Editorial Opinion: How Urkel Made Science Uncool: The Politics of Identity, Cool, and the Rejection of Black Nerds
What was the cost of Nerd stereotypes for Black Boys in the United States? (Photo: Google Search, educational purposes - Fair Use.)
By Don Allen - Journal Of A Black Teacher (2025)
In the 1990s, Family Matters, a Black sitcom about the bumbling, brilliant, and painfully awkward Steven Q. Urkel, was viewed by millions of American families. Urkel was TV's most recognizable face, known for his squeaky voice, oversized glasses, high-water pants, and irrepressible fixation on science and Laura Winslow. Yet underneath the laughs and the catchphrase "Did I do that?"
There is a greater cultural implication: Urkel inadvertently caused science to be uncool among a generation of Black males. Urkel was not just a character—he was an ambassador of the "Black nerd," and not a likable one. He was solitary, pesky, emasculated, and continuously rejected. He was seldom cool, never heroic, and most frequently the punchline. During a time when Black male heroes on TV were few, Urkel was the opposite of what one was supposed to be.
To many young Black males, not playing the role of "being an Urkel" meant not participating in anything that related to intellectual endeavor, particularly science, math, or academic achievement. The rejection of Urkel was not merely based on his looks; it was based on who he represented. Urkel represented a perceived cultural betrayal of Black masculinity and identity—a divergence from the cultural capital of confidence, physicality, and street-savvy charisma. Similar to how Fordham and Ogbu (1986) theorized in their examination of the "burden of acting white," Black students who strove for scholastic success were frequently charged with cultural betrayal.
Urkel, his exaggerated self, was the embodiment of this betrayal. His love for physics and gadgets was often portrayed as social clumsiness, rather than brilliance.
His intellectualism was also not a communal elevation; it accelerated his marginalization. This type of media messaging, subtle but powerful, contributed to eroding science and STEM ambitions in young Black men throughout a formative decade. There were extremely few counter-narratives within the mainstream in which Black boys were depicted as brilliant and culturally relevant. Black scientists and inventors existed in reality, but not on the screens most young people were looking at.
Consequently, nerdiness got racialized as white, and science became collateral damage in a larger cultural war about identity and acceptance. The damage can be quantified.
Black men are still one of the most underrepresented demographics in STEM today. Black students, though 13% of the population, possess just 7% of STEM bachelor's degrees, according to the U.S. Department of Education. Redefining what intelligence appears to be—and who gets to personify it—is part of the solution. Television shows like *Black Panther*, featuring Shuri as tech-whiz, unapologetically Black genius, provide new prototypes. So do initiatives such as STEM NOLA and Black Girls Code, which reposition science as an instrument of empowerment, not exclusion. But we also have to deal with the media we've ingested and the messages they carry. Steven Urkel might have been a sitcom icon, but he was also a cautionary tale—a nerdy scapegoat in suspenders who discouraged far too many Black boys from embracing their full intellectual potential. The next generation is owed more than laugh tracks and sloppy stereotypes. They are owed powerful, rich, multidimensional depictions of Black greatness that are unapologetically rooted in cultural pride.
In the 1990s, Family Matters, a Black sitcom about the bumbling, brilliant, and painfully awkward Steven Q. Urkel, was viewed by millions of American families. Urkel was TV's most recognizable face, known for his squeaky voice, oversized glasses, high-water pants, and irrepressible fixation on science and Laura Winslow. Yet underneath the laughs and the catchphrase "Did I do that?"
There is a greater cultural implication: Urkel inadvertently caused science to be uncool among a generation of Black males. Urkel was not just a character—he was an ambassador of the "Black nerd," and not a likable one. He was solitary, pesky, emasculated, and continuously rejected. He was seldom cool, never heroic, and most frequently the punchline. During a time when Black male heroes on TV were few, Urkel was the opposite of what one was supposed to be.
To many young Black males, not playing the role of "being an Urkel" meant not participating in anything that related to intellectual endeavor, particularly science, math, or academic achievement. The rejection of Urkel was not merely based on his looks; it was based on who he represented. Urkel represented a perceived cultural betrayal of Black masculinity and identity—a divergence from the cultural capital of confidence, physicality, and street-savvy charisma. Similar to how Fordham and Ogbu (1986) theorized in their examination of the "burden of acting white," Black students who strove for scholastic success were frequently charged with cultural betrayal.
Urkel, his exaggerated self, was the embodiment of this betrayal. His love for physics and gadgets was often portrayed as social clumsiness, rather than brilliance.
His intellectualism was also not a communal elevation; it accelerated his marginalization. This type of media messaging, subtle but powerful, contributed to eroding science and STEM ambitions in young Black men throughout a formative decade. There were extremely few counter-narratives within the mainstream in which Black boys were depicted as brilliant and culturally relevant. Black scientists and inventors existed in reality, but not on the screens most young people were looking at.
Consequently, nerdiness got racialized as white, and science became collateral damage in a larger cultural war about identity and acceptance. The damage can be quantified.
Black men are still one of the most underrepresented demographics in STEM today. Black students, though 13% of the population, possess just 7% of STEM bachelor's degrees, according to the U.S. Department of Education. Redefining what intelligence appears to be—and who gets to personify it—is part of the solution. Television shows like *Black Panther*, featuring Shuri as tech-whiz, unapologetically Black genius, provide new prototypes. So do initiatives such as STEM NOLA and Black Girls Code, which reposition science as an instrument of empowerment, not exclusion. But we also have to deal with the media we've ingested and the messages they carry. Steven Urkel might have been a sitcom icon, but he was also a cautionary tale—a nerdy scapegoat in suspenders who discouraged far too many Black boys from embracing their full intellectual potential. The next generation is owed more than laugh tracks and sloppy stereotypes. They are owed powerful, rich, multidimensional depictions of Black greatness that are unapologetically rooted in cultural pride.
Until that time, Urkel's legacy is not just amusing but also depressing.
Also read:
https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1527476410385476
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/12/23/up-from-urkel-world-famous-nerd
- Nerds, Geeks, and the Hip/Square Dialectic in Contemporary Television
https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1527476410385476
- Up from Urkel, World‑Famous Nerd (The New Yorker)
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/12/23/up-from-urkel-world-famous-nerd
- So Many Ways to be an Outsider: ‘Nerdism’ and Ethnicity as Signifiers of Otherness
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