Once I went out to dinner with a really white boy — in case you’re wondering, yes, there are scales of whiteness, and his gradation had less to do with the color of his skin than that he owned a Golden Retriever, was from Connecticut, enjoyed yachting and his name had Roman numerals in it.

We went to Filomena for dinner, and at one point — I don’t know if this was the Chianti talking — he literally said, in a husky lowered voice, “You know, I really like Asian girls.”

Although I dreaded what else he would say, I stopped chewing and cocked my ears. I had to listen because I half-expected him to also divulge that he also liked being handcuffed to cold beds and having his nipples pinched all night — something absurdly kinky.

“Why?” I asked plainly, masking the amusing imaginations dancing in my head.

“They’re usually thin, age well and, oh, and they have long gorgeous black hair,” he replied, as he looked into my eyes and reached his hand over the table to tuck my hair, then black, behind my ear. I countered the sudden urge to stick my fork in his neck by dropping the conveniently sharp utensil and taking a long sip of water. A flurry of thoughts screamed in my mind: “What the hell does that mean? What, am I some kind of dragon lady to him? A red-lipped geisha who he’ll take to Tombs so I can refill his mug when it’s empty?”

Needless to say, his bedpost didn’t receive another notch that night.

Every one race has certain stereotypes, and, oftentimes, we do little to curb their perpetuation. When I first dated my black boyfriend, my girlfriends from back home basically congratulated me. Seriously. The conversation went something like this:

“I want the girls to meet him tonight; he’s coming to dinner.” “Aw. Cute. What is he like?”

“Sweet, witty, gorgeous, really tall, like 6’3”....” “Wow. That’s tall for an Asian.” “He’s black.” Silence. “How is it.” “How is what?” “Ha. Don’t play dumb. You know,” she giggled.

In this day and age, the meshing of our generation allows for there to be more similarities than differences between college-aged students, regardless of race. For instance, with this particular boyfriend, we were pretty compatible despite the fact that I’m Korean and he’s black. We liked the same music. We enjoyed dancing together to that music. We even had the same major. And best of all, we had similar personalities and we kept each other on our toes.

I adored him. But had I been with him or Mr. Asian Fetish a few decades ago, policemen might have barged into our rooms in the middle of the night and demanded to know what we’re doing together. Literally. Let me explain: According to the Organization of American Historians, anti-miscegenation laws, which prohibit interracial marriages, began in Virginia in 1661 and other states quickly followed suit. Although these laws only prohibited marriages at first, they later banned cohabitation and “mixing” (read that how you will) between members of different races.

Even in the 1950s, almost half of the states in the United States still had these laws in place. Then, in 1957, a white man from Virginia named Perry Loving decided that he wanted to marry the African- and Indian-American love of his life. The Loving couple was married in Washington, D.C., because it was illegal in Virginia. Then, they returned home, and in the break of dawn one morning, police officers literally broke into their home, shined a flashlight into their bed and demanded to know what they were doing. It was the worst cock-block in American history. Mr. and Mrs. Loving produced their D.C. marriage certificate, but the officers said it was null in Virginia.

So the Lovings took it to the Virginia court, where the judge literally stated, “Almighty God created the races, white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix.” The couple appealed their case. It eventually went to the Supreme Court, which declared laws against interracial marriages unconstitutional, and with that decision, all the remaining anti-miscegenation laws in the country fell like black and white dominoes.

But from my experience, it felt that unspoken cultural expectations have now taken the place of court-ordered laws. I felt myself subconsciously getting defensive over my relationship with this black guy, always assuming that when we walked around together, me clad in his gray Georgetown sweatshirt that hung past my knees, that people were bound to cock their head at us a bit and think, “What an unlikely combination.”

Even simple tasks such as using an elevator annoyed me because these mundane tasks reminded me of our outward differences, although our time spent alone made me understand our deep similarities despite them.

One small incident in particular pricked my nerves.

A stranger held the elevator doors for us as we swiped our GOCards at the guard desk of my hall. As we rushed in and the elevator doors began to close, the courteous student asked,

“Which floor?”

“Seven,” my guy said, with my hand clasped in his.

“And you?” the stranger asked, turning toward me. I paused briefly before answering,

“Um, same.” The student glimpsed at our interlocked hands.

“Oh, of course,” he muttered apologetically, realizing the implications of his redundancy. I don’t recall a more awkward elevator ride than that time when we three tapped our feet to the shrill beeps of passing floors.

Ultimately, that particular relationship didn’t work out, for nonracial issues. But would I date another black guy? Sure, if we were compatible. What about a guy with Roman numerals in his name? Same answer. Asian? Ditto. Indian? Because you never know. I just might click with them.

What I learned from my experiences with interracial dating is that it’s invaluable to try different things to figure out what you like, especially when our college atmosphere is so conducive to such experimentation. Let your compatibility with someone be determined not by their race but by whether or not their closeness enriches your life.

How about we stop liking certain “types” of people and start liking individuals? Replace “I like this color” with “I like how the staggering weight of stress from school melts off my shoulders as soon as I see you?”

Don’t let relics of our country’s racist past affect our behavior today. I’m not saying people who don’t want to date outside of their race are racist. My only assertion is that race shouldn’t be an issue when you like someone, because I’ve found that the more you earnestly get to know someone, the more you might realize how much you have in common despite your apparent differences.

Jane Yu is a senior in the College. She can be reached at yu@thehoya.com. Between the Sheets runs every other Friday in The Guide.