we also teach them to be fearful of themselves. This raises a crucial question: Are we genuinely trying to protect them, or just projecting our fears onto them? We are all aware of how cruel the world can be toward Black girls, and many adults seem to believe that by policing Black girls’ bodies or behaviors, they are preparing them for the worst. Yet, when the warnings are framed as blame or personal fault, projection replaces protection. Instead of guiding them through the realities of the world, we risk teaching them that their very existence is the problem.
Let’s be clear: Black girls do not need to be more respectable to be protected. They don’t need to say things the right way, wear the right clothes, or prove they’re worthy of care. Adults need to stop demanding that Black girls perform “goodness” in order to prove that they’re worthy of safety and protection. It’s on us — not them — to dismantle the rules of rape culture.
We must ask ourselves: Do you believe Black girls are responsible for the harm perpetrated against them? If the answer is no — as it should be — then one critical piece of the puzzle is how we communicate with and about them. Shifting our messaging is not the only action required, but it is a powerful step in creating the conditions where Black girls are seen, valued, and protected. For example, if a girl has been harassed on the street for what she is wearing and seeks support from an elder, the lesson should never be, “This is what you get for dressing that way.” Instead, it should be, “You did nothing wrong. You are allowed to wear whatever makes you feel beautiful. Let me explain why the world reacted this way and how you can maintain your self-worth and sanity throughout this journey.”
Showing up for Black girls also means shifting blame off of children and squarely onto the systems and adults that fail them. It means educators intervening when a student is being groomed, not just when she "violates dress code." It means journalists and people in the media refusing to recycle harmful (and frankly, old and tired) stereotypes. It means interrogating our own biases and demanding policy and cultural change that centers healing and justice, not punishment and control.
Confronting your internal biases can start with one honest question: How can I show up better for Black girls? Sit with the discomfort, listen deeply, and let the answer change the way you speak, act, and advocate.
We say we care about Black girls. It's time to prove it. Not with more conversations about how they can survive the world as it is, but by building a world where they no longer have to.
Black girls, don’t let this world gaslight you into believing that your voice is too loud, your body too “grown,” or your dreams too impossible. Don’t let institutions convince you that your pain isn’t real or that your brilliance must be dimmed to make others comfortable. You are not “too much.” You are exactly enough. Every instinct you have to question, to resist, to demand better for yourself is a reflection of your power. Hold tight to that power, because the very fact that people try to deny it is proof of how unstoppable you are.
For more information about dismantling adultification, check out me too. International’s PSA, The Rules.
