Black Girls Deserve More Than What Today’s Screens Offer

I can name at least 10 Black led sitcoms that I grew up watching, starting with Family Matters and ending with Black-ish. Now obviously, these shows were not on at the same time but they played a huge role in my childhood development. Watching these family oriented shows, combatted the constant stereotypes that black people always came from broken homes. They showed me that not every Black story had to be one of pain and struggle but rather joy and laughter.

What stands out most, especially in hindsight, is how much these shows normalized professional ambition and emotional depth for Black women. Characters like Claire Huxtable, Aunt Viv, Joan Clayton, and Kimberly Reese were not side notes. They were lawyers, doctors, executives, and educators. They were flawed, funny, stylish, and powerful. Watching them, I learned early on that Black women could be respected, desired, and intellectually fulfilled at the same time. These portrayals planted seeds before I even realized it.

Now, as I look at today’s media landscape, I cannot help but wonder what Gen Alpha and the generations that follow are growing up with. Where are their equivalents of those women? Who are they seeing when they turn on the television or scroll through their screens? Are they being shown that their futures can include boardrooms, courtrooms, and operating rooms, or are their ideas of success being shaped by far narrower narratives?

Too often, Black women in the media today are reduced to extremes. On one end, hypervisibility through celebrity culture that centers glamour without context. On the other, invisibility in stories that focus on leadership, stability, and everyday excellence. Young girls are flooded with images that suggest their value is tied to proximity to fame rather than personal fulfillment or professional growth. They see women defined by who they are connected to, not what they have built.

This is not to dismiss the power of modern creators or artists. Representation does not need to look exactly the same as it did in the 1990s or early 2000s. Culture evolves, and so should storytelling. However, there is a difference between evolution and erasure. When narratives of Black womanhood are limited, the imagination of what is possible becomes limited as well.

Sitcoms once played a quiet but important role in shaping how Black families saw themselves and how others saw us. They offered balance. Humor softened hard conversations, and familiarity made ambition feel attainable. Those shows were not perfect, but they provided a foundation. They allowed young viewers to see themselves not only surviving but thriving.

The absence of that balance today raises important questions. Are we investing enough in stories that show Black women as multidimensional and grounded? Are networks and streaming platforms willing to support content that does not rely on spectacle to hold attention? And most importantly, are we giving young girls examples of womanhood that expand their sense of self rather than confine it?

Representation is not just about visibility. It is about possibility. It is about showing the next generation that there is more than one way to exist, succeed, and be whole. The sitcoms of my childhood taught me that laughter could be political and joy could be instructional. I hope future generations are given stories that do the same.