A Month of 'When I Get Home'

Nearly five months after it was mentioned in the New York Times that it was the eve of Solange’s new album, the singer, songwriter and visual artist kicked off Women’s History Month (and rescued a doomed and undeserving Black History Month) with her surprise album, which was teased by stan-worthy black southern aesthetics on the Solange’s Black Planet account.  Similar to the images and videos posted prior to its release, “When I Get Home”, the heavily anticipated follow-up to 2016’s “A Seat at the Table”, evokes a mix of luring feelings that ultimately invites listeners to explore the meaning of home.

For Solange, home is unapologetically Houston’s Third Ward, which is expressed throughout the album. It’s the home of actresses and sisters Debbie Allen and Phylicia Rashad and jazz pianist Jason Moran. It’s the origin of Beyoncé. More importantly, though, it’s the place through which Solange uses as a lens for discovering the deeper meaning of her roots and challenges listeners to discover their own.

“Solange had so much to say on ‘A Seat at the Table’, but it’s clear that she’s had so much to feel with ‘When I Get Home’, and that ultimately becomes a guide for listeners like myself to follow.”

“When I Get Home” intentionally sounds like either one 39-minute song or a collection of 19 interludes, and while that’s often cited as a main issue for the album’s listening ability, it’s mainly Solange’s way of wanting to make listeners experience the many feelings expressed throughout the album. The album opens up with the melodically repetitive “Things I Imagined” that poses as a gateway to feelings of joy and optimism that Solange embraces when she gets home, ultimately setting the tone for the album. The track is juxtaposed by the third track “Down with the Clique”, on which Solange asks listeners who’ve moved away from home if they’ve abandoned their roots and forgotten about the very “things they’ve imagined” in their hometown. “Down With Clique”, as highlighted by the repetitive line “are you really down?”, evokes a pensive mood as it forces listeners to reflect on how the might have neglected their roots. With “Dreams”, Solange echoes messages of patience and perseverance to assure listeners that dreams take time.

Continuing the themes of unapologetic blackness that was expressed on nearly every song from “A Seat at the Table”, “Almeda”, which features Playboi Carti, is an ode to the many aspects of black culture: black skin, black braids, black faith, black molasses. All of which can’t be washed away, as the song’s lyrics enforces, giving listeners a reminder of Solange’s pro-blackness. On “I’m a Witness”, the final track on the album, Solange concludes with a prayer-like message to her body and giving it the freedom to do whatever it wants. The freedom message throughout the song likely alludes to Solange finding the courage to use her body and voice in ways that she necessarily couldn’t while being away from home, which echoes the album’s central exploration of home and how it impacts self discovery.  Thus, the album sends a subliminal message of the positive relationship between the road home (in both its literal and physical sense) and the road to discovering yourself. “When I Get Home” makes it clear that the latter can’t thoroughly happen without the former.

On its surface, “When I Get Home” is a collection of songs that aren’t marketable from a radio standpoint. It’s doubtful that any single from the album would be frequently played on the radio, but there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s intentional because, at its core, “When I Get Home” is a cosmic avant-garde jazz experience filled with black southern themes that instantly make listeners reflect on their personal journeys. The album has embodied that experience for me. I’ve listened to it for meditation and for finding solace in a society that often isn’t very welcoming of women and our bodies. I listened to it when Kodak Black sexually harassed Young M.A. I listened to it when hoteps online were making false equivalencies between Cardi B and R.Kelly/Bill Cosby. Often, the album has been my safe haven for emotions when words weren’t utterable, which, I think, aligns with the Solange’s intention of making listeners feel the album instead of simply listening to it. Solange had so much to say on “A Seat at the Table”, but it’s clear that she’s had so much to feel with “When I Get Home”, and that ultimately becomes a guide for listeners like myself to follow.

"Our Little Island Girl": "This Is Us" Illustrates the Power of Black Women Choosing Happiness

What has made “This Is Us” the captivating, tear-jerking hit show for the past three seasons isn’t just the variety of stories being told. Instead, it’s how the show makes a connection of a particular character’s backstory with the character’s current behavior, beautifully highlighting the ways in which characters deal with demons from their past. “This Is Us” acknowledges the notion that everyone has a past that makes them who they are today while also highlighting the various societal issues associated with one’s past. Such was the case in the episode “ Our Little Island Girl” which placed Beth Pearson’s (Susan Kelechi Watson) backstory on center stage and highlighted the power of black women undermining the strong black women trope and finding the courage to follow their dreams.

The opening scene of “ Our Little Island Girl” immediately introduces viewers to the stern demeanor of Beth’s mom Carol (Phylicia Rashad). As Aretha Franklin’s “I Say a Little Prayer” plays in the background, Carol roams the hall and disciplines students of the school where she’s a principal. She’s certainly a force to be reckoned with. While she scolds a student for running in the hallway, she eventually bruises her hip near the stairwell. Although she doesn’t look like it, Carol insists that she’s ok after others asks if she needs help—— a response that’s all but too familiar for black women.

While Beth and her cousin Zoe Baker (Melanie Liburd) take a road trip Washington D.C. to see about Carol’s injured hip, the pair basically spend most of the car ride talking about how they’ll find a way to tell Carol that she needs to retire from her job  for the sake of self care. The scene immediately cuts to a flashback to Beth’s childhood in which viewers learn that dance was her first love. Although Carol is a bit reluctant for Beth to start taking dance classes, it’s Beth’s father Abe (Carl Lumbly) whose warm personality encourages Beth to pursue dance.

When Beth and Zoe arrive at their childhood home, Carol makes it clear that she won’t quit her job, despite their objections. The episode’s main conflict begins when Beth informs her mom that she’s been unemployed for months after being laid off. Carol’s disappointing silence and subsequent desire to help Beth immediately get a job reveal how Carol’s stern and by-the-book mentality became the method for raising her kids. She raised Beth to work twice as hard and only allowed her to pursue dance only under the condition that she be the best in all her classes. There was no room for failure in Carol’s household. And there was apparently no room for weakness either, which was shown when Carol ran the house as usual and scolded Beth’s tears after she told Beth her dad was diagnosed with cancer. After Abe’s death, Beth learns she doesn’t make the senior showcase for her dance school, and her mom immediately informs her that she’ll have to consider a different career path.

Carol is the epitome of the strong black women trope. She has no room for her or her children being anything less than the best, and she certainly doesn’t have room for anyone seeing her sweat. But who can blame her? Society forces black women to wear an extra layer of thick skin. However, the stereotype was created by a white racist society that seeks to normalize the treatment and abuses forced on black women. Additionally, black women having to suppress their emotions is nothing but detrimental to their mental health. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, black people are 20 percent more likely to experience serious mental health problems than the general population. And the strong black women trope does nothing to curb that reality.

It’s toward the end of the episode when Carol realizes those woes. Beth admits that her mom killing her dreams of becoming a professional dancer is the reason why she’s currently unhappy, which leads to Carol taking responsibility for how her strong demeanor wasn’t the best way to raise her children.

“Our Little Island Girl” ends with a truly revolutionary act: Beth choosing to chase her dreams. In one of the most poignant representations on TV of black women choosing happiness, Beth decides she wants to continue in the footsteps of her first love and become a dance teacher, escaping the strong black women trope that bound her.

'That's So Raven' Was the First Time I Saw Myself on TV

I was almost five years old when the first episode of  That’s So Raven aired on Disney Channel in 2003. However, I had discovered the show a year later (when I was actually able to control the remote in my auntie’s house when I was six). It was my first time scrolling through channels on the television, and I remember being frustrated with not finding a good channel to watch. That was until I eventually saw a Black girl who looked like me on a show that would ultimately become an integral aspect of my childhood. That show was That’s So Raven, and it was the first time that a shy Black girl from Illinois was able to truly see herself represented on her auntie’s television.

If  Moesha provided a representation of Black girls growing up during the 90’s, then That’s So Raven certainly provided a blueprint for Black girls growing up during the early 2000’s. The latter follows the life of  Raven Baxter, portrayed by the talented and often controversial Raven-Symoné, as she manages the typical teenage situations while having the not-so-typical psychic abilities. Although supernatural series like Charmed and Sabrina the Teenage Witch aired during the same time, one starring a Black girl in the early 2000’s was truly ahead of its time. And it was the main reason why I was often prevented from watching it. I was raised in a devout Christian household, and anything dealing with supernatural powers and spirits was immediately written off by mom as “something of the devil”. There was even a time when I was forbidden from watching the show entirely because my mom didn’t want it to influence me.

However, I eventually found a way to secretly watch the show because I saw myself in Raven Baxter. No, I didn’t have psychic abilities, but Raven Baxter gave space for Black girls to dream about themselves beyond the physical. Her existence was held tightly to mine. She was everything I wanted to be: witty, confident and the owner of an impeccable fashion sense (highlighted by flame-embroidered pants and wild prints that simply wouldn’t work today). Raven Baxter ultimately became someone I could try to emulate, and that’s something that a Black girl, who previously never saw herself represented in television, desperately needed.

Furthermore, the success of That’s So Raven greatly proved that more representations of Black woman-led shows on Disney Channel needed to exist. It became the highest-rated original in Disney Channel history. Running from 2003-2007, That’s So Raven was the first Disney Channel series to produce 100 episodes, breaking Disney Channel’s 65-episode mold for live action and animated series. It was also nominated twice for  Outstanding Children’s Programming at the Emmys. That’s So Raven’s unprecedented success truly led a trailblazing plath for the success of shows like Hannah Montana and Wizards of Waverly Place. But the unprecedented success of a Black-women led Disney Channel series certainly paved the way for other Black Disney Channel stars like Zendaya (K.C. Undercover), China Anne-McClain ( and Skai Jackson to lead their respective TV shows.

That’s So Raven gave the world fragrances, a clothing line, bedroom sets, books, video games, the legendary cultural reference “Boyz N Motion” and two spin-off series ( Corey in the House and Raven’s Home). But, more importantly, it simply gave a six-year-old Black girl like me the freedom to dream, which is something I would eventually learn wasn’t regularly afforded to Black girls growing up.

Albums That Got Me Through 2018

1. Astroworld by Travis Scott

Listening to “Astroworld” is like riding a roller coaster you never want to end — it brings unexpected thrills and indescribable bliss. Perhaps that’s the mood Travis Scott had in mind when creating the album, considering it pays homage to the now-defunct AstroWorld theme park in his hometown, Houston.

The psychedelic sounds that are prevalent throughout the album make it an instantly listenable album. Although the lyrics aren’t well put together, the production and arrangement on the album clearly and beautifully overshadow those mistakes. “Astroworld” has the best production of the year, and by Travis Scott’s standards, that’s impressive.

2. Daytona by Pusha T

Crisp and thought-provoking lyrics with stellar production — a rapper’s delight — are often hard to find in mainstream music, but Pusha T’s “Daytona” aced the test.

Prior to its release, it wasn’t expected Pusha T’s famous “dope boy bars” would continue to fit into today’s music climate. But it worked. On “Daytona,” Pusha T stayed true to his rap style while improving the quality of his production (kudos to Kanye) to give fans seven tracks of unfiltered, head-turning bars, and he ended it by inciting the most popular rap beef of the year. The album doesn’t disappoint in any category.

3. Whack World by Tierra Whack

I’d admit that I arrived to Tierra Whack’s world a bit late—I listened to “Whack World” seven months after it was released. Nevertheless,  I’m glad I was eventually introduced to the free black girl aesthetic that encomapsses the artistry of Tierra Whack.

Whack World, with its 15 songs that each are exactly one-minute long, is a beautifully arranged concept album that invites listeners to who the Philadelphia native really is. On “4 Wings” she compares her toughness to spicy chicken wings. On “Pet Cemetery” she tells listeners that she’s mourning the loss of her homie and fellow Philadelphia rapper Hulitho, who passed away last year. On “Fruit Salad” she proudly sings about loving her body and not changing it for anyone.

In a music climate in which people assume there’s a void in women’s hip-hop, Tierra Whack unapologetically adds herself to a list of talented women emcees who aren’t often highlighted on mainstream outlets.

4. Invasion of Privacy by Cardi B

When it seemed unlikely for a stripper-turned-reality show star to really solidify her name in the hip-hop game, Cardi B continued to prove everyone wrong while remaining true to herself. And “Invasion of Privacy” is certainly the musical embodiment of that truth. Throughout the album, Cardi B simultaneously reminds everyone of her humble beginnings and how she’s isn’t going anywhere any time soon. The 13-track album features songs that could easily be added to any female empowerment or sex positivity playlist. However, more importantly, the album highlights the importance of staying true to yourself

5. Care for Me by Saba

Following the death of his cousin and fellow Pivot Gang member John Walt in 2017, Saba creates the best album the vividly paints a gloomy yet hopeful story about mourning a loved one. The grief-stricken Chicago rapper channels his ranging emotions on the 10-track album as he explores his feelings of wanting to me loved. Underneath Saba’s steady and thought-provoking flows throughout the album, lies a plethora a beautiful storytelling that illuminates the nuanced lives of black Chicagoans——  lives that are too often influenced by tragedy. So yes, indeed, Saba needs someone to care for him.

6. Pieces of a Man by Mick Jenkins

On “Pieces of Man”, which pays homage to Gil Scott Heron’s 1971 album of the same name, Mick Jenkins offers an appropriate examination into our digitally-influenced society. On his sophomore album, the Chicago rapper poetically questions the need for following trends and judging people by how they present themselves online. The album poses as a stream-of-consciousness think piece on which Jenkins heavily ponders the way he engages in a society that doesn’t typically involve his interests.

7. Hive Mind by The Internet

The Internet broke their three-year hiatus with the release of “Hive Mind”, the groups fourth album, during the summer. And although the album isn’t better than their previous album (2015’s “Ego Death”), “Hive Mind” does offer a funkier vibe that wasn’t present on “Ego Death”. The album has summer vibes written all over it (in big caps), and it was the perfect album to end the group’s break and leave fans anticipating more from them in the future.

8. Dirty Computer by Janelle Monáe

Janelle Monáe is known for creating sonically pleasing universes in which black women, specifically those who don’t ascribe to the gender binary, can unapologetically be themselves, but she certainly outdid herself with “Dirty Computer.”

Unlike Monáe’s previous albums, “Dirty Computer” cannot be contained. It’s a beautiful mix of rap, funk, jazz, pop, rock and R&B that illuminates the aesthetic of what black womanhood and black queerhood mean in America. Monáe’s hard-hitting vocals accompanied by avant-garde production and a stellar “Emotion Picture” are responsible for one of the most important and beautifully-written concept albums of the past five years.

9. Last Day of Summer by Summer Walker

“Last Day of Summer” is the best R&B project of 2018. It’s the album that’ll definitely start getting anyone in their feelings, and it was released just in time for “cuffing season”, as the album’s title suggests. Summer Walker’s debut album could pose as the Atlanta native’s yearning cry for needing to be loved by someone, and it takes the listener on an emotional rollercoaster as she explores feelings of heartbreak and being in love. However, the highlight of the album is “Girls Need Love”, the female empowerment anthem that emphasizes how women have the right to demand love or sex without feeling ashamed.

10. Redemption by Jay Rock

Jay Rock’s verse in “King’s Dead” remains one of the best in 2018, and he reminded fans why he deserves to be among the best lyricists in the rap game with his album “Redemption”. Being from east Los Angeles neighborhood of Watts, Jay Rock illustrates his struggle of leaving the vices of his neighborhood to pursue a rap career, and his inner conflict of still dealing with the demons he thought he left behind. It’s the classic tale of finding success out of the inner city, which is similar to the music of fellow labelmate Kendrick Lamar.

What makes Jay Rock different, as illustrated with “Redemption”, is the simplicity of his verses. There aren’t any metaphors and allusions for listeners to figure out. He’s simply just telling the truth about his life in a direct and honest way that some listeners can relate to. While it’s hard to pinpoint one song that makes “Redemption” among the best albums of the year, “The Bloodiest” and “For What It’s Worth” truly captures the album’s rags-to-riches-to-rags tone.

Revisiting "Who Is Jill Scott...", the Album That Introduced Me to Sex

I was 13 years old, and I was riding in the front seat of my auntie’s car when Jill Scott’s “Golden” came on the radio. My auntie immediately blasted the song to the car’s maximum volume and accompanied it with a “Jill Scott is the truth” comment. I wasn’t sure if that was directed toward me or just a general statement, but it urged me to discover the artistry of Jill Scott. Before that, I had only vaguely knew about her music.  Regardless of whether my aunt’s statement was directed toward me, I knew that it was a hint that Jill Scott was an artist that I should be listening to because it had  my auntie’s famous seal of approval. She said something similar when she blasted “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill” while I was riding in the car with her the year before, which prompted me to download the album on my MP3 player. So I knew that I needed to do the same thing with “Who Is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1”, Jill Scott’s debut album that really introduced me to sex.

Hi. I sing/act out all kinds of stories. You should cum to my shows. After a Jill Scott show, most people get splendidly laid by whoever they came with😁👍🏽🎶🤪🎉 #iftheydontFitup #stopfrontinusuckdicktoo
They also usually go on 2happier, more productive, focused, wealthy lives.

— ⭐Jill Scott⭐ (@missjillscott) November 13, 2018

Now, obviously, I had some clue of what sex was prior to listening to Jill Scott’s album. I had watched the sex scene in “Love & Basketball” plenty of times.  But listening to Jill Scott was the first time I heard an artist speak about sex beyond just the physical act. Scott introduced me to the joy, pain, insecurity, the indescribable bliss and other emotions that are attached to sex.

Although it took me some time to really understand the nuances of what the hell Jill Scott was talking about, my naive 13-year-old ears at least knew that it had something to do with sex because she mentions it, makes culinary allusions to it and worships it all throughout  the album. So when I recently saw a video of Ms. Jilly from Philly posing like she was giving felatio to a mic during one of her concerts and the subsequent sex shaming from people on the Internet, I was confused because this—— the unapologetically sex-positive individual—— is the Jill Scott I was introduced to when I was 13.

Bruh why is Jill Scot sucking air dick pic.twitter.com/nNxlDKyKUY

— Tony. (@SoLyrical) November 13, 2018

At least that’s who listeners were introduced on “Exclusively”, the album’s second track. The record is a spoken word piece on which Scott details her happiness from a post-coital experience (“This morning, my man exclusively introduced me/ to some extra good lovin’/he was lickin’ and suckin’ on everything/ just the way he should). Scott’s bliss during the morning after is at such an all-time high that she goes to store to pick up food for her and her man in hopes of getting some more sex when she returns. However, during her time in the store, she ponders the all but too familiar thought of how exclusive her experience with her man is when she sees a pretty woman at the counter (“The new girl at the counter was cute, not as fine as me/ was this some kind of women’s intuition, some kind of insecurity?”). But at the end, as the woman at the counter recognizes the smell of Jill Scott’s lover, she realizes that her extra lovin’ in the morning is as exclusive as she thought.

With “The Way”, Scott shows listeners how badly she wants sex from her man. It’s the morning after having some good sex again, and Scott trades in a night with a girls for a another night of sex from her man (“Woke up this morning with a smile on my face/ jumped out of bed, took a shower, dressed, cleaned up my place/ made some breakfast, toast, 2 scrambled eggs, grits”). But it’s on the next track “Honey Molasses” that Scott poetically describes her sexual experience with her man. As she contemplates calling him after their night of passion, she describes her magical, time-travelling sexual experience (You were in my home my body/my dome/ in a circle of passion we/ Paris Italy/Japan Africa Rome/ We made music/We trombone). When she finally musters up the courage to call him, she decides to leave a heartwarming voice message, but to her surprise, he answers.

In between those previously mentioned songs about sex, Scott talks about love, being heartbroken and growing up as a black girl from Philadelphia, which creates the aesthetic of “Who Is Jill Scott…”. She unapologetically sings and rhymes about her desires and the bliss she feels from pleasure in a soothing and matter-of-fact way that makes the coming-of-age album even more listenable. Thus, sex, along with the appeal and wanting of it, is a part of who Jill Scott is, She didn’t sugarcoat that in any way on her debut album, and she continued that trend throughout the rest of her career. So the next time people become perplexed about her sexual innuendos during concert, “Who Is Jill Scott? Words and Vol. 1” is always available on Spotify and Apple Music.

You Can't Be for the Culture and Neglect Black Women's Experiences

Within two weeks of The Breakfast Club’s Charlamagne Tha God’s abhorrent assumption of singer Nivea not loving herself because of the men she’d slept with, rapper-turned-podcaster and “pop culture pundit” Joe Budden conflated women empowerment with feminism because of his disdain for Brittany Renner’s recent tell-all book. Both instances reiterated the trend of rap media personalities erasing/downgrading black women for the sake of uplifting the culture.

In the last episode Budden’s show “State of the Culture”, he and co-host Scottie Beam engaged in a heated discussion over Brittany Renner’s recently published book “Judge This Cover”, in which she details her sexual relationships with stars like Drake, Colin Kaepernick, Lil Uzi and others. And it seemed like the only reason Renner’s book was even talked about on the show was for Scottie Beam to condemn Renner’s actions because, according to Joe Budden, “when women do fuck shit, you (referring to Scottie Beam) redirect that energy toward a man, and it’s been eight weeks, and, honestly, I’m confused”. Budden went on to claim that Beam was contributing to this “fake women empowerment bullshit” and implied that Beam must’ve been hurt by a guy because of her refusal to criticize Renner’s actions.

Just gonna leave this here and go. pic.twitter.com/gCicbB8SZK

— Joe Budden (@JoeBudden) October 28, 2018

This is no different from the The Breakfast Club’s cringe-worthy interview of Nivea. In what was supposed to be a conversation of the R&B singer’s resurgence to the limelight with her new music, the interview turned into a problematic conversation about the singer’s sex life and the financial benefits she’s received from being married to/having kids with Lil Wayne and The Dream. While Charlamagne and DJ Envy attempted to reduce Nivea’s success by asking her multiple questions about her sexuality, Angela Yee, as usual, sat there and said absolutely nothing to defend her. Yee’s silence spoke volumes when Charlamagne asked Nivea if she loved herself in regards to her admitting that she likes to have sex. Nivea gracefully schooled Charlamagne that a woman having sex has no correlation to the amount of love she has for herself.

I’m sorry y’all but @cthagod REALY GOTS TO GO pic.twitter.com/eopUrHdb5i

— LIL BOUJEE VERT (@MARIAHGEEZ) October 14, 2018

Angela Yee’s silence during Nivea’s interview was reminiscent of the time she barely defended Janet Mock during Lil Duval’s interview last year, in which he joked about killing a transgender woman, among other things. Telling Lil Duval that the word “tranny” was offensive was the extent of Yee’s defense of transgender women. That interview was the epitome of ignorance, to say the least, especially considering that Janet Mock was recently on the show discussing her activism for people who identify as transgender.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Brittany Renner talking about her former sexual partners just like there’s nothing inherently wrong Nivea wanting to have sex. But there is something inherently wrong with allowing transgender women to be the focal point of a joke and wanting to condemn black women for their sexuality. Black women have the right to be open about about their sexuality, and the fact that the most popular hip-hop culture commentators, who also are black men, want to describe that sexual liberation as something morally wrong or as evidence of a woman not loving herself proves the desire to diminish black women’s experiences from culture conversations. This is especially true considering that the women cohosts on those outlets are either silent like Angela Yee, siding with the men’s perspective like Remy Ma or being painted as the “angry black woman” like Scottie Beam when they do decide to defend black women

While I enjoy listening to Joe Budden and Charlamagne's take on the culture, that interest is only limited to situations that don’t involve black women because I’m not sure that those men can candidly talk about black women’s experiences without being misogynist. I’m also not sure that the state of the culture needs to always be in the hands of heterosexual black men. Hip-hop still remains to be a sexually segregated space, and male-dominated commentary about that space does nothing but continue that trend.

Noname Finds Herself on 'Room 25'

Noname has another story to tell. In 2016,  fans listened to the Chicago rapper’s critically acclaimed mixtape Telefone as she shared her thoughts about her grandma’s death, her self-worth and growing up in Chicago’s Bronzeville neighborhood. But the story on Noname’s debut album, Room 25, is quite different. It’s a captivating and relatable coming-of-age story about how the poetic rapper makes sense of her life after moving away from home. Throughout the album, Noname evokes a strong sense of confidence that only comes with growing from transformative experiences. Twenty-five seemed to be a pivotal year for Noname, who recently turned 27, and she invites listeners on a ride to her journey of self-discovery on Room 25.

“You really thought a bitch couldn’t rap, huh?”

"why does she rap so soft all the time, I can't hear shit she sayin"

I make lullaby rap music.

— Noname (@noname) September 16, 2018

Noname didn’t waste any time of reminding listeners of her poetic prowess. On “Self”, the album’s first track, she goes on a melodic lyrical assassination in which she boasts about why she should be taken seriously in hip-hop. Noname’s soft-spoken  rhymes often lead some to believe that she isn’t a “real rapper” because her lyrics don’t subscribe to the loud and braggadocious rap standard. But, on “Self”, she brags about her album being the best, her sexual appeal, her rap skills--dressed by the rhetorical question“You really thought a bitch couldn’t rap, huh?”--- while exploring political issues and the current state of how Chicagoans feel about Kanye West’s fall from grace.

With “Self”, Noname eloquently displays her level of confidence and growth as a woman while making it loud and clear of how how highly she should be regarded in modern-day hip-hop. Noname explores a lot of concepts in the minute and thirty-four second-long track. And if all the songs on the album are metaphorical doors, then Noname uses “Self” as the key to unlocking all of them, thoroughly encompassing the aesthetic of Room 25.

“My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism”

Room 25 explores a concept that wasn’t even remotely featured on Telefone—Noname’s sex appeal.  And, as revealed in her recent interview with The Fader, that’s mainly because she hadn’t had sex yet. Noname brags about her sex appeal on almost every song in the album, and all of the references. Her references to her sexual appeal throughout the album range between being very braggadocious, like on “Self” with lines like “My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism”, to her having regrets about her first sexual experience being tied to heartbreak.

On “Window”, which features vocals from Chicago musician Phoelix (who’s credited with the production on the album), Noname raps about being in a relationship with someone she didn’t love and how she felt empty about it. It’s highlighted by the by the very relatable verse, “I knew I didn’t love you, but I fucked you anyway. I guess a bitch like to gamble; I guess a bitch like to lonely”. She goes on to repetitively mention throughout the track how the single isn’t about the person with whom she was in a relationship, although it clearly is.

With “Montego Bae”, which features frequent Noname collaborator and Chicago artist Ravyn Lenae on the chorus, Noname raps about living her best life with a new lover she meets in Jamaica. That reality includes giving her new man some felatio when she raps, “Cause a bitch really bout her freedom, cause a bitch sucking dick in the new Adidas/And yes, and yes, I lick em up/ oh yes I really do”.

Her honesty about her sexual experiences on Room 25 are a refrain from the bubbly and precocious Telfone, in which she only mentions the sexual experiences of other women in her life (see: “Bye, Bye Baby). Not only is she rapping about having sex, she takes pride in having it while mentioning how she often made wrong decisions. Noname’s recent experiences with love and sex greatly reveal her growth as a woman while approaching nascent adulthood.

“Somebody hit D’Angelo, I think I need him on this one”

“Don’t Forget About Me” is the single that best reflects Noname’s journey to self-discovery. She replaced her Chicago home for the dreamy Los Angeles atmosphere. She’s had sex for the first time and experienced heartbreak. She’s broke. She’s broken. She’s astonished that fans credit Telefone with saving their lives because her own life is in shambles. She even pleads for D’Angelo’s help with this single because it’s reminiscent of the same neo-soul, drunken bluesy sound that created the magic of “Voodoo”. And, while dealing with all the formalities of adulthood, Noname’s wish is for her family to not forget about her.

“Don’t nobody got no holy, everybody got an iPhone”

There are only two songs on Room 25 in which Noname doesn’t reflect on her new experiences. Instead, on “Blaxploitation” and “Prayer Song”, she reflects on the current affairs of America. “Blaxpoitation”, which samples audio from two blaxpoitation films, addresses the many stereotypes of black people, their impact on this country and the negative effects they have on the black community. Noname mentions how those stereotypes keep her up at night when she raps, “I’m struggling to simmer down, maybe I’m an insomni-black/ Bad sleep triggered by bad government.”

On “Prayer Song”, Noname highlights the hypocrisy of religion being the foundation of America. Instead, as reflected by the line “don’t nobody got no holy, everybody got an iPhone”, Noname argues that capitalism is the heart and soul of America’s rhythm. She wants to say a prayer for this country, but she’s not sure if even that will help bring peace.

The essence of Room 25  is that it functions as a cautionary, yet beautiful tale of blossoming into black womanhood. Nonames warns about the fallacies of love, sex and the American dream while emphasizing the importance self-love. If “Telefone” was a conversation about Noname’s thoughts and life experiences, then Room 25 is certainly a stream of consciousness art in which the rapper learns from those experiences to cultivate her own identity, unapologetically.

'Insecure' Season 3, Episode 1 Recap

In case you were wondering, Issa’s life is still fucked up. The third season premiere, appropriately titled “Better-Like”, of HBO’s “Insecure” started off right where the previous season ended—— Issa being at Daniel’s house. But this time, Issa is awakened out of her sleep by the sound of Daniel having sex in his room, which becomes the main storyline throughout the episode. Very annoyed with the loud ass moaning in Daniel’s room, Issa decides to answer Lyft requests to kill some time, our first introduction to this season’s side hustle.. It makes sense that Issa’s picked up a side hustle, considering she’s practically homeless and has two weeks left to stay at Daniel’s crib. Issa picks up her first rider, and within seconds, he throws up all over her car. That pretty much describes Issa’s life for the rest of the episode—a huge pile of throw up.

Meanwhile, Molly’s life is the total opposite. She’s living her best life on some island while having a man cater to her. It’s when she returns that she decides that in order for her to continue to live her best life, she’ll have to be on some know better, do better shit ( a mood she describes to Issa as “bloopin, bloppin and blammin”). That mood dies down when she gets a call from Dro. And it becomes clear that Molly might not be ready to know better and do better with her relationship with him.

The next scene turns to Daniel in the studio with a new artist (played by singer Dawn Richard) who he calls “hella trash.” She happens to also be the cousin of a producer whom Daniel wants to work with . Remember that scene in “Brown Sugar” when Dre had to manage a wack ass duo who called themselves the hip-hop dalmatians. Daniel’s situation with this new artist is the exact same thing: going against his taste for the security of his job. Just add Richard’s character’s loud ass pants to the mix.

Daniel goes to get his guitar from his sister’s house. It’s during this scene that viewers are introduced to this season’s show within a show, “Kev’yn”. Starring Erika Alexander “Living Single” and Darryl Bell from “A Different World”, the show acts as a 90’s black sitcom reboot dream come true. Meanwhile, Daniel informs his sister that Issa is still staying at his house when she asks if he could watch his niece. That’s when his sister plants the idea (and this episode’s million dollar question) in Daniel’s head about the intentions behind Issa staying at his crib.

Wanna see my 90’s rebooted @insecurehbo sitcom Kevyn? Here it is!! https://t.co/UqPnmAL6Ap @IssaRae #funnygirls @BILLBELLAMY #darrylbell#writersroom

— Erika Alexander (@EAlexTheGreat) August 14, 2018

Issa is still in hot water in her position at the non-profit, We Got Y’all. She’s stuck on desk duty and under heavy surveillance from Joanne, her boss, and co-worker Frieda, who recently got promoted. While making follow-up calls to various schools about their partnership with We Got Y’all, Issa learns that schools refuse to work with the nonprofit because it’s viewed as racist—  from complaints of a eurocentric curriculum to complaints of there being only one black employee (Issa) — information that Issa relays to Joanne, who totally shuts her down. It becomes abundantly clear in this scene that We Got Y’all don’t “got” Issa or any of the students of color that they serve, for that matter. And hopefully this white savior nonprofit sham storyline is revealed throughout the remainder of the season, and hopefully Issa decides to quit.

While Daniel is awkwardly jamming to his music at home, Issa walks in and acts in her usual awkwardly adorable behavior and sort of flirts with him. Daniel reciprocates the energy and leans in for a kiss, but Issa curves him, letting him know that they shouldn’t do it. Then, Daniel asks that question that viewers have been trying to figure out the entire episode: Out of all the places she could’ve stayed, why the hell is Issa staying with Daniel?

Issa said that she came there as a friend and his crib is closer to her job. She then informs him that she would like a head-up the next time he has sex. RUDE.

Meanwhile, it seems like Molly isn’t ready to know better and do better as she’s seen receiving head from him the night she returns from her trip. The morning after, Dro receives a call from Candice and tells her that she’s with Molly. Although it was hard for some to understand that this was the way of the show’s writers showing that Dro is indeed in an open marriage (because: niggas lie), Natasha Rothwell (Kelly) made it clear on Twitter Sunday night.

I hope this clears it up: Dro's wife KNOWS about Molly. He's not shady, he's poly. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #INSECUREHBO

— Natasha Rothwell (@natasharothwell) August 13, 2018

It’s clear that Molly is upset after Dro hang up the phone with his wife. That’s why she suggests that they have boundaries and only be acquaintances that fuck. However, it doesn’t seem like that’s all she wants from him when she agrees to go to dinner with him the next day.

Issa invites Molly to her“party Lyft” to save time while Daniel has sex again. During their trip, Issa and Molly pick up a fine nigga named Nathan who’s not from L.A. and a fat nigga who starts rolling a blunt in the car. When Issa tells dude to not smoke in her car, he responds with a blatant nonchalant, “nah, you good” and continues to smoke. Nathan comes to the rescue and throws his blunt out the window, beats the fat nigga’s ass and runs off, leaving Molly and Issa to care for the fat nigga. And Daniel never informed Issa if it was safe for her to come home.

Molly comes home and, to her surprise, Dro is there. He let himself in with his own key because Molly wasn’t responding to his messages. Then, Molly requests for her key back and informs Dro that she doesn’t want to be involved in the mess that he and his wife are in. Dro gets mad and leave, and Molly sits there looking stupid.

Issa returns to Daniel’s crib after the long ass night she’s had and picks a fight with Daniel because he never texted her back. Issa also tells Daniel that she still has feelings for him and cares about who he’s fucking. She also reveals that she’s staying at his crib because she knew he would be there for her. Daniel appropriately responds with an “Alright”, goes to his room, and shuts the door. Issa is left sitting on the couch.

The episodes ends with Issa watching “Kev’yn” on the couch and Daniel informs Issa that she’ll have the crib to herself for the night, adhering to Issa’s wishes.

My thoughts:

Issa is fucking up

Issa is wrong for so many reasons. The main issue is that she shouldn’t be upset with Daniel fucking someone else in his OWN crib. It’s his house. He shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells because she has feelings for him. If that’s the case, which she did reveal during the episode, then she shouldn’t be living there or she should’ve been upfront about her feelings when she first moved in. Instead, she told him two weeks later that she moved there because his crib was closer to her job. That was beyond rude. And when he acted on that energy that were hinting around, she declined. WHAT DO YOU WANT, SIS?  She can’t have it your way, and you’re certainly not in the position to do that. You waited too damn late to tell Daniel how you really feel about it, so his behavior is completely understandable. He’s done nothing wrong.

Molly is fucking up, too

I’m not sure why Molly is upset with Dro. It’s as if she’s mad because she now has some sort of proof that Candice is still in the picture and she knows about Molly. I’m not sure why Molly was confused about that, considering that Dro told her about his open marriage at Kiss-n-Grind. Now is not the time for Molly to be dictating borders and boundaries because it’s pretty clear that this open marriage shit is something she shouldn’t be doing. Molly has feeling for Dro, and continuing to be in this relationship will only leave her feeling heartbroken, so hopefully she plans on not being with him, but it seems like it’s too late for that.

Nice for What: Hip Hop's Troublesome Relationship with Black Women

     I’ve never felt more empowered by a Drake song, or even a hip-hop song, than when I listened to his smash hit “Nice for What”. Sampling the great Lauryn Hill, featuring badass women in the entertainment industry like Issa Rae and Yara Shahidi in the video, and using a woman director to take control of that video, the song already had the perfect ingredients for a empowerment anthem. More importantly, the song’s message, glistened by one of the many social media friendly lines, “That’s a real one, in your reflection/ Without a follow, without a mention,” helps bridge the gap in hip-hop’s formerly failed efforts in trying to connect with women, specifically black women who’ve always supported the genre.

     And considering the recent news about R.Kelly(who’s finally getting a share of what he deserves), silence about his pedophilic behavior from artists like Jay-Z, Chance the Rapper and other rappers with whom he has frequently collaborated speaks volumes to how hip-hop thinks about black women, who are R. Kelly’s victims. But “Nice for What”, through the music of a black woman who introduced the female perspective to hip-hop,  provides a reminder to women that the genre has a space for them in 2018 as it did twenty years ago when “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill” was released. Furthermore, considering the recent accusations of domestic violence against Nas and Fabolous, and the sexual misconduct allegations against hip-hop producer Detail, the song’s message couldn’t be more appropriate.

      Although “Nice for What” is a step in the right direction, the lack of response to these longstanding issues within the hip-hop community reveals that the genre has a long way to go in bridging this connect with black women. Hip-hop’s warm embrace of patriarchy combined with the success of the genre only make it complicit in cultivating internalized misogynoir that provides the space for black women to be silent about sexual harassment from black men or even worse——becoming apologists for those abusers (see: any R.Kelly fan). This cycle of black women feeling the need to protect black men, better described as the “ride or die” mentality, isn’t anything new because it traces back to slavery. It’s also understandable. But it doesn’t mean that black men are incapable of creating toxic atmospheres for black women.

“I was really naive. I was madly in love, so I took a lot that I shouldn’t have taken”- Kelis

     I think the previous notion ultimately plagued Kelis, at least that’s what was heard from her Hollywood Unlocked interview in which she details her abusive relationship with Nas. Throughout the interview, Kelis repeatedly says that she isn’t weak, which becomes her main justification for not speaking up about being abused. After seeing Rihanna’s face when she was abused by Chris Brown in 2009, Kelis said that she wanted to speak out because she had similar bruises on her body. However, her love for Nas and her willingness to “stick it out” is what made her remain silent. She also mentioned that she isn’t perfect and could be combative at times. While this behavioral pattern of domestic violence victims isn’t uncommon (see: Janay Palmer, Ray Rice’s wife), it certainly shouldn’t make the behavior acceptable. Statements like these are defense mechanisms against domestic violence that validate men using women as makeshift punching bags for unresolved anger.

     Nas being the culprit in this situation is even more telling. Lauded as hip-hop’s original woke king, widely considered as the greatest lyricist of all-time, and being responsible for a hip-hop classic, Nas makes it difficult for some, specifically his black male fans, to associate Kelis’ claims with his persona. In lieu of responding to Kelis’ interview, Nas liked “hotep-esque” Instagram comments of fans who used the age-old “black women want to tear down the black man” argument to defend him.

So Nas’ response to allegations of domestic violence is to post an old shot of him and their son while co-signing shots of his ex-wife? pic.twitter.com/MueoyaYRVz

— Michael Arceneaux (@youngsinick) May 1, 2018

     However, as people have learned (or have been unwilling to learn) with Bill Cosby’s downward spiral, “Illmatic” Nas is not Nasir Jones, who mentally and physically abused his ex-wife. Thus, Nas’ “good guy” persona within the hip-hop community does nothing but illustrate reasons why hip-hop needs its day of reckoning with the #MeToo movement.

“I’ll Olivia Pope this whole situation before I let somebody take my brother down”- Lil Mo on Fabolous’ domestic violence allegations

I hope that Emily B knows that the abuse she suffered isn’t her fault, either. Fabolous turned himself in to the police in March after a domestic violence dispute with his longtime girlfriend, according to TMZ. Emily B, whose real name is Emily Bustamante, claimed that the rapper knocked her teeth out after being upset that she went to Los Angeles without telling him. That was followed a video that surfaced online of Fabolous making violent threats against Emily B and her father. Fabolous even lunged at Emily with a pair of scissors in the video after she attempted to film his behavior with her phone.

Nearly two months later, Emily B is reportedly still living with Fabolous and she also supported him during his court hearing for the domestic dispute. Fabolous posted a Mother’s Day tribute to her on Instagram in an effort to show that “all is well” with their household.

While the reasoning for Emily B to stay with Fabolous is unclear, it’s seems as though the “ride or die” mentality that was present in Kelis’ situation plagued Emily B as well. And in a genre that indirectly condones women being accepting of whatever trouble that a man encounters, Emily B’s decision is not surprising.

     “I didn’t know what to say or who to tell. I was scared. Fear is a real thing”- Jessie Reyez on her encounter with producer Detail

Singers Jessie Reyez, Bebe Rexha and Tinashe have recently come forward about being victims of sexual misconduct from Detail, who has produced songs for Beyonce and Lil Wayne. Their statements come after two women were granted a restraining order against him for manipulating them and forcing them to have sex with him in front of other people. None of this news is surprising. In being a microcosm of society, hip-hop executives have continuously wielded their power and influence to coerce women to have sex with them.

The allegations against Russell Simmons are a reflection of that. Back in November, the hip-hop mogul faced over a dozen accounts of sexual assault allegations against him that traced back to the 1980’s, which was around the time of Def Jam’s inception and rise to prominence in the hip-hop industry. As multiple women have come forward about Simmons’ behavior, his response has ranged from him being apologetic about it to him denying all of the allegations. He also stepped down from his company to focus on inner healing while proclaiming the cringe-worthy “#NotMe” on social media to show how men were being victims of sexual assault allegations.

Nice for what?

Kendrick has a rather patronizing, shallow way of looking at situations relating to women. I wish I could tell him about himself lol

— 🍒 (@delafro_) March 31, 2017

The only fortunate part about this news is that more women in the hip-hop industry are speaking out about how they should be treated and their refusal to tolerate anything less than respect, which is something that most rappers have failed to do. J.Cole’s attempt to make a statement on women’s self esteem failed miserably with “Crooked Smile”. Although the song seemed to have a good message in conveying how women should celebrate natural beauty and be comfortable in their own skin, women wearing makeup and spending time on enhancing their natural beauty got falsely interpreted by him as women “killin’ themselves to find a man that’ll kill for them”. Just like he did with the gruesome “No Role Modelz” J.Cole projected his moral and beauty standards for women in “Crooked Smile”, which isn’t empowering for anybody except himself.

In a similar fashion, Kendrick Lamar also failed in his subtle attempt at women empowerment. With “Humble”, Lamar projected his own preference for natural beauty when he rapped, “I’m so fuckin’ sick and tired of the Photoshop/ Show me somethin’ natural like afro on Richard Pryor/ Show me somethin’ natural like ass with some stretch marks”, which wasn’t well received by black women.

Because of those failed attempts, the task of women empowerment within hip-hop has been completely left in the hands of female rappers, which is clearly shown in Cardi B and Nicki Minaj’s music and how they both represent freedom and feminism for black women. However, Drake’s “Nice for What” provides an example for not just the ways in which male rappers can empower women without projecting but it also represents a building block for how hip-hop can finally offer women the respect they deserve.

It’s easy for conservatives to look at this analysis and immediately condemn hip-hop as  entirely misogynistic and using it as a means for equating blackness with criminality and other vices, but that’s certainly not what this is. Yes, hip-hop is misogynistic because it’s dominated by rappers who are male, and all men, regardless of race, are inherently misogynistic. This is simply a critique of a genre by a fan who wants women who’ve been disrespected and abused within the hip-hop community to get their due diligence just as other women in different industries have with the #MeToo movement. Considering hip-hop’s abuse is mainly directed toward black women, it’s easy to figure out why that due diligence has been delayed, but “Nice for What” is a poignant start for hip-hop reciprocating the level of respect it has received from women.

Cardi B, the Feminist Icon I Didn't Know I Needed

Cardi B is a feminist. That’s crucial to understand when reflecting on her newfound fame. She graced pop culture in 2013 with her hilarious tell-it-like-it-is Instagram posts about being a stripper without a hint of assimilating to perceivably acceptable norms of behavior. Then, in 2015, the viral social media star became an instant fan-favorite on the hit reality series “Love and Hip-Hop:New York” where she was admired for being unfiltered. It was just last summer that Cardi B’s journey to fame arrived at a peak when she released her record-breaking single “Bodak Yellow", a single that exacerbated her explicitly candid personality with “red bottoms” and “money moves”. Now, the Bronx native’s career has come full circle with the release of her debut album, “Invasion of Privacy”, and controversial events leading up to its release dabbled in feminist criticism. Yes, some time between “Bodak Yellow” and “Invasion of Privacy”, she became engaged to and later pregnant by her rapper boyfriend who allegedly cheated on her. And yes, she’s still with him. However, that’s the essence of feminism— the freedom of women to be themselves on their own terms— and Cardi B has certainly done that without giving a damn about what a hater has to say, which is literally repeated multiple times throughout her impressive debut album.

Cardi B’s own rise to pop culture fame has coincided with my personal feminist journey. Last summer officially marked the beginning of my path to self-discovery in which I thoroughly eliminated anything that was controlling my journey to black womanhood. Among those things were toxic religious dogma, archaic ideas of femininity from myself and family members, and traditional thoughts about my sexuality.

It was the summer of my freshman year of college, and I don’t remember a time before then in which I felt completely free. It was the first time that I regularly donned crop tops and ostensibly flaunted clothes that accentuated my figure. I also stopped ascribing to acceptable forms of respectability, and Cardi B helped with that. Her presence showed me and other black women that’s it’s ok to break with tradition and still be successful. Witnessing how it became a summer anthem and eventually led its way up the billboard charts, “Bodak Yellow” was sheer proof of that.

I initially thought that once I broke from traditional femininity that I would immediately be a failure. At least, that’s what has been preached to me throughout the years. Whenever things weren’t going right in my life, I received a lot of  “see, that’s why you need to get closer to God” before receiving any logical advice to the problem. Thus, I thought my life was doomed once I distanced myself away from the church and embraced my sexuality in a way that’s not defined in Bible scriptures. I thought I would flunk out or, even worse, not have enough money to attend college. Getting diagnosed with cancer was also a thought in my mind. Additionally, I thought that somehow I would get pregnant, because I was taught that every sexual encounter leads to pregnancy (without considering the role of some form of protection), which continues to plague my thinking. And I think that people have perceived Cardi B the same way—waiting for her inevitable downfall because a former stripper couldn’t possibly follow up from the success of having a hit record. But if “Invasion of Privacy” did anything, it proved that Cardi B isn’t going anywhere.

Posing as a response to the ups and downs of her new career, “Invasion of Privacy” works within a feminist politic that includes the original definition of “respectability politics”. The often misinterpreted term was first coined by Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham in her 1993 book “Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880-1920” and used it to portray how black women in the church used a moral code that was rooted independence. In an interview with For Harriet, Higginbotham explains how that independence wasn’t based on creating a social hierarchy, but instead it was centered on showing a society, in which lynchings and other acts of overt racism occurred on a regular basis, that black people, in this case,  black women, were worthy of respect.

“Your definition of yourself, the worth of who you are isn't determined in these contexts of racial discrimination. If you believe that you are worthy of respect and if you live a life that is worthy of respect, then nothing anybody else can say about you can define you,” Higginbotham said in the interview.

Although, throughout the years, respectability politics has been inaccurately molded into a means of oppressing women who don’t fit the middle-class, Christian standard, Cardi B has reminded everyone what respectability really looks like and how it should be regarded by unabashedly proclaiming that she, the former stripper-turned-reality tv star-turned successful hip-hop artist who stayed with her man amid his infidelity and later became pregnant by him, deserves some damn respect. And three songs from the album evokes this sentiment in more ways than one.

In “Get Up 10”, which acts as a stream of consciousness for her reflecting on past experiences and current fame, Cardi B emphasizes that she isn’t a victim of controversy. She raps about how stripping, an often degraded profession, fueled her pursuit of a career in which she’s now “drippin’ in jewels”. The rapper also highlights the burdens of fame in dealing with fake friends and have a load of responsibilities. But I think the best theme of the song, which is exacerbated by the line “You gon’ run up on who and do what?”, is that Cardi B reminds people that she isn’t afraid to defend herself. And she’s not this helpless victim who just takes whatever negativity is thrown at her, either.

“Bickenhead” is the song I’d imagine every woman flaunting the lyrics to in the club. It’s an empowerment anthem that manipulates the definition of “chickenhead”, which is a term used to describe a woman who gives felatio for drugs or money. The derogatory term is one used to oppress a woman’sexuality and ultimately take power from it (because, after all, there certainly isn’t a term that describes a man doing the same thing). But Cardi B raps throughout the song that there’s no shame in women choosing to use their bodies for financial gain.

“I Like It”, one of my favorite songs from the album, mainly illustrates the various expensive things that Cardi B likes since she’s been famous whilst embracing her latin heritage.

The main reason why the song works within the feminist politic described is because she’s outright flaunting an identity that typically isn’t praised in the mainstream. Since the success of artists like Angie Martinez, Fat Joe and the late Big Pun in the ‘90’s, rap hasn’t really seen its share of Latinx artists. Cardi B, who’s an Afro-Latina, immediately showed the world her different identities and raps about how proud she is to be both. By bringing Puerto Rican rapper Bad Bunny, and Colombian singer J Balvin (“Mi Gente”) to the forefront of this well-produced hit, Cardi B is showing the world that latinx artists are integral in the music industry although they’re not often heard in the mainstream. The sonically-pleasing trap beat with the latin rhythm in the beginning of the song is another way that Cardi B illustrates how latin music is deserving of respect.

“Invasion of Privacy” is an impressive debut album that is Cardi B’s epic response to naysayers. Throughout the album, she proves that she isn’t the one to be disrespected. Whether she’s owning her sexuality, calling her man’s infidelity out, flaunting her latin identity, or showing the world how hard she works, Cardi B embraced all the aspects of herself that make her a cultural icon through quotable and inspirational lyrics along with high-quality beats. Cardi B’s embrace of those things throughout the album have certainly empowered me in my feminist journey.

Janelle Monae, Creator of Black Girl Universes

“Take a seat; you are not involved, and hit the mute button. Let the vagina have a monologue.”-Janelle Monáe, “Django Jane”

She didn’t have to say a word. Her pinned-up hair that fitted her black suit-and-tie ensemble spoke volumes before she even uttered a lyric. It was in 2010, nearly a year since the music world lost its most visionary icon, Michael Jackson, that Janelle Monáe debuted the video for “Tightrope”. In one of her most popular videos,  the Kansas City, Kansas, native brings to life this alternative universe titled The Palace of Dogs, in which dancing, which can be used as a symbol for other trends and identities that clash against the status quo, becomes a form of resistance. Picture it (or better yet, watch it on YouTube)— a bunch of black kids dancing in a system that’s aimed for their demise. “Tightrope” isn’t just a groovy song that’s catchy. No. Janelle Monáe ensured that her song wouldn’t be sanitized into this simplistic pop song narrative by creating a stunning visual which was incipient of afrofuturistic themes that her artistry has been known to represent.

She didn’t have to say a word. Monáe’s  pinned-up hair that was now accompanied by outfits that showed off her figure evoked the message of her simply not giving a damn about any label that people wanted to place on her. In 2013, more than a year after the death of Whitney Houston (who was both a representation of respectability and empowerment for black women), Monáe teamed with Erykah Badu for the video of “Q.U.E.E.N”. With the lyric “the booty don’t lie” that’s sung throughout the song, the single is a female empowerment anthem that defies any form of respectability politics used to oppress women’s bodies, especially those of black women. It’s visualized through a museum that keeps rebels, like Badu and Monáe of the fictional Queen Project, from time travelling. However, Badu and Monáe are freed once the record plays.

She didn’t have to say a word. But I’m glad she did. I attended the Women’s March in Washington D.C. last year and saw Monáe speak. She stood with the Mothers of the Movement, a group of black mothers whose sons were the victims of police brutality, before she sang “Hell You Talmbout” which was a song about the systemic racism embedded in black communities. Then, I saw Monáe give impressive performances in both “Moonlight” and “Hidden Figures”, films that uplifted the identities for which she is an advocate in her music—black women and the LGBTQ+ community.

Yesterday, Monáe released the videos for two stylistically different singles— “Make Me Feel” and “Django Jane”— ahead of her upcoming album “Dirty Computer”, which is set to be released in April. It’s the first time that Monáe has released new music since the death of her mentor, Prince. Both of the videos are individually effective and are deserving of being analyzed separately.

Resembling the San Junipero episode of “Black Mirror”, “Make Me Feel” is a Prince-esque single that co-stars Tessa Thompson. In the video, Monáe shows her attraction for both Thompson and another guy, which could allude to her being bisexual. Regardless, the video is a powerful representation of Monáe embracing her unfiltered sexuality. “Django Jane”, with its display of African regality, is a “Formation”-reminiscent visual that more explicitly proclaims the power of black women and their contributions to humanity. In the current moment of #MeToo, a dialogue that has completed neglected black women, Monáe makes it plain in “Django Jane” that black women have always been deserving to be in the conversation. However, the highlight of the song is Monáe’s impressive flow, which is arguably the best display of her rap skills yet.

The salience of Monáe’s ability to portray various universes and futurist ideas throughout her music adds footprints in the sand that lead to waves of the creativity expressed by contemporary black female artists who have gone against the grain of tradition. Further, it’s an overshadowed notion that the various styles and identities portrayed by current black female artists lead to  varying representations of black womanhood that are needed. There’s Beyoncé, the queen, whose image and lyrics have been vicarious for the dreams of black women. Her groundbreaking 2016 album “Lemonade” amplified that position. There’s Solange, who represents this avant-garde, pro-black aesthetic. There’s SZA, whose nonchalant yet candid way of expression has been beautiful to witness. There’s Rihanna, who’s unapologetic bad-assery apexed when she released her underrated classic “Anti”. And there’s Cardi B, the hit rapper who’s sheer display of agency over her body takes the style of predecessors like Lil Kim and Nicki Minaj a step further. Janelle Monáe, through her music,  places all of those styles and themes in alternative realities that allow black women the freedom to dream.

I Tried Really Hard to Like "Grown-ish"

As a sophomore in college, it’s hard to relate to “Grown-ish”

“Grown-ish” isn’t anything like “A Different World”, and that’s ok. However, it isn’t ok for the show to try too hard to be a replica of the hit 90’s sitcom. I really wanted the “Black-ish” spinoff to be the modern-day version of “A Different World” by having relatable characters with equally relatable issues. The show certainly tried to do that in its debut with Zoey Johnson’s (played by Yara Shahidi) opening monologue about her school having gender neutral bathrooms and being founded by a white supremacist. It made another attempt of being this coming-of-age show with another one of Zoey’s monologues about the various backgrounds of her newly found friends who all happen to be far from the typical white college student narrative, but it failed short of thoroughly being that representation.  In fact, it’s not even reflective of a modern-day college experience, not even a black one.

As woke as the new Freeform series appeared to be, it doesn’t seem authentic. It’s an issue of both the casting and writing that makes the series both unrealistic and not enjoyable to watch.  The writing of the series is particularly discouraging because it’s extremely unrelatable.  For example, viewers are introduced to Zoey Johnson’s clique in a digital marketing strategies class (taught by Deon Cole’s character) that takes place from midnight to 2 a.m. I can’t say if most colleges have midnight classes, but I’m pretty sure that none of my friends are taking midnight classes because they were late registering for classes, and I certainly haven’t heard it even being mentioned since I came to college (especially during my freshman year).  Additionally, in almost all of the scenes, Zoey Johnson is sporting a new hairstyle. While it isn’t abnormal for some black girls to sport different hairstyles, it definitely wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Actually, it was more common for black girls in college to figure out who was going to do their hair. It’s something that I currently struggle with.

Even after watching this, I still tried hard to relate to “Grownish” as much as the show was trying to be woke and relatable. I certainly couldn’t do it after hearing that Zoey spent  $3,000 on clothes after taking adderall. While I understand that some college students do ball out and have wealthy families, it’s uncommon for college students to be that rich that they just have $3,000 to spare without their families being petrified. College is the land of the woke and broke, not woke and wealthy, and I think it’s important for the show not to be just a  representation of the latter because it sells this fake reality of the college experience. More importantly, if the show’s intention is to portray college through the perspective of a black girl, which I initially believed it to be, then it’s only befitting that it’s representative of things related to that.

“College is the land of the woke and broke, not woke and wealthy, and I think it’s important for the show not to be just a representation of the latter because it sells this fake reality of the college experience. ”

As a black female college student, the show isn’t at all a depiction of my experience. I’ve never had $3,000 (or even $50) to spare on online shopping. I’ve never had friends like Zoey’s who would persuade me to do something with which I’m not comfortable like taking drugs. My hair is rarely put together every day. I barely have the time to do it and only wish that I can do it as well as the styles that Zoey flaunted.

Furthermore, the casting of the show makes it even more difficult to enjoy watching the show. It’s only perpetuating this elitist narrative that’s far from the lifestyle of the average college student. That lifestyle is hard to believe from someone like Yara Shahidi, whose college recommendation was written by Michelle Obama. Her being this regular-shmegular college girl isn’t believable to me when I know that she’s currently taking a gap year from attending Harvard in the fall. I can’t take Trevor Jackson’s charming and “for the people” character seriously when I know he’s been a child star for years. I can’t take Luka Sabbat’s character seriously when he’s a famous stylist for the hip-hop community, and I certainly don’t believe Chloe and Halle Bailey’s characters considering they’re living as Beyoncé’s protegés in reality.

The show is filled with characters and dialogue that wouldn’t fit on a modern-day college campus, and it’s a bit problematic for the show to be that way considering it’s attempt to be the only representation of a college lifestyle on the small screen. Instead, the show offers this awkward depiction of college that isn’t realistic. The beauty of “A Different World” was that the characters were relatable and they dealt with issues in a way that wasn’t generally predictable. “Grownish” fell short of that in its debut. I tried really hard to like “Grown-ish”, but I couldn’t even remotely relate to any of the characters on the show.

Policing Black Female Sexuality

Nicki Minaj for Paper Magazine

 

 

 

Black women have consistently been targeted primarily for being outspoken about their sex lives, or lack thereof.

When Yvonne Orji publicly addressed her virginity and her decision behind it, people on social media criticized her for having her sex life be controlled by a religion.

When #ForTheD challenge became popular on social media and prominent black actresses like Issa Rae, Sanaa Lathan, and Regina Hall participated, there was some side-eying from primarily black Christian women who thought that those women were doing too much and shouldn’t be involved in such licentious behavior. I could imagine all the old church ladies rolling their eyes in chorus.

When Gabrielle Union, on a press tour for her book, discussed that she started masturbating at a young age, people on social media were surprised to hear that a prominent “classy black woman” like Gabrielle Union would be so open about her sex life, as if being classy and having an enjoyable sex life were mutually exclusive.

When Cardi B got engaged to Offset from the popular rap trio Migos, some women were upset that a former stripper and provocative reality star got the ring before they did.

Because of those criticisms, the four instances can be rewritten as the following:

Yvonne Orji has no sex. Virgin. Not because she wants to but because she’s not desirable.

Gabrielle Union had sexual pleasures too early. Too experienced. She shouldn’t share that in her book.

Issa Rae has lots of sex. Awkward, yes. Black, yes. But sexy and openly desiring the dick? Nah.

Cardi B has too much sex, and she shouldn’t be rewarded for it. Stripper. Risque. Ho. Not the right woman to represent rap.

Fast forward about three weeks later, and Nicki Minaj found herself in similar discussion.

Nicki Minaj. Queen of rap, but not queen of her body. Forced sex appeal. Provocative. Too much sex. Too old to be doing the same thing. Where’s the philanthropic Nicki?

Those instances only tell me, a 19-year old sexually active black female, two things. First, people still have this archaic issue stemmed in deeply-rooted classicism  about black women talking about their sex lives, which basically boils down to us being damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Second, a woman’s worth seems to be  tied to what goes inside her body, and if that woman just so happens to be black, then she might as well file a virtual cease-and-desist-order against herself from talking about her sexual pleasures.

Thus, the backlash that appeared in response to Nicki Minaj’s “Paper Magazine” cover reiterated those notions and introduced another one⸺ that black women haven’t fully embraced their sexual liberation to the extent that they claim to be.

The main critique of Minaj’s unsurprisingly eye-catching cover came from black women. It ranged from the “I don’t know where I stand on this” to the “I thought Nicki was over this part of her life; Cardi B must have sher shook”. Those remarks were obviously filled with respectability politics, which has been the main concept that oppresses the black female body. However, I found it interesting that it came from black feminists, black women who claim on social media every day to be actively fighting for against the oppression of black women. Thus, it seems as if they either forgot about that fight or more importantly, and likely the more appropriate reasoning for this matter, respectability politics aligned with principles embedded in Christianity in terms of women owning their bodies have become deeply ingrained into the psyche of black women that, honestly, we still haven’t come to terms with the agency of our own bodies. Furthermore, the previous notion is totally understandable, given how people constantly want to control our bodies.

I will be the first to say that women have the right to do whatever they want with their bodies.Because of the historic oppression of black women related to their bodies, black female sexual agency is a revolutionary act.

The concept is particularly revolutionary because people within and outside of the black community have done everything in their power to suppress it. It’s no secret that black women have always been perceived as more mature sexual beings before appropriately being considered as such. According to a recent study by Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Equity titled “Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood”, black girls, between the ages of 5-14, are viewed as less innocent than their white counterparts. Among the abhorrent conclusions of that study, participants in that survey believed that black girls knew more about sex than their white counterparts. It isn’t no surprise that black women are deemed more sexually mature; it’s a perception that dates back to slavery.

“Respectability politics aligned with principles embedded in Christianity in terms of women owning their bodies have become deeply ingrained into the psyche of black women that, honestly, we still haven’t come to terms with the agency of our own bodies”

During slavery, rape against a black woman was not considered illegal. In fact, black women’s sexuality was not their own as they were constant targets for sex from their white masters. Consider the story of Harriet Jacobs. She started receiving sexual advances from her white master at the age of 15, and he wouldn’t stop doing it simply because he admired that power he had over her, which is main reason why he had no intention to sell her. However, she did manage to escape in order to save her children. Stories similar to that warrant the case for the perception of black women as hypersexual.

Thus during the early twentieth century, black women (primarily Christian) attempted to dismiss those hypersexual perceptions by instituting long skirts, forcing messages of virginity and abstinence, and promoting other “modest” behaviors under the guise of respectability politics. Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham was the first to coin the term in her “Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church: 1880-1920” in which she discussed how black churches became an integral aspect of racial uplift and self-help for black people and also how black women spearheaded that occurrence by instituting schools and social welfare services.

While I understand the attempt to show people (white people) that black people aren’t the perceived stereotypes and can be participants of a more “respectable” society, thus it became a form of resistance for those women, I better understand that the current state of respectability politics attempts to blame the victim (in this case, black women) instead of the people who created the necessity for respectability politics (in this case, America). Therefore in preaching virginity and modest clothing to black girls in part to disassociate them with the pleasures of sex altogether, people are indirectly contributing to this constant policing of the black female body.

So, no, Nicki Minaj isn’t forcing her sex appeal. This isn’t a phase of hers. She doesn’t need to change to a more respectable image because now she’s more established. She is simply being Nicki Minaj and taking ownership of her body in a care-free, unapologetic way. And if you criticize her for that, then you’re a part of the problem.

On Colorism, Respectability Politics, and Cardi B

Getty Images/Alberto Rodriguez

Last week, Cardi B made history as the first female rapper since Lauryn Hill to reach the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart without any guest appearances. Her hit single, “Bodak Yellow”, dethroned Taylor’s Swift “Look What You Made Me Do”. Although Cardi B’s historic success was met with praise across social media and beyond, it didn’t take long for people to question the value of it.

Within a day of Cardi B taking the number one spot, there were a plethora of facebook posts on my timeline expressing how discouraged they were about Cardi B being the image of success for young black girls. Most of the posts were from Christian women who couldn’t fathom a stripper-turned-reality star-turned-rapper being a leader for women. One post in particular even did the cringe-worthy hazard of comparing Cardi B to Michelle Obama, obviously emphasizing that she wanted her daughter to be more like the former first lady and not the unapologetic rapper who has no filter.

I can’t say that seeing post like the one mentioned above surprised me. As progressive as this generation of millennials are, there’s still an odorous tinge of traditionalism that highlights how respectability politics prevails in black culture.  My first reaction was basically filled with concern because I knew those posts were not the right message to be sending young black girls, and I also knew that it was wrong to diminish one’s success because of their past.

I will be the first to say that comparing Cardi B to Michelle Obama, Oprah, or any other black women whose rise to success seemingly makes them more conducive to being a “leader for young black girls” has respectability politics written all over it (in all caps, followed by an exclamation point). Just because someone’s rise to success doesn’t align with other’s perception of what success should look like, doesn’t mean that it should be demeaned and contained. Furthermore, that notion is attendant to the archaic idea of black elitism in which the divide between middle class, church-going, respectably mannered black women and the perceivably unkempt, loud-mouthed,and misunderstood black girls from the hood becomes more apparent.

This is a notion that was also held by Azealia Banks who mentioned, among other things, that stripper culture should not be the face of hip-hop and Cardi B representing that is an issue. Besides the fact that Banks isn’t in any position to declare what the face of female hip-hop should be, she subconsciously contributed to the faulty reasoning that a black woman’s profession defines her worth and assuming that all women who are strippers chose to be in that position . Cardi B’s rise is an obvious suggestion of the opposite. In fact, like some black women who are strippers, Cardi B became a one because it was an escape from poverty and the domestic violence incited by an ex-boyfriend. Although it’s a desired profession for some, it’s a means of escape for others. That’s obviously illustrated in “Bodak Yellow” with Cardi B rapping “I don’t dance now. I make money moves”.  Furthermore, I will also be the first to argue that Cardi B’s rise to success should be an example for all black girls that they can fulfill their dreams when the odds are heavily stacked against them

The second aspect of the criticism of Cardi B involved Azealia Banks again. In typical Azealia Banks fashion, the highly controversial rapper took to social media to express that colorism helped Cardi B ascend to the top, even going at length to label her “a poor man’s Nicki” (insert straight-face emoji here).

Immediately following her twitter thread, there were black feminists who defended her under the guise of colorism and Banks’ mental illness. Basically, social media defenses of Banks  varied between the “Banks is a dark-skinned women, so we have to acknowledge her disadvantage in society, and choosing Cardi B over her just perpetuates the colorism narrative” facebook post and the “We have to address mental health and how it take its toll on black women” twitter thread.

Regardless of the mistakes Azaelia has made, the delight some of you take in dragging someone who is in that kind of pain isn’t right to me.

— Jamilah Lemieux (@JamilahLemieux) September 27, 2017

Don't get me wrong. I am well aware that hip-hop culture regularly demeans black women and has a long history of contributing to misogynoir. I will also admit that hip-hop does have a behind-the-scenes colorism issue. I only use that term because I do believe that hip-hop is probably the only platform in which the dark-skinned women are more accepted. Lauryn Hill, Missy Elliott, Rah Digga, and more are examples of hip-hop being a welcoming environment for dark-skinned black women. Additionally, to counter Banks’ claim of black men not hyping them up, it was Russell Simmons and Jay-Z who believed in a 17-year-old rapper from Brooklyn, New York, by the name of Foxy Brown and immediately signed her to Def Jam Records. It was Timbaland’s production skills that helped elevate Missy Elliott to hip-hop regality. I can go on and on and list examples of how black men have helped dark-skinned black women and even put them on the map.

However, I am not oblivious to colorism being a hidden issue. Whether we like it or not, there’s truth to Lil Kim’s decision to bleach her skin and Azealia  Banks’  decision to do the same. Additionally, I believe that Banks did accomplish shedding light on the colorism dialogue in hip-hop because although the issue isn’t prevalent in hip-hop doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist in that realm.

Nevertheless, those truths  don’t reduce my thoughts on labeling Azealia Banks an asshole. And I’m not going to use colorism and her mental health as excuses for her being that way. I don’t believe there is more depth to her comments on Cardi B than simply being a bitter, self-destructive female rapper who's jealous because Cardi B's social media feuds aren’t more famous than her actual music.

I find it distressing that black woman’s historic accomplishments are being unpacked and analyzed as a means to belittle her success. Cardi B is a perfect illustration of the potential that black girls have in an environment that’s increasingly stifling to their success and that, in itself, doesn’t require any further analysis.

The Complications of Black Love: What I Learned from Season One of "Insecure"

Friday night and most of Saturday morning, I re-watched the first season of HBO's Insecure in order to get my mind (and emotions) ready for the second season that debuts Sunday night. Re-watching it made me think about a lot of things pertaining to black love. Mainly, it made me constantly question, "Why is black love so damn hard?".

I was talking to my boyfriend while watching it. We debated whether Issa Rae's character cheating on Lawrence was understandable. Of course, we didn't really agree. I provided my justification of why I felt that Issa wasn't completely in the wrong. I could understand where she was coming from. She was really exhausted of seeing her man sit on the couch and having unsuccessful job interviews. All of that takes a toll on the relationship, especially for the woman who has the job and is successful. I felt that Issa was simply tired having to "hold her nigga down", and that shit can be beyond stressful for black women ( you know, the ones who've historically spent their livelihood of "holding niggas down" and not receiving anything in return). Thus, I could sympathize with Issa in that respect.

However, unsurprisingly, my boyfriend felt otherwise. He thought that what she did was grimy and the action was so deplorable that it was beyond any type of "talking it out" or makeup sex. Lawrence's constant attempts to please Issa and trying to compensate for his unemployment (the night when he cooked dinner and set the table for her and him erasing the "Broken Pussy" video from the Internet are prime examples) were his justifications for why Issa's action was disgusting. The icing on the cake and the other reason why my boyfriend hates her character was that the dude that she cheated with was not a stranger; it was someone with whom she's had a previous relationship. In his eyes, that made the situation even more fucked up. Thus, when Lawrence finally got a well-paying job and was excited about having their relationship get back on track, it made him agree with Molly's (Issa's best friend on the show) sentiment (which she claimed on the second-to-last episode of the first season) that Issa definitely did not deserve Lawrence.

“In the words of Lauryn Hill, ‘Tell me who I have to be to get some reciprocity?’ is a constant notion running throughout a black woman’s mind when being in a relationship.”

While all of those points are accurate, there was still something inside of me that made me understand what she did and not immediately put her at fault. Throughout the season, I was thinking in my head, "I get it, sis", and I just wanted Lawrence to feel the same way. But I knew that would be pretty hard after she betrayed him. 

Obviously, what Issa did was very wrong, but I can't help but give her a little bit of the benefit of the doubt. If the tables were flipped, would I be this defensive about Lawrence? I don't want to be one of those types of "black feminists" who believe that black women are always the victim, but is that what I'm doing by defending Issa's character? Am I really trying to victimize a fictitious character who cheated on a "good black man" mainly because she's a black women? Why must black love be so complicated?

All of those questions pondered through my mind, and I came to the conclusion that black love is a very complex item to comprehend. It's extremely hard to makes sense of. In fact, it's more of a debasing situation because of its flaws than one that should be immensely celebrated. Hell, Black Love 101 should be a required course for black students (who want to have a black partner).

As a black woman, it's hard being in a relationship in which you constantly have to give. In the words of Lauryn Hill, 'Tell me who I have to be to get some reciprocity' is a constant notion running throughout a black woman's mind when being in a relationship. Our biggest fear in terms of relationship is not getting anything in return from our labor of love. And when we aren't feeling that reciprocity, we tend to become insecure in ourselves and in our relationship. That's how Issa felt, in my eyes. She was tired of feeling unsatisfied and not being treated the way she she should have. She was tired of always having to provide. She was tired of watching her man sit on the couch and play video games after she had a long and hard day of work.

That routine just turned her off. Black women want their man to wine and dine them and be treated with the respect that society lacks for them instead of having to be a daily customer at "Build-A-Nigga Workshop". Black women simply don't want to deal with that shit. But instead of communicating that with him, she found what she was lacking and created a temporary moment of satisfaction with Daniel, which was a huge mistake. Furthermore, Issa, and other black women, often fail to realize that it takes black men a bit longer to "have it all together". Jay-Z's 4:44 is a testament to that. Also, placing the burden on black men to compensate for the lost respect from society is momentous pressure that is damn near impossible. 

Sometimes black women place this unrealistic pressure on black men to be our superhero without realizing that it's hard to be that for themselves because of the societal oppression that they face. We set them up for failure each time we do that, and we end up broken, hurt, and emotionally traumatized most of the time.

That's what Issa did to Lawrence, except this time they both ended up on the bitter end of the stick because they couldn't see each other's perspectives. The essence of black love too often gets lost in translation due to silent hurt and unrealistic pressures toppled by the weight of societal strains imposed on black people.

Hopefully, the second season explores this issue and somehow Issa and Lawrence find their way back to each other. Regardless, I'm too excited for my favorite show to return!

Dear White Women, It's Time to Confront White Supremacy

I can’t help but think about the 53 percent of white women who voted for the man who invoked the terrorist act in Charlottesville, Virginia. That same man, 45, didn’t outright condemn white supremacy in his response to the event. In fact, those white women were the main thing that I thought about because I couldn’t help but notice their deliberate silence. It was those same white women who advocate for “free-the-nipple” feminism on a regular basis. It was the same white women who campaign for a feminism that isn’t inclusive, a feminism that indirectly emphasizes white supremacy by putting the issues of white females ahead of others.

I can’t help but think about the mothers, sisters, wives, and girlfriends who’ve supported the white nationalists that conducted the heinous act. Hell, those men probably went home to full-course meals and woke up to breakfast in bed from their significant others this morning. There were probably a bunch of soothing conversations held and words of comfort initiated by those women who pose as feminists.

White women, don't think the Charlottesville photos let you off the hook for even a second. A lot of those men went home to cuddles and pie

— Jamilah Lemieux (@JamilahLemieux) August 12, 2017

I can’t help but think about Kendall Jenner’s tone deaf Pepsi commercial and imagine her handing a Pepsi to a white supremacist in Charlottesville to ease their pain. Then I thought about white women similar to her who are oblivious to the threat of white supremacy while being loud and clear on social media about women wearing whatever they want and unsurprisingly appropriating black culture from time to time.

I can’t help but think about those two white girls at my school who, when having a discussion about Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me, blamed black people for not being successful and deeming affirmative action as unfair and having the audacity to say that all black people have to do is get a job so that everything will be alright. She said it as if that was the jackpot solution for years of being subdued under systemic racism. I can imagine those same girls being outspoken about women’s rights.

I can’t help but imagine how quiet those white girls in my dorm last year would be on matters involving racism. It’s those same white girls who flaunted their black boyfriends as if they were the next best thing. I remember those same white girls not being discrete in blasting their hip-hop music in the shower. Now, I’m not saying that white girls can’t do these things, but it’s hypocritical for them to do them when they are oblivious and/or silent to the oppression experienced by Black people and other minorities of color.

I have another idea and it involves white women stepping their game up https://t.co/5vmqF4HfrG

— wikipedia brown (@eveewing) August 12, 2017

This isn’t a post intended to bash white women. I am only criticising the hypocrisy of white feminists who are nowhere to be found when it’s time to confront white supremacy but are clear in their support for gender equality . The burden is almost always placed on the backs of women of color when denouncing hate and racism, and that shouldn’t be. In fact, the deliberate silence of white women makes them complicit in acts of white nationalism, and women of color, especially black women, always have to clean up their mess. While there are many white women who are freedom fighters and advocate for intersectionality and attempt to make it work, the election results reflect that there are more who’d rather settle for white supremacy.

It’s time for white women to stand up and condemn racism and oppression done by white men. Actually, the time has been passed for them, but I’m just tired of black women always doing the work.

3 Statistics You Should Know on Black Women's Equal Pay Day

Although Equal Pay Day was in April, the campaign for economic equality in the workforce did not reflect the fight for Black, Asian American, Native American, or Latina women. In fact, the day should be renamed to White Women's Equal Pay Day because it only represents the amount of time a white woman has to work in order to be paid the same as white men. It takes Black women a little longer than that. Black women make 63 cents on the dollar that their white male counterpart makes, and it takes Black women seven months in order to catch up.

The fact that Equal Pay Day gets more awareness than the respective women of color equal pay days is a mere example of non-intersectional feminism at work and how it fails Black women. It also reflects the dual fight of Black women to counteract the systemic powers of racism and sexism that predisposes them not to succeed. Here are three wage gap statistics that prove Black women have a long way to go in their fight for equality:

It takes Black women seven months into 2017 to make what white men made in 2016.

Although white women making 80 cents on the dollar that white men make is scary, the gap for black women is scarier----they make 63 cents on the dollar than their white male counterpart. Black women are at the top five percent of earners in the country, which creates a very gradual wage growth that's perpetuated by gender and racial oppression.

Black women work more hours than white women and are still paid less than both white women and white men.

According to the Economic Policy Institute, the work hours for black women have increased by 18.4 percent since 1979 as the wage disparity between them and white men have increased. The daunting statistic takes a significant toll on single Black women, who have unfortunately become the nucleus of black family. More than half of black children are raised in a single-parent household, and the bulk of that weight falls primarily on black women. In fact, three million U.S. families rely on the income of black mothers. According to the chart, single black women work more hours and get paid less than their white female counterpart.

via the Economic Policy Institute

Black women makes less than their white male counterparts in any field.

Compared to white men, black women face a wage disparity regardless of what occupation they choose to be in. Black women being the most educated demographic in the U.S. clearly doesn't stop them from getting paid less. In fact, as black women have progressed in educational attainment, the wage gap has increased. Thus, it's impossible for black women to educate their way out of the disparity. This is especially true for female-dominated occupations. For service occupations, which is female dominated, the median earnings of black women are below the poverty threshold for a family of four.

As a sophomore in college who plans to thrive in the journalism field, these statistics are troubling, but I have hope that one day black women in this country will be granted the justice they deserve.

SZA Season Is in Full Effect

Disclaimer: I've listened to this album approximately 20 times since its release.

It's been nearly two weeks since SZA released Ctrl, her critically-acclaimed debut studio album, and there are still many aspects of SZA's sound, artistry, and style that remains to be unpacked. Upon first listening to Ctrl, SZA's new, unapologetic sound slaps you right in the face and makes you wonder, "Is this the same SZA?". 

 Well, no, it isn't, and SZA has made that very clear.  During an interview with The Breakfast Club, SZA revealed "This album is like a release from all the last four years I haven't been doing music. I've been burying friends, burying family members, burying weight. The way I feel about myself........I've just been growing as a human being, and I didn't even realize that I was just like kind of in a box". Besides her physical appearance changing with the weight loss (SZA admitted that she was once 200 lbs.), it isn't a riddle to claim that SZA has definitely grown and that is genuinely reflected on Ctrl.

Issa goddess......(Courtesy of @sza on instagram)

I already knew that I absolutely loved SZA's style with her beautiful big hair, baggy clothes, and unparalleled alternative R&B sound. But I didn't realize how much I loved it until listening to Ctrl. In fact I love her even more. It was so honest and authentic that it made me feel like SZA was definitely more comfortable being herself now, which is something that I didn't find when listening to prior mixtapes. Both S and Z reflect a woman who isn't comfortable with sharing her feelings and thoughts because she fears that people (especially men) won't accept her for who she is.

Her fear is blatantly shown in "Ice Moon" from S in which she sings (metaphorically through the fantasy of an ice moon) about being afraid to be in love again because of prior relationships and afraid that she'll never find a soul mate. Before Ctrl, SZA's music was just like that----- defined by her metaphoric and figurative illustrations about love and life, always leaving fans and listeners wondering what's really going on in SZA's mind. But Ctrl was an exit from all of that.

The album became a departure from this ethereal sound and style that SZA used in her music to mask her feelings, and I think women do that often. Sometimes, women, especially black women because of the oppression and stereotypes that we face, feel as if we have to mask ourselves in order to maintain a certain image that will be deemed respectable for others.

SZA basically said, "Fuck all that" and lyrically expressed that it's ok to not be ok; it's ok to not have it all together; it ok to not be in control all the time. She explains that she is ok with not being the girl that a guy would take home to his parents. And she hit us with that vibe in the very first song of the album, "Supermodel" in which SZA confesses that she slept with her man's friend because he was treating her like shit. Later in the song, she claims that not even his ill treatment toward her could erase her sentiment of still wanting to be with him, which is a narrative that all women can relate to.

Found the life hack to being a black girl: Keep SZA's new album on at all times till you die. That's it. That's the hack.

— Michaela Coel (@MichaelaCoel) June 24, 2017

SZA went on to control and take back the narrative of heartbreak with "The Weekend", which breaks down the borders of R&B. Typically, women express how hurt or broken men leave them, and that's reflected in nearly every R&B song ever made by a woman (something that makes music like Mary J. Blige's so impactful). But SZA basically took back that motif to prove that women have the right to control what they need from men in any moment of their life. She talks about having power over men in being the side chick when she sings the chorus, "My man is my man is your man heard it's her man too.  My man is her man is your man. Heard that's her man Tuesday and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I just keep him satisfied through the weekend". By explaining how all of these women need something from this one man (and essentially how he belongs to each of them), it takes the power away from him through all of his lies and wrongdoing and empowers women. SZA brilliantly molded the message in reminding women that men certainly don't need to have the control in the relationship.

However, while SZA is in the driver's seat of her life, she admits that he has crashed many times. In songs like "Pretty Little Birds" and "Twenty Something", SZA genuinely reveals that she isn't perfect and is still figuring her life out. But, she's content with that. I think the reason why everyone could immediately relate to Ctrl is because SZA was simply ok with exposing her flaws. In fact, she embraced them, which is something that a lot of black women struggle with. It's hard to expose personal flaws when society has created this perception that you're already flawed or when history hasn't done anything but create certain flaws and black men continue to perpetuate a narrative that we aren't good enough. 

SZA describes all the feelings young twenty something savages have in a span of a year. IDGAF, LOVE, Confusion, DGAF again, heartbreak

— twentysomething (@ProfoundAF) June 9, 2017

But SZA has expressed that although she is still struggling in maintaining control, she'll be damned if she lets another man have the power to take it from her. Ctrl poses as that message for all women. More than that, it's a positive turning point in SZA's artistry. Reflecting herself, her music has become more straightforward and honest, and that makes it more sonically pleasing. 

Ctrl is similar to what Good Girl Gone Bad did for Rihanna or what I Am..... Sasha Fierce did for Beyonce or what Baduizm did for Erykah Badu------heightening their careers. But unlike them, Ctrl is simply SZA and she isn't afraid to do it her own way anymore.

On Miley Cyrus, Hip-Hop, and the Objectification of Black Women

This piece is not to demonize girls like Miley Cyrus. I respect her art, but I cannot respect what she has represented.

***This article was inspired by a thought-provoking conversation between my boyfriend and I.

Wiz Khalifa, Miley Cyrus, and Juicy J; Rolling Out magazine

Last week, in a recent interview with Billboard magazine, Miley Cyrus explained how she would return to her musical roots. But she also indirectly admitted to appropriating hip-hop while promoting her “new” sound. When asked if Melanie Safka influenced her new music, Cyrus responded with the following:

“She did, and I grew up with her. But I also love that new Kendrick [Lamar] song [‘Humble’]: ‘Show me somethin’ natural like ass with some stretch marks.’ I love that because it’s not ‘Come sit on my dick, suck on my cock.’ I can’t listen to that anymore. That’s what pushed me out of the hip-hop scene a little. It was too much ‘Lamborghini, got my Rolex, got a girl on my cock’ -- I am so not that.”

Her words circled my mind around three conclusions. The first one was obviously how Miley Cyrus profited off hip-hop in order to make a hit record. Whether she wants to admit it or not, Cyrus used hip-hop only when it was convenient for her. Her words in the interview cemented the idea that her grandiose display of twerking, trying-to-hard-to-be-blackness and association with prominent hip-hop artists was just a phase of typical, non-intersectional white feminism. I can go on and on about how Cyrus reflects the trend of whiteness admiring black culture by appropriating it and explain the historical significance, but I will not shower her with that much attention. She simply isn’t worth it. There are many blogs, facebook posts, and twitter threads that have been written within the past 48 hours that accurately explain how Miley Cyrus is a representation of peak white womanhood. But this blog is not one of them. Instead I will focus more on my next two points---hip-hop and the objectification of black women.

The next conclusion that came to mind was how much black men validated Cyrus’ phase. Popular rappers and producers like Future, Juicy J, Mike WiLL Made It, and others clearly didn’t think that Cyrus’ appropriation was enough for them to stop working for her, which is very problematic. Their gracious welcome to the singer illustrates how black men are complicit in this cultural appropriation in terms of white women. Black men’s instant acceptance of white girls who wear hip-hop and black culture as a costume only perpetuate the occurrence. The sad thing is that those white women are equally aware of this. They know that if they get those butt injections, wear their hair in a style that is typically seen on black women, and display the littlest glimpse of them being “down for the culture”, they will automatically be welcomed with open arms by black men who will perceive them as alternatives to black women.

The saddest and most unfortunate aspect of this situation is that black women will call out the white woman before calling out the black men who accept them. I have been a victim of this. I would automatically be disgusted with the white woman who appropriated our culture. Instead of being mad about the existence of Kylie Jenner’s popularity based off of black culture and black women’s style, I should have been just as upset with Tyga and other black men who acknowledged her and chose her over black women. White girls like Kylie Jenner and Miley Cyrus would not have gained as much hype within the black community if black men would have shown even a little bit of adamance in not normalizing them. But that just reflects black women’s unrequited loyalty to black men.

The fact that black hip-hop artists are offenders of this speaks volumes. It only adds to the narrative hip-hop failing black women and the larger trend of black men not protecting black women, which brings me to my next point. Regardless of how hypocritical Miley Cyrus’ statement was, which it was very hypocritical, she did have one point------hip-hop is very misogynistic. Furthermore, hip-hop has especially been that way in terms of black women. For instance, I think the Notorious B.I.G. is among the top three rappers of all-time. But I cannot gloss over his highly misogynistic lyrics. In “Me and My Bitch” from the iconic Ready to Die album, Biggie raps a love song to the one he loves by emphasizing the point that she will always be there to protect him: “Love me when I’m broke or when I’m filthy fuckin’ rich and I admit, when the time is right, the wine is right, I’ll treat you right, talk slick, I beat you right”. Biggie loves the girl because of her devotion to him regardless of anything that he does, even beating her, basically treating her as his bitch ( thus, the song title). Another example of Biggie’s misogynistic lyrics are found in the songs “Fucking You Tonight”, which features R. Kelly on the chorus. Now, R.Kelly’s popularity in R&B is problematic in itself, and it will be discussed in another post for another day. But, the song basically talks about the guy spending his money and on the finer things in life so much that she has owes him sex.

Lyrics such as those have been used throughout hip-hop for years, and the perception of black women as sexual objects has unfortunately played a huge role in hip-hop culture to the point where it is ubiquitous in almost every song. I only used Biggie as an example because he is hip-hop royalty, and his lyrical and stylistic prominence should not erase his misogyny.

In order for hip-hop to escape this perilous theme, there needs to be a black woman’s perspective. “But there’s Nicki Minaj”, you say. Yes, Nicki is significant in her own right and has done a lot for women in hip-hop in terms of building their own empire, but she certainly is not woke enough to handle the issue. I’m not saying that she needs to be; everyone isn’t called to be woke. And as political as Kendrick Lamar is, he can’t even be the one to offer the female narrative, which was shown by the controversy in the same lyrics that Miley Cyrus referenced. But in order to tackle hip-hop’s degradation of black women, we need a woke female hip-hop artist. This is why LAURYN HILL WAS SO ICONIC! This is also why I’m mad at her for not making any more music. We need another Lauryn Hill to offer the female perspective in hip-hop because this certainly needs to stop. With The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, Lauryn Hill is illustrated a black woman’s identity through the lens of love.

We don’t get enough of that in hip-hop. Instead, a black woman’s identity has been demoted to an object that is subservient to black men. It all illustrates the general idea of black men simply not protecting/defending black women enough.

Bresha Meadows Should Not Be in Jail

This week is a #FreeBresha action week for Bresha Meadows, the 15-year-old girl who was convicted of aggravated murder after she shot and killed her father, Jonathan Meadows while he was sleeping. Bresha Meadows and her family endured a significant amount of abuse and threats from her father. According to Brandi Meadows, Bresha's mother, (in a VICE interview), her husband constantly attacked Bresha Meadows and her siblings for years:

"He's cut me, he put a gun to my head, threaten to kill the kids in front of me..........I think she [Bresha]  just was trying to protect us and to stop it because she's seen so much of it."

Meadows committed the crime in July of last year and placed in a pretrial detention center. She is STILL awaiting a trial hearing.  The average length to stay in a pretrial detention center is 10 to 12 days, but Bresha Meadows had been in the detention center for 6 months. If Meadows is convicted, she will be in prison until she turns 21.

The case is one that clearly reflects the connection of sexual/domestic violence and criminalization of black girls in this country. It has become normalized that women and girls protecting themselves from in-home violence are perceived as criminals instead of victims. But black girls are sent to juvenile court at three times the rate than their white counterparts, according to the National Center for Juvenile Justice for the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention. Additionally, 84 percent of girls in juvenile detention have experienced family violence.

As an 18-year-old black girl, I felt a personal obligation to be a voice for Bresha Meadows. She had to spend her fourteenth birthday in jail because she decided that she had had enough. I wonder how many black girls are sitting in jail cells because they simply had had enough of the hurt, pain, and abuse imposed by a stranger or someone in their own home. I wonder if the D.C. missing black girls whom the police say "ran away" were suffering under the same conditions as Meadows and decided that they had had enoug. Joan Little had had enough when she killed the jailer who was raping her in 1974. Ruby McCollum simply had enough when she killed her rapist in 1952. Those stories make Meadows the cultural descendant of a narrative that has plagued black females for years.  She fought for herself because she felt that her emotional and physical harm was no being protected. The very person who is supposed to protect her from those harms is the one who caused it! Thus, the dilemma that conflicted Bresha Meadows was impossible to solve.

Furthermore, I wonder how many of those same girls were given some sort of mental treatment before entering their cell. Bresha Meadows certainly didn't. The magnitude and emotional impact of what Meadows did (kill her own father who was her abuser) is unfathomable. Meadows had to choose between love and her survival, and she chose her. It was only later that Meadows was taken to a medical center. That aspect of the case reveals how the justice system neglects the sanity of their inmates

Bresha Meadows doesn't deserve to be in jail. She belongs in school and with her family. Her story should create conversations about the intersection of domestic violence and the criminalization of black girls.