The recurring pattern known as the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope, plays out across film and television. Writers introduce a Black woman as a love interest, often pairing her with a white or non-Black character, but they never make her the endgame. Instead, they use her as a stepping stone, clearing the path for the main character to find their “true love,” usually a white partner.

Recently, this trope has sparked fresh debate due to the latest episode of Invincible, an animated TV series based on Robert Kirkman’s comic book of the same name. But Invincible isn’t the first, and it won’t be the last. For decades, the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope has shaped how writers portray Black women in love stories. Let’s explore how this trope works, where it appears in media, and why it needs to stop.

How the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope Works

The Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope follows a clear pattern. A Black female character enters the story as a love interest, often for a white or non-Black protagonist. Instead of developing her as a full character, the story keeps her confined to the relationship, showing little of her personal growth, struggles, or inner world.


As the plot progresses, the main character decides they belong with someone else, usually a white partner. The Black love interest is then pushed aside or discarded. The story either erases her completely, writes her off without explanation, or reduces her to a minor character with no real impact.

This trope is not just bad storytelling—it also sends a clear message: Black women are good enough to date but not good enough to be “The One.”

Examples of the Trope in Media

This trope has appeared across different genres, from teen dramas to fantasy epics but here are some recent examples.

Amber Bennett in Invincible

The TV show Invincible race-swapped Amber Bennett from white to Black but still placed her in a familiar role—the temporary girlfriend before Mark turns his attention to Eve. While Amber plays a significant role in the story, the show eventually shifts focus away from her, making it clear that she was never meant to be Mark’s long-term love interest.

In the comics, Amber was a white character, but the TV adaptation changed her race to Black. Although this change appeared to promote diversity, the show reinforced the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope by setting Amber up as an early love interest only to push her aside. Even though the story keeps her as an active character, it still follows a common pattern where writers introduce a Black woman as a love interest but never let her be “the one.”

This choice has led many viewers to question why Hollywood continues to use Black women as temporary love interests instead of giving them the same depth and romantic importance as their white counterparts.

Simone Garrett in The Good Place

The writers of The Good Place introduce Simone Garnett, played by Kirby Howell-Baptiste, as a love interest for Chidi Anagonye. She enters the story as a confident and intelligent neuroscientist, standing out as more than just a romantic partner. However, as the show progresses, the focus shifts to Chidi and Eleanor Shellstrop, a white character, and Simone’s romantic role fades.

A scene from The Good Place featuring Simone Garnett (played by Kirby Howell-Baptiste) shaking hands with Eleanor Shellstrop (played by Kristen Bell) while Chidi Anagonye (played by William Jackson Harper) stands between them. They are outdoors on a college campus with other students walking in the background.
📸 Credit: Justin Lubin / NBC

Unlike many cases of the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope, Simone does not completely disappear from the story. The show keeps her as a recurring character, allowing her to have moments of humor and intellect outside of her relationship with Chidi. However, her romantic arc follows the familiar pattern where a Black woman is introduced as a love interest but is ultimately set aside for a white partner.

While The Good Place gives Simone more agency than some other examples of this trope, it still reinforces the idea that Black women rarely get to be “the one.” Instead, they often serve as temporary partners who eventually make way for the preferred couple. This pattern raises questions about why Hollywood repeatedly sidelines Black women in romance narratives instead of allowing them to hold equal importance in love stories.

Laena Velaryon in House of the Dragon

House of the Dragon rewrites Laena Velaryon’s story by making her Black, then they make her disposable by stripping away her depth and importance. Instead of portraying her as Daemon Targaryen’s beloved wife, the show reduces her to a temporary obstacle before he moves on to Rhaenyra, a white woman.

In Fire & Blood, the book that inspired House of the Dragon, Daemon passionately pursues Laena and deeply loves her, while she also shares a close bond with Rhaenyra. The show erases this, turning Laena into a teenager chasing after Daemon’s attention while he fixates on Rhaenyra. This change feeds into harmful stereotypes that portray women of color as desperate for male validation while white women are effortlessly desirable.

A dimly lit scene from House of the Dragon featuring Laena Velaryon, a pregnant Black woman with long, curly silver hair, standing solemnly in a grand hallway. She wears an elegant green and gold gown with intricate patterns and a statement necklace, her expression heavy with contemplation. The warm lighting casts shadows on the stone pillars surrounding her, emphasizing the dramatic tone of the moment.
House of the Dragon, Laena Velaryon (portrayed by Nanna Blondell)

The show doesn’t just undermine her love story—it brutalizes her death. In the book, Laena dies surrounded by family, but the show forces her into a traumatic self-inflicted death. This needless suffering turns her into a spectacle. The showrunners strip Laena of agency and dignity, reinforcing the idea that Black and mixed-race women must endure pain while white characters get full, respected arcs.

This mistreatment extends to her daughters, Baela and Rhaena, who the show reduces to mute, passive figures with no real agency. The once-powerful Velaryon women become afterthoughts, sacrificed to elevate Rhaenyra’s story.

Mel Medarda in Arcane

At first, Arcane presented Mel Medarda as a powerful and well-developed character. Fans praised her intelligence, ambition, and the emotional depth she brought to her relationship with Jayce Talis. However, as the show progressed, it became clear that the writers never intended for her to last.

One of Arcane’s animators confirmed that Mel’s sex scene with Jayce only served to reinforce his connection with Viktor. The showrunners treated her relationship with Jayce as a brief distraction, erasing any emotional significance. After their intimate moment, Jayce immediately leaves Mel behind to be with Viktor, reducing her to a mere plot device. Fans who had invested in Jayce and Mel’s relationship felt betrayed, especially since the show minimized their interactions in later acts while amplifying Jayce’s moments with Viktor.

For three years, fans anticipated a well-written, respectful conclusion to Jayce and Mel’s relationship. Instead, Arcane delivered a rushed, emotionless breakup, where Jayce suddenly resents Mel for “using him.” The show never acknowledges how much she supported him, nor does it provide a meaningful farewell between them.

The showrunners prioritized fan service over storytelling, catering to online fandom discourse while sidelining a well-developed Black female character. Mel’s arc, once filled with growth and emotional depth, was erased in favor of a more “popular” narrative direction. Like many before her, Arcane used Mel Medarda to push the white love interest forward, then diminished her importance to the main love story, playing into the Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope.

Related | Mel Medarda Deserves Better in Arcane and League of Legends

Why This Trope Is Harmful

If Hollywood wants to improve representation, it must commit to giving Black love interests full, meaningful story arcs rather than treating them as temporary placeholders. Writers need to move beyond tokenism and stop introducing Black characters just to check a diversity box. Stories should challenge racial biases instead of following the familiar pattern of discarding Black love interests in favor of white ones.

Creators must also push back against fandom bias, where audience reactions often dictate who gets to be the “real” romantic lead. True representation requires storytellers to value Black characters as integral parts of the narrative rather than treating them as disposable plot devices.

Annette in Castlevania: Nocturne Proves That Black Love Interests Deserve to Stay

Unlike many stories that sideline Black female characters in romance narratives, Castlevania: Nocturne places Annette’s relationship with Richter Belmont at the heart of the story.

A scene from Castlevania: Nocturne featuring Annette, Richter Belmont, and Maria Renard standing in a battle-ready stance. Annette, a Black woman with braided hair and gold accessories, wears a yellow vest and white sleeves, looking determined. Richter, dressed in blue, clenches his fist beside her, while Maria, in a pink and white dress, raises her hand. Dark-winged creatures and vampire soldiers loom in the background, creating a tense, action-packed atmosphere.

She isn’t a temporary love interest or a stepping stone for another romance. Instead, her connection with Richter gives her emotional depth and solidifies her place in the narrative. From the start, Annette’s presence carries weight. More importantly, she fights for freedom, stands firm in her beliefs, and refuses to be reduced to a sidekick.

Romantic Moment Richter Belmont GIFfrom Romantic Moment GIFs

Her romance does not define her, but it strengthens her story. By making Annette a fully realized character with a love story that matters, Castlevania: Nocturne proves that Black women in media deserve more than to be disposable. They deserve to be cherished, empowered, and central to the story.

How Writers Can Do Better

Hollywood must improve representation by giving Black love interests full and meaningful story arcs instead of treating them as temporary placeholders. Writers need to move beyond tokenism and stop introducing Black characters just to satisfy diversity quotas.

They must also acknowledge the racial bias in storytelling and question why Black love interests are so often discarded in favor of white characters. Additionally, creators should resist the influence of fandom bias, ensuring that social media reactions do not dictate which couples receive proper development and endgame status. True representation means valuing Black characters as essential to the story, not as expendable plot devices.

Final Thoughts on DBGT

The Disposable Black Girlfriend Trope is more than just a storytelling issue—it reflects real-world biases about race, desirability, and representation. Shows like Invincible, Sex Education, and House of the Dragon continue to reinforce the idea that Black women are temporary, secondary, or unworthy of lasting love.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Writers and audiences must demand better representation, where Black love interests are treated as central, valuable, and deserving of real, meaningful romance.

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