Key Takeaways
- In this guest post, blogger and writer Annette Richmond shares her experiences and reflections as a plus-size black solo female traveler. I’ve known A
- Every day, I learn more about intersectionality and how my identity as a fat Black woman impacts the way I travel. Intersectionality is a framework fo
- We all have barriers to navigate and traveling the world solo has brought me face to face with many of mine. The discrimination I experience depends o
In this guest post, blogger and writer Annette Richmond shares her experiences and reflections as a plus-size Black solo female traveler. We’ve known Annette for years — she’s an accomplished writer and speaker who has addressed topics of diversity and inclusive storytelling at major travel conferences. She’s one of our favorite voices and we’re thrilled to feature her perspective today.
Every day, I learn more about intersectionality and how my identity as a fat Black woman impacts the way I travel. Intersectionality is a framework for understanding how overlapping social identities — such as race, gender, body size, class, and nationality — combine to shape unique experiences of discrimination and privilege.
We all navigate barriers while traveling, and going solo has brought many of mine into sharp focus. The nature of bias I encounter shifts depending on location: in parts of Asia, my size draws more attention and assumptions than my race; in the United States, racial profiling remains the dominant concern.
I grew up in San Francisco as the oldest of three and the only girl in a lower-middle-class, single-parent household. Family vacations weren’t part of our reality, but my best friend’s family made annual road trips to Los Angeles for back-to-school shopping. In high school, I joined them — and discovered my love for the open road.
During senior year, I was the only one among my friends who’d saved enough for a snowboarding trip to Bend, Oregon. I worked part-time in a shoe store on commission, squirreling away every dollar. That trip marked my first solo adventure — and a milestone: I was the first in my family to graduate high school.
At the resort, I shared lodging with three other girls. Though I had a wonderful time, I also felt profoundly different — not just as the only Black person in the group, but as the only one whose body didn’t conform to narrow beauty standards.
Each facet of my identity — gender, size, and ethnicity — influences how I move through the world, plan trips, choose destinations, and respond to unexpected situations.
Traveling alone as a woman carries inherent risks — though data shows it’s often no more dangerous than navigating urban life at home. Still, vigilance is part of the practice.
Once, while walking with a friend at night in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, I noticed a group of men on motorbikes watching us closely. As we passed, one reached out and grabbed my right breast. When I tried to grab his hand, he sped off — leaving his friends laughing. I felt violated and exposed.
In Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, a man exposed himself and followed me down the street. I heard kissing sounds behind me, turned, and saw an older Asian man approaching while asking “How much?” I declined and walked faster — only to hear the noises again. When I turned once more, he’d unzipped his pants and was masturbating openly. Shocked and afraid, my immediate response was to reach for my pepper spray.
As he approached the crosswalk, I held it ready. He stepped into the intersection and crossed against the red light — and the moment passed. I was relieved — and grateful I’d packed that small, glitter-encrusted canister.
As a Black woman, I’m frequently subjected to unsolicited physical contact — strangers touching my hair or skin without permission. A child once asked if I was made of chocolate. While some countries are more accustomed to Black residents or visitors, others treat me like a novelty — not a person.
In Myanmar, a group of Asian tourists lined up to take photos with me at a pagoda. In Paris, a European family shouted “Yo, yo, yo!” to get my attention before snapping pictures at the Louvre.
I’ll sometimes agree to photos — if I’m feeling confident, have time, and sense genuine respect. But I’m under no obligation to perform for curiosity. It’s telling when people react with disappointment or indignation when I decline.
The lines blur quickly when you’re a Black woman traveling in Southeast Asia — where assumptions swing between celebrity status and sex work. In markets across Malaysia, Bali, and Bangkok, I’ve been mistaken for Nicki Minaj, Beyoncé, or Oprah. (Would every white man be called Trump or Biden while browsing street stalls in Asia?)
Then there’s my weight. I refused to delay travel until I met someone else’s idea of ‘acceptable’ size. This is who I am — and I chose authenticity over conformity. While body size can present logistical hurdles, I’ve developed strategies and found tools to make travel more accessible and affirming.
The first hurdle is air travel. As a fat traveler,
