Editors note: This opinion-piece does not represent the opinion of Beaver’s Digest but rather it reflects the personal opinions and observations of the writer.

“Every time we get some, y’all come trying to steal it, putting some blonde hair on it and calling it something different.” — Isis (Gabrielle Union), “Bring It On” (2000). 

This quote, stemming from one of the most prominent and arguably most quotable movies from the 2000s, “Bring It On, ” is just the surface of certain writing Black actresses had to endure during this so-called “glamorous” time in the media. Countless movies that showered our youth with sparkly lip gloss, fun little butterfly hairclips, and upbeat pop had twisted agendas embedded in their foundation. 

This trope occurring in the 2000s could only be described as the “token Black friend.” Whether that be Dionne Davenport in “Clueless”, managing Cher’s social life while taking care of her “ghetto” boyfriend Murray, or Gretchen Wieners, the beautiful, talkative Jewish girl in “Mean Girls”, reduced to being Regina George’s sidekick who couldn’t keep her mouth shut. The list goes on. 

A recent Apple TV documentary titled “Number One on the Call Sheet” (2025) explores this idea by putting the main focus on actress Gabrielle Union. The notorious Black side character friend that was featured in some of the most popular movies, such as “10 Things I Hate About You”, “She’s All That”, and “Bring It On”. 

Within the documentary, Union goes on to acknowledge that she was hyper aware of this stereotype, but sadly, that was all that seemed available during this rise in high school angst pop-girly movies. She just seemed to fall perfectly into this role. But soon realized that this comfort would soon be her demise. 

As this trope became more prominent, it became truly apparent to Union when reading out a blocking script for a bathroom scene in the critically acclaimed film “10 Things I Hate About You.” 

“It read: “BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stares at the mirror. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY, stands next to her,” Union said. 

This is the exact embodiment of the problem. The idea that you can cast the pretty, sassy, witty Black friend, but never give her enough depth to outshine the White, beautiful main character. 

So why did Hollywood push this narrative in the first place? And is there any basis to such an obscure stereotype? 

“I think this stereotype impacted how they saw themselves, and also how other Black women truly felt like they weren’t themselves,” said Selam Haile, a second-year student here at OSU, and secretary of the Black Student Union. 

Haile said that even though her experience of watching Y2K media was obviously from a later point than its height of consumption, she “can only imagine what it must have been like.” The idea that this lack of representation still seems to have an impact on Black women today, even after twenty-five years, says everything it needs to. 

“I think it definitely impacted how they saw themselves, because these movies and tv shows were more mainstream, compared to other shows that are more Black-centered,” Haile said that growing up, her parents always advocated for more Black-starring media, such as “The Proud Family”, “Love & Basketball”, and “Girlfriends”, to name a few. But with that being said, she never saw these projects getting blockbuster or “cult classic” acclaim. 

Haile also commented on how the general public only seemed to push for this stereotype, instead of change. In a way, justifying the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” motto. \

When reflecting on what specific stereotypes Haile saw in these Black side characters, she didn’t hesitate to mention that they all possessed “sassiness and loudness.” She also did not fail to mention that it got to a point where they were starting to blend together. A repetitive trope that never wanted to end.

Halie brought up the iconic movie “She’s All That” and referenced the cameo of popular female artist Lil Kim. Halie states, “Of course, they had Lil Kim in it, and they had her play this ghetto rapper that was in high school, and mind you, of course she would be this sassy and loud person.” Haile expands and realizes that this trope always seems to make it out of the writers’ room, but always leaves a sour taste in the audience’s mouth. 

The legacy of the Y2K sidekick, also known as the “token Black friend” trope in media, serves as a reminder that representation isn’t just about being in the room; it’s about where you stand in it.