If you or someone you know has experienced any form of sexual assault and would like to seek help, please call the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 or visit rainn.org.

As a result of a young woman courageously making a report regarding a traumatic sexual assault, Cornell University shut down a fraternity house. However, the accused men continue to attend the institution. Unfortunately, the victim, also known as Jane Doe, had to drop out due to the incident. According to several reports, there was a minimal investigation, and no charges were filed. Yet, the accused were found guilty of something (by Cornell) because the involved fraternity was banned from campus, and they were directed to write an essay.

Yes, you read that correctly… an essay.

Seemingly, Cornell University recognized there was wrongdoing, but their only resolution was to close the fraternity while the alleged perpetrators wrote a reflective essay and continued to live their lives as normal, and Jane Doe deals with the aftereffects of being brutally raped.

As reported by several outlets, in October 2024, the anonymous victim went to a bar, where she was served alcohol, though she was underage. After leaving the bar, she met a friend at the Chi Phi fraternity house. There, she was served more drinks and allegedly given ketamine along with marijuana. To be clear, Jane Doe says she felt pressured to drink more and take the drugs.

Over the next seven hours, two members allegedly engaged in sexual intercourse with her without her consent. Furthermore, they invited other members of the frat to join them, claiming that there was “free pussy” upstairs in a Snapchat group chat. Three weeks later, Jane Doe found the strength to make a report to the campus police.

In the two years since the incident, no charges were filed; there was no investigation or subsequent trial, nor did the accused face any real punishment. As mentioned, Chi Phi was closed, and the seven boys were directed to write an essay and “think about their actions.”

Subscribe now

Why is this all being brought up again?

Jane Doe wasn’t intimidated by the lack of action that Cornell took. She recently filed a civil lawsuit against the seven boys, the fraternity, her former sorority Tri-Delta (for failure to protect her), and Moonies, which is the bar that served her alcohol despite her being underage. As a result of her civil lawsuit, the local district attorney has reopened the investigation and promised that a case will be presented to a grand jury soon.

While the news of this horrid act is disappointing, this is not the first time institutions of higher learning have chosen to protect male students over victims in situations similar to this one. Several universities, including Louisiana State University, Florida State University, Dartmouth College, Brown University, and the University of Tennessee, have been exposed or have settled lawsuits related to female students’ claims of sexual assault not being handled correctly. …And these are just some of the universities in which the misconduct was made public.

Unfortunately, universities and colleges are not the only institutions that have chosen to protect reputations over survivors. No matter the location— boardrooms, churches, schools— women are at risk. Instead of conducting ethical investigations and bringing real punishment (aka criminal charges) to those who violate women, they cover up incidents by putting band-aids over it all. Closing frat houses, allowing preachers to step down, “forcing” assaulters to retire from their position of power, and having alleged rapists write essays are just some of the things that rape culture has allowed colleges, churches, and corporations to get away with so they can say they addressed the issue without bringing harm to their brand or name. In the end, the victim sees no restitution. In the Cornell case, Jane Doe dropped out of the prestigious university and left her sorority. There are still details developing about her physical and mental health.

Even more so, had Jane Doe not filed the civil lawsuit, the public at large may have never known about the case. Subsequently, the Tompkins County DA may not have felt the pressure to reopen the investigation. It took two years for the DA to even address the issue.

According to RAINN, under 20% of reported rape cases ever see charges filed or a trial. 8% of those cases end in a conviction. This is not a one-case issue or a sporadic occurrence. The system is built to believe perpetrators over victims, focusing on the occasional false report or the use of alcohol during the assault.

There will be people who say, “it’s not how it used to be,” or “at least Cornell did something.” However, those people fail to realize that not only did Cornell not do enough, but they also didn’t pass out “punishment” for the right reason. They did what they needed to do to pass the liability and get the spotlight off of them. They weaponized the buzzwords and language necessary to make the public believe they handled the situation, when in reality, Jane Doe was never thought about.

In the lawsuit paperwork filed by Jane Doe and her attorney, there were several items of proof that were given to Cornell. There was proof of the “free pussy” Snapchat message, text messages in which one of the accused apologized for the incident, and proof of her movements that night, and somehow Cornell saw fit to let those boys remain students at the university.

Though this is not the first major case of the sort, it sheds light on just how much more progress is needed in order to make women feel safe.

If you or someone you know has experienced any form of sexual assault and would like to seek help, please call the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 or visit rainn.org.

Trigger Warning: Mention of abuse, rape, and domestic violence

A few weeks ago, Democratic Texas Representative Jasmine Crockett took the AT&T Stadium stage during a Chris Brown and Usher concert. Dressed in what was later considered controversial, she presented (along with Representative Venton Jones) Chris and Usher with a Congressional Record that recognized “the artistry of Chris Brown and Usher Raymond.” According to her on-stage statement, the recognition was to “document Black joy.”

Almost immediately, the Texas representatives faced immense backlash for their decision to recognize Chris due to his history of violence, intimidation, and abuse.

Chris Brown has had a fraught and controversial relationship with the public since his 2009 arrest for violently assaulting Rihanna. When the news of the altercation broke, many felt the situation was complicated, and they were both young teenagers. Still, Chris lost endorsement deals, accepted legal responsibility, and faced public disappointment. However, Rihanna was not his last victim.

To absolve themselves of guilt or judgment for continuing to support him, Chris Brown listeners have repeatedly said that people should refrain from bringing up his past relationship with Rihanna. And for several reasons. 1) Rihanna forgave him, 2) He was a young kid and has matured since then, 3) The art can be separated from the artist. Though these reasons may hold some truth, they don’t provide the entire context.

Missed the last lead story? Catch up now!

Regarding legal cases, Chris pleaded guilty to felony assault in 2009 and received five years of probation for his abuse of Rihanna. He also received a restraining order on her behalf. In 2013, he picked up another felony assault charge in Washington, D.C., after causing a public disturbance with two men outside a hotel. The charge was later reduced to a misdemeanor. A few years later, in 2017, his on-and-off relationship with Karrueche Tran came to an abrupt end when she was awarded a five-year restraining order against Chris after he was found to be stalking, harassing, and threatening her.

Though not handled in a courtroom, there are other documented cases of Chris’ violence. In 2011, just two years after the fallout of his relationship with Rihanna, Chris took issue with Robin Roberts’ line of questioning as it included inquiries about Rihanna. Though he did not immediately react on television, he was visibly shaken. After the segment, he returned to his dressing room and trashed the area. Subsequently, he threw a chair through a window of the building, which shattered the glass. In 2012, he and his entourage were involved in a club altercation with Drake’s entourage. A year later, Frank Ocean took to social media, stating that he had been jumped by Chris Brown and some of his friends. He allegedly suffered a severe cut on his finger; however, Frank chose not to press charges, though a LAPD report said that Chris did punch him. To clarify, this incident began over a parking spot. In 2016, he allegedly pulled a gun on a woman at his home. In 2019, he was accused of raping a woman while in Paris. He was again accused of sexual assault in 2020.

Subscribe now

While this history may seem disturbing to some, Jasmine Crockett surely remained unbothered by it. Nevertheless, many disapproving constituents are not surprised by her supposed support of an abuser. The Black community has a long history of supporting abusers, regardless of their celebrity status, but especially if they can make a hit song or score a touchdown. The first immediate example is R. Kelly. His reputation in the music industry has long been controversial, as he often sparked relationships with underage women. Specifically, his illegitimate marriage to the late singer Aaliyah and a later-revealed sex tape that involved a 14-year-old girl. Other examples include Bobby Brown and Tupac. Their reputations were well documented, yet their concerts were sold out, and their legacies remain intact. Larger examples point to figures like Bill Cosby and Sean “Diddy” Combs. Though much of their indiscretions were not public information, there were entire industries that turned a blind eye to their behaviors.

Just based on these few instances, it seems as though the Black community is willing to ignore the abuse of its women so long as the talent is there. Even so, it's one thing for fans and ignorant music listeners to support Chris (and others) after several violent outbursts, but it is an entirely different thing for the state and its politicians to look the other way.

Whether Jasmine Crockett listens to Chris Brown on her way to work, or his hits are included in her cleaning playlist, is not relevant. However, using an instrument of the government, i.e., the Congressional Record, to recognize someone with such a controversial public persona. Additionally, Jasmine Crockett is an elected official who is meant to represent those who live in her district—including battered women. Then to say that she is documenting Black joy… though they may have moved past the trauma, surely Rihanna, Karrauche, and anyone else who suffered violence at the hands of Chris would not say he imparted joy upon them.

Neither Rep. Jasmine nor Chris seemed particularly interested in answering the actual criticism. Brown addressed the backlash directly on Instagram, thanking Crockett and writing, "I'm not political, but I move off of frequency and energy and I'm so grateful." He also negatively addressed Rep. Venton, who later apologized for honoring Chris.

Rep. Jasmine, for her part, never mentioned Rihanna, Tran, or anyone else from the stage or in later statements, framing the moment purely as a celebration and leaving it there. Both responses treated the controversy as noise to move past rather than a question that deserved a real answer. That's often how this works. The point was never to justify the harm. It was to make sure no one had to. Chris also took to online platforms to say that he hasn’t had any abuse convictions since Rihanna, which is 1) not true, and 2) completely beside the point.

Those who defend Chris Brown or see no issue with Rep. Jasmine’s decision to honor him say that she needs to appeal to voters, including those who may be Chris Brown fans. While this may have some political strategic truth to it, she has now alienated those who have suffered from abuse, harassment, or other forms of domestic violence.

None of this requires deciding Chris Brown has no right to a career, or that his music should be erased. That's a different conversation. What it does require is being honest about what "documenting Black joy" actually asked of us in that moment: to celebrate quietly, and to let the victims who survived him be the unspoken cost of a good show. Jasmine Crockett didn't create that expectation. She just put it on the record.

A week ago, on her 45th birthday, Beyoncé quietly handed us the past. A remastered, expanded B’Day, 20 years after she first made it, arrived with four unreleased tracks and two Spanish-language collaborations tucked inside, and it sent fans right back to the two weeks in 2006 that made the original happen in the first place.

In 2006, while most of us were asleep, Beyoncé was in four different studios at once, recording three songs a day, building an album she wasn’t supposed to be making yet.

She had just wrapped filming “Dreamgirls,” playing Deena Jones, a woman trapped in a marriage to a manipulative, controlling manager. She’d also just finished one final album and tour with Destiny’s Child. What she was owed after all of that was a two-week break. What she took instead was a sprint. Unable to shake what the role had stirred up in her, she started recording before the rest had even ended, in secret, without her father and then-manager Mathew Knowles knowing, paying for her own studio time at Sony to make sure of it. She called in Sean Garrett, the Neptunes, Swizz Beatz, rented four studios so each producer could work in parallel, and walked in and out of rooms telling grown men exactly what she wanted to hear a few hours later. 22 songs came out of that stretch. 11 made the album. It was finished by April, timed to drop on her 25th birthday that September.

B’Day doesn’t sound like an album made by someone easing into her 20s. It sounds like someone who just spent months playing a woman who lost herself in a man, and decided in real time she wasn’t going to let that happen to her. The production leans hard into the blues and funk of the 70s and 80s, “Suga Mama” sampling Jake Wade and the Soul Searchers, “Upgrade You” quietly borrowing from Betty Wright’s “Girls Can’t Do What the Guys Do,” but nothing about it feels like a history lesson. It sits right at the crossroads of hip-hop, R&B, and pop, which is exactly where Beyoncé thrives.

The lyrics matched the sprint. Where Dangerously in Love was about being in love, B’Day was about being done. “Kitty Kat” is Beyoncé telling a man, plainly, that she and her cat are leaving to be appreciated somewhere else. “Freakum Dress” starts sounding like an outfit anthem and ends as something much less subtle. “Irreplaceable” became the breakup song an entire generation still reaches for.

Visually, B’Day was Beyoncé long before Beyoncé, the visual album, was supposed to exist. 12 videos, a full anthology DVD released seven months later, at a time when watching something “whenever you wanted” wasn’t the norm yet. “Déjà Vu,” all sand and hips and unmistakable confidence, drew a literal petition demanding Columbia Records reshoot it as parents were concerned about her explicit sexuality expressed in the video. Her answer was simple: she was responsible for herself, not everyone else’s kids. “Ring the Alarm” leaned into a different register entirely, an intensity so sharp it fed rumors about her relationship with Jay-Z that got loud enough for her own father to release a statement trying to set the record straight.

Missed the last lead story? Catch up now!

None of that noise is what people remember now. What’s left, nearly 20 years later, is a tracklist that still gets played in full at her concerts, a sound that helped set the template for genre-blending R&B for the next two decades, and an artist who used a stolen two weeks to figure out exactly who she was about to become. She’s said herself that her current work is about reclaiming genres Black artists built and lost credit for. B’Day was the first draft of that instinct, long before it had language.

Many fans return to the album despite its 2006 release. Not because it’s her most polished, but because you can hear someone deciding, in real time, that she wasn’t going to be quiet about any of it again.

About a week ago, on her highly celebrated birthday, she gave that first draft a proper sequel. The 20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition doesn't just remaster the original; it expands it into a 31-track document, four previously unreleased songs including "Can I Watch You" with Pharrell, and two Spanish-language collaborations that feel less like bonus content and more like Beyoncé closing a loop. "Irreemplazable (Como La Flor)" pairs her with the late Selena Quintanilla, vocals approved by Selena's estate, and "Cuerpo (Tumbao)" with Maluma samples Celia Cruz's "La Negra Tiene Tumbao," a nod, as the release notes put it, to Cruz's pride in her African roots. It's a small but pointed detail: 20 years after making an album about refusing to shrink, she's using the reissue to make space for other women who refused the same thing, on her own terms, in her own time.

Over the years, there have been some tough deaths that the Black community has had to face. Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Kobe Bryant, Chadwick Boseman, Angie Stone, Cicely Tyson, Tina Turner, and so many more. When we lose a Black celebrity, it’s more than just having loved their work… fans of these people often feel like they’ve lost someone they can relate to. However, there is a special connection that Black women seem to have with certain white celebrities, feeling left out of the grief for the celebrity, but feeling it deeply.

Within a stretch of ten days, Hayden Panettiere (August 16, 2026) and Dolly Parton (August 25, 2026) have made their transition. Obviously, the entire world is shocked and hurt by their passing. Specifically, Hayden, as she was a mere 36 years old, was open about her mental health and addiction struggles. But there is something to be said about the way that Black people, specifically women, will be grieving their passing.

It is no secret that these two ladies are white women. On the surface, there isn’t much that Black girls can relate to. But those in the community know that it is less than true. Though Black media representation has had its strong moments, there was a scarcity that only we noticed. Being the resilient humans we are, Black girls often found ways to relate to those who may not look like them but possess a light that makes us feel seen. Wherever there was warmth and understanding, Black girls followed closely. This isn't about grieving them as if they were ours to claim. It's about what their treatment in death reveals about what we've rarely been given in life.

Missed last week’s lead story? Read now!

For example, Anne Hathaway caught all our attention when she starred as Princess Mia in “The Princess Diaries.” The character’s quirky, outcast persona gave Black viewers something to understand as we experienced her struggles because of our race. This then translated to Anne herself as she continued to star in more movies we couldn’t get enough of.

The same can be said of Hayden. We first saw her in “Remember the Titans,” a football-focused movie that documented the desegregation of a southern high school football team. The next time she caught our attention, she starred alongside Solange Knowles in “Bring It On: All or Nothing.” This movie, in particular, made her a household name among little Black girls in the late 2000s. Her role as Britney showed how she better understood Black culture, having moved to an all-Black school from her preppy, suburban upbringing. Watching her transition from an ignorant, uppity “white girl” to someone who fiercely defended her Black teammates made the Black girls of that time feel seen. Of course, there are many other roles that we loved her in, including “A Bug’s Life,” “Ice Princess,” and the “Scream” movie series.

Outside of her movie roles, she often spoke about the struggles she faced with postpartum depression and her subsequent substance abuse in public. Her openness and vulnerability were praised by many, but even more so by Black women. It is not the struggles that she had specifically, but the ability to other herself from the Hollywood norm. She pushed aside the societal expectations for someone like herself and advocated for those who would otherwise go unrecognized.

Furthermore, the more recent passing of Dolly Parton brings about more grief. Though southern Black people enjoyed her true southern roots and music, it was her commitment to helping the less fortunate that stood out. She openly accepted Black musicians into the genre that otherwise denied them access. She stood tall on her judgment-free morals, providing for those who needed it, regardless of race. Her work in increasing literacy rates in rural southern cities and her donations to the research of COVID-19 vaccines are just a few things we can thank her for.

These things are just an addition to a personality that made everyone feel welcome. Because of her self-proclaimed dirt-poor beginnings, she remained vulnerable outside her success. She was able to move on from those beginnings, but she never forgot where she started, and she was prideful in it. Like Hayden, it was her decision to separate herself from what people thought she should be that resonated with the Black community.

Subscribe now

Despite our connections to the women, there is an underlying question about the grief. Hayden wasn’t given the grace she deserved in her season of need. Instead, her longtime sponsor, Neutrogena, declined to renew her contract after she openly discussed postpartum in 2015. They cited the morality clause in her contract and treated her crisis as a scandal rather than the vulnerability many dared to ignore.

What she got instead was something the industry wouldn't give her: the public, and Black women specifically, extended a grace corporate America refused to. That distinction matters. It wasn't that Hollywood was kind to her struggle and unkind to ours. It's that neither of us was owed kindness by systems built to profit from our polish, not our honesty, and Black women recognized that refusal because we've lived it too.

That recognition isn't abstract. Black mothers are still more likely to have their pain dismissed by the very doctors meant to treat them, and more likely to die from complications the medical system was slow to take seriously. When Hayden said postpartum depression nearly took a decade-long partnership from her, Black women didn't just sympathize. We recognized the specific shape of not being believed.

Dolly’s story ran differently, but the throughline holds. Her rise from poverty was allowed to be inspiring rather than disqualifying. Whether that grace came easier to her because of who she was or because the story arrived packaged as a comeback rather than a crisis is worth sitting with rather than resolving neatly.

What we're left with is grief that is entirely real and a recognition that runs deeper than either of them. We didn't mourn Hayden and Dolly because their pain was rare. We mourned them because their pain was familiar, dressed in a body the world was finally willing to believe. Black women have carried postpartum depression without a memoir deal to reframe it, carried poverty without a Dollywood to redeem it, and carried honesty without an industry that ever paused to ask if we were unsupported too. Their deaths didn't teach us anything new about grace. They confirmed what we already knew: we've faced this kind of survival long before anyone offered us the warmth to name it out loud.

As many of us scroll through social media platforms, particularly Instagram, it is almost impossible to ignore that all the models, influencers, and otherwise famous folks look the same. The Commodores were seemingly onto something when they shouted out the desirable measurements for a woman. 36-24-36. Social media is filled with women who are endowed with big breasts, a tiny waist, and wide hips, regardless of race or ethnicity. Historically, this was something only communities of color, specifically Black people, idolized—hence an entire classic song about it.

This “trending” body type did not appear out of nowhere. For years, Black women were shamed for how they were naturally shaped and could only find solace within their community. Despite love from Black men and understanding from Black women, the media was cruel and unforgiving regarding our natural bodies. Doing away with any care about health, these women were considered fat and unhealthy. To correct this, there were many methods created to fix this, including the corset.

Missed last week’s lead story? Catch up now!

A tied corset was invented to help narrow the waist and assist white women in maintaining the ideal figure. What is now considered shapewear or waist cinchers was made to help distinguish between who was thin and who wasn’t. Thinness was then used to distinguish between who was white and who was not, especially as the Atlantic Slave Trade (and the rape of enslaved Black women) progressed and it became more difficult to determine who was Black based solely on skin color.

Though some may try to deny it now, there was an entire media campaign dedicated to promoting thin figures and shaming any other kind of figure. According to Professor Sabrina Strings’ award-winning book, Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia, being skinny wasn’t always desirable. As stated in her research, during the Renaissance era, curvy women were common and celebrated. This is evident from the art that resulted. As mentioned, the slave trade changed this dramatically.

Due to Black people being able to pass on skin color alone, other identifying markers had to be established, which gave birth to fatphobia itself. Early magazines played a major role in perpetuating this idea. In 1896, Harper’s Bazaar (a publication that is still well read) published an anonymous article discussing this exact notion.

As outlined in the above image, this anonymous writer encouraged White women to watch their figure so as not to resemble “African savages.” Furthermore, one of the more popular publications in the 19th century, Godey’s Lady Book, directly associated femininity and race. In an 1837 piece for the publication, writer Leigh Hunt assured readers that svelteness was the mark of a proper American lady, joking that heft was only a virtue elsewhere in the world.

The insinuation was clear. Fatness wasn't just undesirable; it was foreign, something only "African" beauty could accommodate. American femininity, and by extension whiteness, required restraint.

These two examples were just the beginning of a long-lived campaign to malign Black women for how they were born. Despite the pushing of skinny in the media, we have turned to shapewear and plastic surgery to artificially achieve the bodies that Black women are often shamed for. Thanks to Dr. Miami and other surgeons, the BBL continues to take precedence as women enter their 20s. Even modern-day Black women have fallen victim to the trend, going under the knife to achieve a shape their own grandmothers were mocked for possessing naturally. The irony writes itself. What was once evidence of savagery is now sold back to us as a luxury upgrade, priced at whatever a surgeon in Miami or LA charges for the privilege.

Want more on Black women’s struggle with body image?

This shift changes more than aesthetics. It changes who gets credit. When a natural body shape becomes a surgical trend, the origin quietly disappears from the conversation. Black women are rarely the face of the very body type built in their image. Instead, the credit, the campaigns, and the “body goals” headlines tend to go to whoever popularized the shape most recently, regardless of who was punished for it first. Meanwhile, Black women in media still walk a much narrower line than their counterparts. Too much curve reads as excessive. Too little reads as inauthentic. We are held to a standard we did not write, chasing a body that was always ours to begin with. Not to mention, real women that these surgeries were based on are judged for not having flat stomachs, which is perfectly normal for a person with a larger behind and wide hips.

What makes this cycle particularly insidious is how well it hides. Nobody frames a BBL consultation as a continuation of 19th-century racial anxiety. Nobody markets shapewear as the great-granddaughter of the corset. The language has changed. The rhetoric has softened into empowerment, confidence, self-investment. But the underlying math has not moved. A body is punished when it belongs to a Black woman naturally, and profited from once it can be manufactured and sold.

Subscribe now

There is no clean resolution here, no neat bow to tie this up with. The line of what counts as an acceptable body has always been movable, and it will likely keep moving long after this essay is read. What we can do is name the pattern honestly: shamed, then stolen, then standardized, then sold back to us at a markup.

Missed last week’s lead story? Catch up now!

In addition to a self-esteem boost and a little self-care, Black women received communal updates on what was happening in the neighborhood, the schools, church houses, and more than likely a little gossip about who was dating whom and whose husband was acting up again. Outside of the sounds of dryers and marcel irons clacking, the chatter of separate conversations that would eventually become a salon debate was something they looked forward to.

What they may not have realized at the time was that these shops were essential to the progress of the race. Besides being a safe space for Black women to gather, they were the few businesses that could be successfully owned by Black folks. They existed outside of the white societal standards. No backdoors for them to enter or White-only sections to navigate. More than that, there were no white bosses or customers to please and prioritize. It was the definition of a safe space.

Though the gossip and weekly updates were imperative for a joyful experience, more went on in those beauty shops that modern-day Black women have the opportunity to know. With no surveillance or respectability politics to follow, Black women were able to share real news and information. Employment opportunities, business advertisement, voter registration, protest planning, civil rights meetings, and the hushed details on where it was safe for Black people to be are just a few of the topics that became the center of salon discussions.

Subscribe now

Dr. Tiffany Gill, who authored Beauty Shop Politics: African American Women’s Activism in the Beauty Industry stated, “It actually made a lot of sense that beauticians were those who were leading civil rights initiatives, since they were the ones who were autonomous in the sense that they were business owners, they were not indebted to any white clients, they had their own clientele – and they had access to a space, the beauty shop.”

For example, stylist Bernice Robinson helped her clients secretly prep for voter registration literacy tests at her salon. Of course, other figures like Madam CJ Walker paved the way for other Black women to learn the trade and open their own salons.

The history of our relationships with our beauticians still stands, but in a new way that may be disheartening to those who owned spaces in the mid to late 1900s. Today’s beauty practices have done a complete 180, with traditional beauty shops disappearing before our eyes. With the rise of entrepreneurship and hustle culture, individualism has taken precedence. No longer do beauty professionals want to rent a chair in a salon. Instead, they are foregoing obtaining their cosmetology license and working from their homes or as travel beauticians. Those who do have a place separate from their homes have still chosen to do away with traditional beauty salons to rent out a space in an overarching building that holds small salon suites. Where professionals used to spend double digits to rent a chair per week, they are now spending three- and four-digit figures per month.

While the idea of the salon suites has its benefits (setting their own prices, control over their hours, choice of clientele), it discourages the communal support that existed in the traditional spaces. The way we organize and plan looks completely different and disallows the privacy we need to be effective.

The relationship between client and hairstylist has also shifted. Whether they do hair out of their houses, travel, or have a suite, it is now a completely isolated experience. No longer can stylists provide services outside of hair because there is no center for everyone to gather. Customers may enjoy the decrease in waiting time, but there is less time to chat with new people and friends. Yes, we have still found ways to seek community through social media groups and text group chats, but the idea of this accidental community is lost.

Independence was always the goal, even in the 1960s, when simply owning your chair was its own act of rebellion. Today's stylists are, in many ways, finishing what their foremothers started: full ownership over their labor, their time, their clientele. But we cannot pretend nothing was lost in the trade. Community was never something Black women scheduled. It happened while we waited. It happened in the overheard conversation, the eavesdropping we didn't ask for, the stranger two chairs down who became a friend by accident. A group chat can hold information. It cannot hold a room.

As a young Black girl, there were probably several terms you heard floating around regarding sex and relationships. Most of them were more than likely derogatory in nature. “Loose,” “easy,” “Jezebel,” “grown,” “hot-behind,” and everyone’s favorite, “fast.” Whether you were personally called these terms or you were around when adults were discussing a different child, it was clear that these were not terms of endearment.

Once old enough to know these terms, their meaning, and the undesirability, little Black girls were taught to avoid being perceived as sexual beings. Though sexuality, intimacy, and relationships have their age-appropriate spaces, what was known about pleasure was demonized and stuck with us until adulthood.

Oftentimes, in the Black community, little girls are blamed when they are molested or otherwise sexually abused by an older man. A phrase similar to “Had she not been so fast, she wouldn’t be in that situation” can be uttered by the elder women. And to be transparent, that is what they were told when they were young girls themselves. The instances of sexual abuse were ignored and swept under the rug to protect the perpetrating men and avoid familial or community turmoil. What the elders may not have considered is how this translates to womanhood when sex and intimacy are appropriate.

Missed the last lead story? Read now!

In pop culture, women rappers and singers are encouraged to dial down their sexiness or sex appeal in order to protect little girls’ innocence, as opposed to the parents doing the protecting. Additionally, Black girls are taught to police their own sexual desires and ignore them. However, this becomes confusing as time goes on.

Regardless of race, women are taught that sex is for the man. For Black girls specifically, sex wasn’t just presented as a service for men, but also was presented as a tool to gain or seek respect. In some ways, we’ve been taught that suppressing our sexuality leads to proper treatment from men. Then we do enter a relationship, we are to weaponize it to get what we want, almost like prostitution.

We were raised on a paradox. On one hand, we were taught to smother our curiosity, hide our bodies, and fear our own desires so we wouldn’t be labeled “fast” or “easy.” But on the other hand, we were told that to get a good man, keep a home, and be chosen, we eventually had to perform sexually. Not only that, but perform sexuality in a way that will keep a man from wandering to other women, as opposed to teaching young boys the importance of commitment.

The confusion continues to grow once married or in a committed relationship, and their partners desire or require certain acts that have never been okay to participate in, according to societal standards. But somehow, it is still her fault when the man cheats or leaves her high and dry.

We are expected to flip an internal switch the moment we reach womanhood. To suddenly transform from a self-policed, sexually suppressed girl into a confident, passionate, and fulfilling partner. But trauma and conditioning don’t work like a light switch. You cannot spend twenty years learning that your sexual energy is dangerous, dirty, and dangerous to your reputation, and then magically feel safe enough to embody it at twenty-five.

Unknowingly, we’ve pushed young Black girls to accept mistreatment, sexual deviancy, and abuse. Because we don’t have open conversation surrounding sex, how it works, how it’s supposed to feel, and its purposes, there are some who have no idea what is considered normal. Furthermore, the ability to speak up and confidently speak about her own wants and needs is absent. And they are more likely to learn about sex from harmful pornographic videos, misinformed persons, or men who don’t have good intentions.

Beyond potential harm, we simply don’t believe that we are allowed to have pleasure. We focus entirely on his satisfaction, his climax, and his perception of us, while quietly detaching from our own bodies. We perform pleasure to prove we are “good in bed,” but we rarely allow ourselves to actually receive it.

Even in committed, loving relationships, the ghost of being called “fast” follows us into the sheets. If a woman is too vocal, asks for what she wants, has multiple partners, or introduces something new, a quiet anxiety creeps in: Will he judge me? Will he think I’ve done this with other men? Will he stop seeing me as “wife material” and start seeing me as a booty call? The fear of losing a man’s respect forces us to censor our own desires, leaving us starved for authentic intimacy.

When a childhood culture teaches you that a girl is responsible for a man’s lust, an adult woman naturally internalizes the blame when her boundaries are crossed. Whether it’s an ex-boyfriend leaking sensitive photos/videos, a partner pushing past a “no,” or simple emotional betrayal, our first instinct isn’t to exit the situation; it’s to feel shame. We wonder what we did wrong to invite the disrespect, carrying the emotional weight of someone else’s perverted mindset.

The modesty demanded of us in childhood was never about protecting our innocence. It was about the perception of women, keeping them in their “place,” and asserting power over us.

What some in the community may not realize is that the dulling of Black women’s sexuality had a necessary purpose to begin with. During and shortly after slavery, Black women were not seen as humans, but as sexual tools for the master or white men in general. This was displayed in mothers hiding their daughters from massa or downplaying her beauty to keep her from being raped.

For further example, Sarah Baartman was a European exhibit in freak shows due to her large behind. Like many Black women, she was shaped with a large chest, a little waist, and wide hips. Her bottom protruded outward several inches, and she was known as “Hottentot Venus.” Not only was she paraded around like an animal in a zoo, but she was also highly sexualized, with spectators being able to touch her or invite her to their home for private viewings. Even after death, her skeleton and sexual organs remained on display in a Paris museum until 1974, according to the BBC. She was just 26 years old when she died. It was not until 2002 that she received a proper burial.

Because of these and other horrid examples, organizations like the National Association of Colored Women (NACW) required extreme modesty and sexual repression for members. Practices like these became known as respectability politics. However, they originated to protect Black women and promote their humanity. While this was useful, as society progressed, women gained more rights, and sexuality became more liberating, deep down, Black women still felt that they might face harm if they did not adhere to these rules.

Even still today, there is heavy debate surrounding HBCU students and how they should dress for class. Whereas at PWIs and other institutions, students can show up to class in pajamas and no one will bat an eye. While the subject deserves nuance and covers more than sexuality, it is no secret that the origins are the same.

The modesty enforced on us from 19th-century survival tactics down to modern dress codes on HBCU campuses was created as a shield against a world that refused to see us as human. It was designed to keep us alive. But somewhere along the line, the armor we put on to survive became the very thing that suffocated our joy. We traded our safety for our softness, and our dignity for our sexual autonomy.

Want to support The Center | Fold? Subscribe for chapters of The Cost of a Renaissance right in your inbox!

Unlearning generations of respectability politics is not easy work. It means looking at the quiet anxiety that follows you into the bedroom and recognizing it for what it is. It means realizing that your pleasure is not a negotiation, a bargaining chip, or a performance for a man. It is your birthright.

We do not need to perform purity to earn respect, nor do you need to perform pleasure to keep a home.

Firstly, I know, I know! I’ve been MIA for the last two weeks and left y’all hanging on a cliffhanger.

To be completely transparent, your girl is officially pregnant and perpetually exhausted! Growing a whole human being while trying to manage Audre and Meech’s chaotic love life takes a serious toll on the nervous system. The first-trimester fatigue won the fight for a couple of weeks, but I am back, rested, and ready to keep this rollout moving!

Thank you so much for your patience. Chapter 6 drops next Friday morning—and trust me, the wait is about to pay off.

Upgrade to a paid subscription today so you don’t miss a single second of Chapter 6!

Subscribe now

After a week of working for less than she is worth, Audre was excited to hang out with Meech. She was ready to have interaction with someone who hadn’t disappointed her.

Two hours before she was set to meet up with him, Audre stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. Earlier in the week, she gained the courage to take out her sew-in. She had been wearing one since she started at MLBG, and she almost forgot what she looked like without one. Seeing Meech wear his locs inspired her. If she was going down this new path, she needed to rid herself of the person she thought she had to be. She needed to get back to her roots.

Though she wasn’t as eccentric as Nina, she was still proudly Black. She had two Black parents, Black aunties and uncles, Black cousins, Black friends, and had exclusively dated Black men her entire life. Partly to impress Meech, she wanted to show off her intellect through her appearance, but also because she hadn’t felt good about herself in so long.

Like a kid ready for the first day of school, Audre had laid out her outfit before she hopped in the shower. She wanted to keep it casual, but still show off her personal style. She picked out a pair of baggy, dark-wash jeans, a white crop top with ‘that girl’ stitched right in the center, and a pair of beige-and-white Nike Air Max Motos. It was still windy out, so she added a bright orange oversized cropped cardigan on top.

After getting dressed, she began taking out her flat twists. It had been forever since Audre wore her natural hair. But she jumped back into the natural game like she never left. Due to her fine hair type, she knew traditional twist outs left her hair looking thin, so she opted for flat twists; that way, each strand was the maximum amount of curly.

Since she rocked sew-ins for years, her hair had grown a lot. Thankfully, she received her last paycheck from her contract job, so she was able to get a quick trim at a Super Cuts salon. She knew a Black girl who worked there and was a friend of Nina’s from a cosmetology course she took, and she never did her wrong.

It felt nice to be able to touch her own scalp and play in her natural hair. She couldn’t see herself going back any time soon. Once she had picked and fluffed her hair out to her desire, she was focused on her face. Her skin looked nice, for once, but should she put on makeup? She didn’t want to come across like she was trying too hard, but she did want to look presentable. To reach a happy medium, she coated her lashes in a couple of layers of mascara, threw a little concealer under her eyes, bronzer on her cheeks, and lip oil on her lips.

To top everything off, she threw in some small gold hoop earrings, tossed on the gold Cartier bracelets she received as a graduation gift years ago, and her nameplate necklace. Before she headed out the door, she packed the Neverfull she was glad she never sold, was sure to grab the laptop and flash drive, sprayed a few pumps of Valentino perfume, and got one more glimpse in the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom.

You look good, girl.

On her ride over to the Juice office, she received a call from Nina. They hadn’t spoken since their semi-argument in her apartment complex parking lot. They sent each other funny videos and tried to move on, but things were still admittedly awkward.

Audre let out a long sigh, then answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Hey, Audre! You busy?”

“Uh, kind of. I’m driving. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah! I was just calling to check on you. Wanted to see if you wanted to come over and chill?”

“Oh actually, I have plans already, but can I take a rain check?”

“That’s okay, it was last minute anyway,” Nina said through a fake laugh. “Do you have a new best friend or something?”

Audre couldn’t tell if she was serious or not, but she laughed it off anyway. “No, Nina. Just going to a networking event. Trying to get my life back on track, you know?”

Audre didn’t like lying to Nina. They literally just got into an argument because Nina kept secrets from her. But she couldn’t spill the beans, at least not yet.

“Oh, that’s great! I’m proud of you. Let me know how it goes?”

“I will,” Audre replied.

“Maybe we can catch up soon, I’ll let you go for now though. I love you.”

“I love you too, Nina.”

After ending her call with Nina, she was about five minutes from Meech’s office. Her nerves began to creep in. This was just supposed to be a business meeting; they had a goal to reach. But he was sooooo fine, and all week long, he sent flirty message after flirty message. Not that Audre was mad at it.

After she replied to his photo ID, Meech immediately texted her back.

Meech: [Do I get one to save for you?]

With a huge smile on her face, Audre started frantically searching for her best photo. After going back and forth between a few options, she picked a picture from last year’s Georgia State homecoming game. She had been having fun, so the picture was casual, but her face was beat, her hair was in a tame curly sew-in, and she was repping her school colors. Before she could change her mind, she sent Meech the photo.

Meech: [Georgia State alum, I see. Not as great as UGA, but I’ll let it slide, lol]

Meech: [You look gorgeous, though.]

Gorgeous? Audre couldn’t remember the last time someone called her “gorgeous.” Ty definitely never uttered the word in her direction, and most guys that hit on her called her everything but a child of God.

Still trying to play it cool, she ignored the gorgeous comment.

[Let me guess, you went to UGA?]

Meech: [Go Dawgs!]

[Maybe I can take you to a game someday. Let you see what a championship-winning team looks like.]

Audre: [LOL, maybe.]

She was so caught up in their simple conversation, she forgot to text Ty a thank you for the pizza he left. For the rest of the week, Meech was consistent, texting her funny memes and TikToks. He constantly reminded her he was excited to work on this project with her. He even sent her a “thinking of you” text.

Having little experience with men who were serious, Audre couldn’t tell if he was just being polite or if he was attracted to her. Every time she posted on her Instagram story, he liked the picture, but so did Ty when he wanted to have sex. Until she knew his true intentions, she decided to keep her walls up. Better safe than sorry.

Audre pulled into the parking lot of the Juice offices. Expecting some version of a corporate plaza, she was shocked to see a warehouse. The outside had graffiti-style art that spelled out the Juice, along with other art seemingly commissioned by Meech.

There were no other cars in the parking lot, except a black vintage Mercedes 280 SEL. As she grabbed her things out of the backseat of her car, she heard the loud garage door open to the warehouse.

“Hey, Audre!” Meech said as he approached her car.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m a little late. I got off work later than I thought I would.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving his hand in the air to show he wasn’t offended. “You’re barely 10 minutes late. That’s right on time for Black people.”

They both shared a laugh while looking into each other’s eyes, letting the silence linger between them. Breaking the trance, Meech offered to take some things out of Audre’s hands.

“Let me get some of that for you,” he said.

“Oh, thank you.”

As Meech and Audre headed towards the building, she looked over at the vintage Mercedes and found the courage to ask, “Is that your car?”

“Yep. It was my dad’s back in the day. He gave it to me when I moved back to Atlanta. I fixed it up myself. Gave me something to do while I was figuring out my next step.”

“So you’re an investigative journalist, an award-winning writer, a business owner, and a mechanic? What can’t you do?”

Before Audre could laugh at her own joke, Meech stopped walking and looked directly at her. “Nothing. There is nothing I can’t do.”

Audre expected a laugh, but he was dead serious. He resumed walking into the building as if he didn’t just gag her. She didn’t know what to say, because the only thing going through her mind was ‘take me now.’

Once inside the warehouse, Audre got a good look at the office/warehouse. The inside was even more interesting than the outside. The back half of the building had been split off into different office sections for his employees, she assumed. The front half had a receptionist’s desk made out of what seemed to be real oak. The entire warehouse’s walls had dark brick with overhead spotlights along the ceiling trim. Over to the right of the front door, there was a full kitchen, complete with an oven, stove, microwave, and the most high-tech Keurig Audre had ever seen. To the left of the front door was a mini library, full of books covering a range of topics. History, pop culture, fiction, how-to, self-help… everything.

“Wow, this place is amazing, Meech.”

“Thank you. I laid the brick myself,” he beamed with pride.

Another reason to make sure I fuck this man someday.

“Can I show you around? Give you a tour?”

“I’d love that,” Audre smiled.

Meech began walking toward the back of the building. “As you can see up front, everything is standard. But back here is where the fun is. These are the cubicles for my writers and employees. Everyone is allowed to decorate how they want,” he said.

And they did. Some cubicles were standard with family photos and college paraphernalia. Others were full of personality with artwork, movie posters, flowers, and sticky notes with reminders for meetings.

Meech led Audre past the cubicles and into a back room.

“This…” as he flipped the light switch, “Is my office.”

Audre was stunned. It was beautiful. He discontinued the brick and left the warehouse walls. Instead of the brick, there was artwork everywhere. Murals, nature, and quotes.

“Did you hire someone to do all of this?” Audre asked as she walked closer to the artwork.

“No. This is all by me.”

Audre quickly turned around to look at Meech…

“And the graffiti on the outside?”

“All me,” he smiled.

“So, add artist to the list, huh?”

“I told you there is nothing I can’t do!”

“That’s so sexy—I mean cool. That’s so cool.”

Meech wanted to laugh at her slip-up, but knew she was embarrassed, so he moved along.

“The rest of the office is pretty standard, honestly. As I think of things, I will add them. That’s the nice thing about owning the building.”

The two left Meech’s office and headed to the conference table, where Meech had a feast set up.

“Oh, wow. What do we have here?”

All the way down the table, there was a variety of foods. Charcuterie boards, wings, flatbread pizza, mini-sub sandwiches, sliders, mozzarella sticks, cookies, brownies, and anything else Audre could possibly want.

“My goodness, did you get catering?” Audre joked.

“Actually, I gave my staff the day off, and I cooked all day.”

Audre wanted to cry.

“You cooked all this?”

“My mama raised me right. I know how to cook,” he laughed.

“This is more than cooking. This is a feast! How are we going to eat all of this?”

As Audre continued to be mesmerized by the table of food, Meech reached into his pocket and presented two joints.

“I figure if we’re going to dig into some unpleasant things, we may as well be happy doing it.”

It’s almost like Meech knew Audre. She never considered herself a pothead, but like everyone else in Atlanta, she would never turn down a joint.

“And whatever we don’t finish, you can take home with you.”

“Should we get started?”

“Yes,” Audre smiled.

Read more

Missed chapter 3? Catch up now!

Leaving her first meeting with Meech, Audre felt an overwhelming sense of safety. But as she drove home, the feeling faded into her regularly scheduled paranoia.

What have I gotten myself into? Can I really trust this Meech guy? What if this is all a ploy? Did I let his beautiful skin and soft approach blind me?

With all of these thoughts floating in and out of her head, she nearly forgot about the morning’s unfortunate events. Walking in on Nina was not all that odd for her. They were college roommates, and Audre witnessed Nina’s entire evolution from a straight-presenting, curious gal to a closeted bisexual, then a fully blossomed lesbian. But she simply could not get over the fact that it was Abby of all people. She hadn’t spoken with her since she was fired from MLBG, and it’s not like Abby reached out and checked on her after everything.

The gnawing feeling in her gut kept confusing her. She was genuinely happy for her best friend. She hadn’t seen Nina in a relationship since their early 20s, and all she did was get cheated on. The other part of her felt betrayed and like she had no one left to trust. Somewhere deep inside, she also understood Nina keeping a secret. Had she told Audre when they first began dating, her reaction probably would not have been the best or as calm.

Either way, she had more to focus on. Despite her hesitancy, she felt excitement brewing when thinking about her conversation with Meech. They ended their meeting on a great note, exchanging numbers, setting up a plan, and agreeing to meet later in the week. She promised she’d send over any information she had regarding the MLBG/Kitchen scandal before the day ended, which meant she was going to have to take herself back to a place of pain.

As Audre pulled into the parking lot at her apartment building, she noticed a familiar car. Pulling into the parking spot she always used, she caught a glimpse of the person sitting in the car.

Nina.

Before she could throw her Camry in park and turn off the engine, Nina was already at her car door. She lightly knocked on the window with the knuckle of her index finger.

“Can we please talk?” Nina asked. “You haven’t texted me back.”

Audre took a deep breath and realized she would have to deal with this eventually, and the mess was already at her doorstep.

Read more

If you pay attention, you may notice that gay men receive a lot more hate than gay women. Lesbians can be seen as a fantasy, sexy, and even considered just a phase. On the other hand, gay men are abhorrent and disgusting. The same could be said for trans women vs. trans men.

In fact, homophobia, transphobia, and misogynoir are often seen as completely unrelated issues, but upon further investigation, they are all wrapped up in one another.

The Price of the ‘Downgrade’

Besides people just being hateful and ignorant, a lot of homophobia and transphobia is based on just plain old hate for women. In the Black community, this is even more prevalent. How many times have we heard or read thinkpieces about how homosexuality or trans women are ruining the Black community because we don’t have masculine men anymore? How are we supposed to keep Black culture alive if no one is available to create Black children?

Based on these opinions, one can’t help but wonder whether it is that two Black men sleeping together is the issue, or whether Black men being feminine is hard to accept? Let’s really think about this: What is it that homophobic people really hate about gay men, especially those who are considered flamboyant? They don’t want these men to be sissies, but why? Regarding trans women, what is really the issue with what someone is doing to their body? To put it plain and simple, men are supposed to be as far from feminine as possible, because it is highly associated with women. Assuming that being a woman is the worst thing possible.

Missed the last lead story? Read now!

The policing of queer people uses the same patriarchal ideas that birthed misogyny. And specifically for Black people, misogynoir.

The patriarchy has been built on thousands of years of attempting to silence, remove, and police women. If men begin to take on tendencies associated with women, they are harder to control, and it causes the thinking that maybe women aren’t so bad. As many have stated in the past, what someone else does in their bedroom or to their bodies really isn’t anyone else’s business, regardless of whether they are gay, bisexual, trans, straight, or anything else in between.

For those deeply ingrained in patriarchal beliefs, the thought that a man would want to relinquish his male privilege to “downgrade” to femininity is confusing and misunderstood. When looking at Black trans women, who are at the highest risk for violence and death because of their identity, the hate they receive is the same as that of cisgender Black women. So, when cisgender Black women speak out against women who are transphobic or otherwise against trans Black women, they are really against themselves. It is not our sexuality that is the issue; it is the way we present.

The Ghost of the Plantation

The worry that people have surrounding Black men’s sexuality and identity does stem from a real place. American slavery continues to have an unexplainable impact on Black people. During slavery, Black men in particular were stripped of their masculinity and any patriarchal power. They were treated like animals and discarded when masters were finished with them, whereas the Black women slaves were given different treatment because masters could rape them. Taking away Black men’s autonomy meant they couldn’t do the things that men were said to be born to do: protect and provide for their families.

Once slavery was abolished, freed men worked hard to regain their self-respect and respect from everyone else. To do this, they had to hone in on a rigid set of rules to be seen as a man. Anyone who can’t adhere to these “rules” is a threat to the entire community. Until this very day, men are still considered down-low, gay, or sassy for doing anything that is outside of the considered societal norm.

Need a new novel to read? Check out “The Cost of a Renaissance!”

As further evidence, women who move towards masculinity do not receive the same kind of homophobia or transphobia that trans women and gay men do. Though their sexuality and identity can still present as an issue for some, they are still gaining privilege as opposed to losing it. However, they also face invisibility as they are just labeled confused because they cannot be claimed by a man.

The Hierarchy of the Upgrade

Ultimately, the uneven distribution of rage is all the proof that we need. We have never truly been angry at the breaking of gender rules; we are angry at the result of it. In Black spaces, moving toward masculinity is given a pass because it is understood as an upgrade, while moving toward the feminine is punished as treason. A stud in a tailored suit is met with a dismissive shrug, but a trans woman in a silk dress triggers a cultural panic. It is a devastating mirror that exposes how deeply we have internalized the white supremacist rhetoric: we treat Black femininity not as a sacred power, but as a liability.

We cannot continue to use the historical theft of Black manhood during slavery as a justification to steal the autonomy of queer and trans people today. Doing so is of a slave mentality, and we left the plantation long ago. While we will never forget what our ancestors endured, living in that trauma serves no one. True liberation cannot be built on the back of a rigid, fragile respectability politics that forces us to perform as caricatures just to prove our humanity to a world that still doesn’t love us anyway.

As long as we allow the feminine to be treated as a demotion, cisgender Black women will remain trapped in the exact same machinery of shame, policing, and containment. We are fighting the same monster, just in different rooms. It is time to stop acting as the plantation managers of our own people’s joy, expression, and bodies. The root of the hatred isn’t about sin, religion, or the survival of the culture, but it is about control.

The heat is officially rising. While our cultural essays keep the comment section burning, the real drama is unfolding in our exclusive serial fiction rollout, The Cost of a Renaissance. If you’ve been following Audre and Meech’s high-stakes journey through love, loyalty, and corporate warfare, you already know the tension is at an all-time high. Chapter 4 drops this Friday morning! Trust us, you don't want to miss out!

Upgrade to a paid subscription today to unlock the full story!

Subscribe now

Missed chapter 2? Read now, before you dive into chapter 3!

CENTER | FOLD. is an independent, reader-supported publication. While our cultural essays remain free to open the floor for discussion, our serial fiction chapters are exclusive to our paid subscribers whose financial support keeps this engine running. Thank you for your support!

Despite her willingness to meet up with Meech, Audre had no idea what to expect. She’d never spoken with a working journalist before, and who’s to say he’s not trying to take advantage of her? But Audre desperately needed a distraction from the image of Nina and Abby naked in bed. She had seen Nina naked a number of times. They were best friends for God’s sake, but Abby? Never did she think she’d ever bear witness to the boobs Nina couldn’t stop talking about or the rock-hard abs she had no idea Abby had.

As Audre parked her car at the midtown Starbucks, she took a second to pull herself together. She grabbed the small brush she had stowed away in her glove compartment and tried to make her hair at least somewhat presentable. She took a napkin from her middle console and dabbed some water from a spare plastic water bottle she had so she could clean the eye boogers from her eyes. Just as she was applying some beauty supply lip gloss, her phone buzzed.

Text from Nina: [I know you said everything is okay, but I just want to say I’m sorry again. Call me tonight?]

Audre thought about replying, but she just didn’t have the mental capacity to stroke Nina’s emotional ego. She locked her phone, grabbed her purse, and headed into the Starbucks.

It was a windy day in the city, so she had to duck the Pride flag attached to the side of the building. As she walked in, she took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of brewing coffee and toasted croissants. The sounds were familiar. The typing sounds of MacBooks, someone nervously clicking their pen over and over, whispers as people had casual business conversations, a barista calling out the names of people whose drinks were ready.

Because she had no idea who she was looking for, she took out her phone to find the message thread with Meech.

“Audre?”

A guy—no, a man began approaching her. He wasn’t as tall as Ty, but Audre’s 5 ‘2’’ stature was the perfect ratio to his 5 ‘11’’. He almost looked like what Black people think Jesus would have looked like. He was striking, yet serene. He had shoulder-length locs with a thick, full beard, bringing Audre’s eyes straight to his lips. His milk chocolate skin showed that he actually washed his face and moisturized. Even though his face caught her attention, it was his entire aura that caught her off guard. Though the summer was approaching, he donned a black hoodie with the phrase “BLACK WOMEN MATTER” in bold white letters. He matched the hoodie with Nike Tech shorts and grey and white Jordan 1s.

“Yes,” Audre replied. “Meech?”

Read more

Missed chapter 1? Read now, before you dive into chapter 2!

As the elevator descended, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored doors. Audre began thinking about what had just happened between her and Ty. She felt sad, which made her think about all the wrong things that had happened since she last saw him.

A little over a year ago, Audre was up for a promotion at MLBG. After her meeting with Jada, Abby, and Michael, she followed their “advice” and got a sew-in with straight black hair. She bought a few boring suits with boring blouses to match, and kitten heels to top it off. She kept her head down and worked hard. She scored major points with Jada as she pioneered the marketing copy for LIPS Beauty’s new foundation line. All over the city, there were billboards with her organic catchphrase, “The foundation to your beauty.”

Things were great. Not to mention, Tyrique had recently admitted he wanted to try their relationship again. So, they were dating. Things weren’t official yet, but Audre had faith.

Since she was up for the promotion, she had the task of creating a campaign for a legacy brand that MLBG had acquired, Jolie. The brand was leaning into its haircare line and planned to release a set of hot tools.

One night, she stayed late at the office to finish a pitch due in a couple of days. On her way to the restroom, she noticed that Jada was in the conference room. She headed that way just to pop in and say hello, maybe a quick joke about how they were both staying late. As she got closer, she heard three voices. Jada’s and two unfamiliar voices.

“We need to find a way to get this demographic to become a consumer of this product,” Jada said.

“Right. Our consumer base has typically been older white women who dabble in beauty. We need a younger consumer who loves beauty,” a male voice said.

I just don’t think this is the right product for Black people,” a female voice said.

Shocked, Audre didn’t want to hear anything else. She made her way to the bathroom, then back to her cubicle. She sat in her chair, overthinking it all. Should she tell Abby? Go above Jada’s head and tell her boss? Or should she just shut up and mind her business?

Audre had to do what she felt was right. She assimilated and changed her style to fit in, but she was not willing to risk her pro-blackness. So, she drafted a lengthy email to human resources. She discussed the perceived discrimination and named Jada as the person who led the discussion.

The next day, she walked into her cubicle, only to see Jada and Stever, Jada’s boss and father-in-law, already waiting for her.

“Have a seat, Audre,” Steve said.

Audre obviously knew what this was about, but had no idea the shock she was about to feel.

“HR forwarded me your concerns about Jada and the hot tools campaign. You stated that there was apparent discrimination?” Steve asked.

Before answering, Audre looked at Jada, who was not hiding her anger regarding the situation.

“Yes, Steve,” she answered.

“Where are you getting this from?” Jada asked with an anger-fueled tone.

Audre explained that she was at the office late and listened in on Jada’s conversation about the hot tools. She explained that she heard the group was trying to exclude Black people from the consumer pool.

Raising her eyebrows, Jada almost laughed.

“Audre, we were discussing creating a curling iron that was made with Black hair textures in mind. We were not excluding Black people, we were trying to find a way to include them.”

Unsure of what to say, Audre profusely apologized. She feared for her promotion.

“Listen, Audre, I appreciate your proactivity, but maybe be sure of what you’re accusing people of before you do so.”

“Yes, sir,” Audre said.

“Next time, just ask me,” Jada said angrily.

A few days later, Audre presented her pitch for the Jolie marketing campaign, and the clients were impressed. She was in the running for the promotion alongside three other candidates, and her idea beat theirs. She was officially promoted, moved out of the cubicles on the 59th floor, and into a corner office. She now had subordinates to look after and was given a nice pay raise. It was almost like her HR slip never happened.

As she settled into her new position and responsibilities, Audre continued to succeed. All of her dreams were coming true. She even landed the lead role on a new client, The Kitchen.

The Kitchen is a Black-owned hair care brand, founded by hairstylist Lisa Myles. She started the brand in her kitchen, hence the name, mixing up different natural ingredients to create the famous formulas that had Black women running to the store. As the brand continued to grow, it was hard for Lisa to keep up with it all, and she could no longer do what she loved, which was hair. She decided to sell her business to MLBG for a substantial figure that was never revealed. The Kitchen became the first Black-owned business acquired by MLBG. It was an absolute honor for Audre to work on this project.

Little did she know, she’d be packing up her corner office, deleting her social media pages, moving out of her midtown apartment, and settling for consulting work in less than a year.

As she exited the elevator in Ty’s apartment building and headed to her car, Audre felt tears welling in her eyes. She wasn’t sure why, but her soul felt depleted. Though Ty satisfied her physical needs for the moment, it wasn’t worth the continued emotional damage.

While driving home, she turned on Summer Walker’s “Constant Bullshit,” which seemed to fit the mood perfectly. Lost in the words, she began to feel what the lyrics said.

Halfway through the rest of the Still Over It album, she realized she had missed her exit and was headed to her old apartment on autopilot. Curious, she exited the highway and drove by her old spot. The building looked the same, but it felt different. It reminded her of who she wasn’t anymore. She remembered the joy that she felt coming home after her meeting with Lisa one day.

“I’m happy that this campaign will be in the hands of a fellow sister,” Lisa said as she sipped on her latte.

“So am I. I think we will be able to accomplish some great things and bring your brand to a whole new level.”

“I need you to promise me one thing, though…”

“Anything,” Audre replied.

Lisa put down her coffee mug and looked Audre right in the eyes, “No matter what, don’t let them change the formulas,” she said sternly. “It took me years to perfect those recipes, and they are the heart of the brand. The ingredients are natural and made specifically for us. Don’t let them fuck them up.”

It was the first time Audre had ever heard a client cuss in what was supposed to be a casual business conversation. She wondered why Lisa asked to meet with just her at a coffee shop down the street, and not at the MLBG offices. Now, it was clear.

“Oh, absolutely, Ms. Myles. I will do my best to protect your recipes. I’ll be sure to speak with Jada about it as well.”

“Mmm-mh,” Lisa quickly swallowed the sip of her latte she just took. “Keep this one between you and me. Jada… I don’t know about her.”

“I can assure you, Ms. Myles, that Jada is on our side—on your side.”

“Honey, please call me Lisa!” She waved her perfectly manicured hand across her face, making it clear that she was establishing trust in Audre. She reached for the hair tie on her wrist and began tying up her salt-and-pepper locs. “Something about that Jada rubs me the wrong way. She’s one of us, but she’s not down for us. All skinfolk ain’t kinfolk as my grandmother used to say.”

This was surprising to Audre. She’d always viewed Jada as the one person whom she could trust at MLBG. Had she blindly put her faith in her just because she was Black?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Audre smiled.

On her walk back to the office, she received an email from Jada.

Speak of the devil.

Email from Jada: [Hey Audre! Can you send me the copy for the Kitchen campaign when you get the chance? Also, do you have access to the confidential files for the brand?”

Confidential files? There was no way that MLBG would give her access to anything confidential. Not only was she not high enough up in leadership, but both Jada and Steve also seemed untrustworthy of her since her HR incident.

[Hey Jada, I am on the way back to the office from lunch. I will send over the copy and images shortly. Regarding the confidential files, I don’t think I’ve been given access, but I will check.]

Walking back to her corner office, Audre happened to run into Abby, her former boss turned colleague. Though Abby hadn’t come to her defense regarding her fashion choices, they had become decent office friends since then.

“Hey Abs!”

“Hey Audre, how’s it going?”

“Things are going well! I actually have a question for you. I need to gain access to some files for this client I’m working on, but I’m not sure who to ask. Do you mind helping me?”

Abby gave Audre a confused look, “Yeah, of course. I’ll follow you to your office and see if I can help.”

The two chatted as they walked to Audre’s office, exchanging the typical pleasantries. They never addressed the awkward conversation about hair and clothing during her time at MLBG, but Audre could tell Abby felt bad, as she constantly overcompensated. It was Abby who recommended that Audre take the lead on the Kitchen campaign, and Jada immediately jumped at the idea.

Looking at Audre’s computer, Abby directed her to go to the company platform that every employee had differing levels of access to. Since Audre was still new in the position, she was unsure of what she could and could not access.

Abby was slender, but had a great set of boobs. Audre only noticed when Nina came to eat lunch with her one day, and she couldn’t stop staring at her. With vibrant, naturally red hair, freckles, and a great rack, Abby was just Nina’s type. She had begged Audre to introduce her to Abby, and after a quick chat, Nina was in love and couldn’t stop talking about her… including her boobs.

It didn’t help that Audre was sitting in her leather office chair, and Abby stood behind her, leaning over her because boobs were all Audre could see. Luckily, she smelled of coconut shampoo. She could see why Nina was intrigued.

“Okay, go to the client directory and find who you are looking for,” Abby advised Audre.

Audre scrolled through the list and stopped at The Kitchen, “Alright, what now?”

“The Kitchen? You need files for The Kitchen?”

“Yes, I need to look at some things for the campaign.”

“Hm, okay,” Abby said hesitantly. “Go ahead and click on it, then go to files.”

Audre followed directions and waited for further instructions.

“Now, you should be able to see all relevant files for your position,” Abby stated.

Among the many tabs on the screen, Audre noticed one that read, “Top Secret.” Those must be the files that Jada needed… but why couldn’t she just get to them herself? Surely, she had full access.

“Thanks, Abby. I really appreciate it,” Audre said.

“No worries, any time. Just be careful. You don’t want to be responsible for any leaks with this campaign,” she said as she walked towards the door.

“Will do.”

Abby quickly turned back around before leaving, making her red bob swing with momentum, “How’s your friend? Nina, right?”

“She’s good! I’ll let her know you asked about her.”

Abby smiled, then headed down the hall to her office. Audre continued to click through the available files, but couldn’t ignore the “Top Secret” tab. She hesitated, remembering what Abby said about leaks. She thought about calling Abby to see if she should ask Jada and make sure, but she was already on thin ice with Jada. It seemed like a better idea to just get her what she asked.

Audre clicked on the tab, and a window popped up asking for a security authorization override. It was a standard protocol for protected corporate data at MLBG, but when she typed in her standard employee password, the screen flashed green and unlocked right away.

Though slightly suspicious, Audre didn’t think twice about it. She assumed Jada had pre-authorized her account permissions for the day so she could get the job done. She didn’t realize until it was far too late that giving her access to “Top Secret” information was never an accident. It was the digital footprint they needed.

Audre downloaded all the files in the folder and began drafting her email.

Email to Jada: [Hi Jada, Sorry for the delay, but here are the documents you requested. Attached are the images and copy for the campaign. I also included the files you needed. Let me know if you need anything else.]

Audre continued working, waiting for a response from Jada. By 6:30, Audre was ready to head home for the day, yet she still had not heard back from Jada. She thought to send a follow-up email, but figured that if Jada needed anything else, she’d ask.

The next day, all hell broke loose.

Distracted by the high beam lights of an approaching car, Audre realized she was still sitting outside of her old apartment and decided to head home. Her actual home.

Waking up, drunk from the night’s emotional roller coaster, Audre couldn’t be happier that it was Saturday. Before she could sit up to get the day started, she glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand.

[11:48]

Her phone rang with ‘Mom’ flashing across the screen.

“Shoot. I forgot to call her this morning,” Audre thought.

“Hey mama, I’m sorry. I forgot to call you this morning.”

“You sure did! The concert isn’t until tonight, though. Do you think you can make it? I’d love to see you.”

Part of Audre felt guilty. She knew that she’d feel better after spending time with her mom, but again, the idea of getting ready and leaving the house was far too much.

“Actually, I can’t, Mama. I already had plans to meet up with Nina, and I haven’t hung out with her in a while.”

“Well, alright,” Audre could hear the disappointment in her voice. “At least you’ve got something to do. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will. I love you, mama.”

“I love you, too.”

After getting her morning stretches in, Audre stumbled out to her living room.

“I have got to clean up,” she said as she looked around the messy apartment. “But not today.”

She headed to the kitchen to make some coffee and finish off a joint that Nina had given her the night before. As she began to scoop the coffee grinds out of the jar, she realized she was on her last cup of coffee. Obviously, she needed to go grocery shopping.

She grabbed her phone off the kitchen counter, unlocked it, and headed to her Wells Fargo app to see if any money had magically been deposited. She stared at the screen, with the $1.32 balance seemingly flashing at her.

“Damn, Apple got me again.” It seemed like nothing could go Audre’s way. Not even the $8 she had left.

As her coffee brewed, she went through the rest of her notifications, checking her email and text messages. She kept scrolling, coming across the random Instagram DM she had ignored yesterday. She thought about the $1 she had left in her account, took a look at her apartment, and thought: “What do I have to lose at this point?”

Audre clicked on the message to open it and began typing, [Hey Meech. Thanks for reaching out. I’m not sure how much help I can be, but let’s definitely set up some time to meet.]

She sent the message and quickly swiped away. Somehow, if she looked at the message too long, she’d regret her choice and delete it. She went over to her texts and decided she actually wanted to hang out with Nina.

To Nina: [Hey girl, what time is your makeup appointment done? Can I come over?]

While she was waiting for a response, she added brown sugar oat creamer and vanilla syrup to her coffee and took it with her to the couch. She turned on her Roku TV and debated what to watch. She felt like laughing, so she turned on RuPaul’s Drag Race and began rewatching season 5. By the time she finished her coffee, she expected Nina to have texted her back, but no luck. Audre headed to her Find My app to check her location. Her icon showed she was at home. She was probably just sleeping after her early appointment. Audre swiped back to her messages.

To Nina: [I see you are at home, and since I have a key and you love me so much, I’m just going to come.]

She threw off her nightgown and put on her favorite yoga pants and the matching top that were already out from the day before. She slipped on her Crocs, grabbed her purse, and almost left the apartment. She stopped at the door, and aloud she said, “I should brush my teeth, huh?”

Audre and Nina had been tight since Pre-K, and utterly inseparable. They had the sort of relationship where telling each other they were coming over was just a courtesy.

Audre knocked at Nina’s door to be polite, but there was no answer. Audre pulled out her set of keys and flipped through, looking for the green key Nina had specially made for her. Once she found it, she unlocked the door and walked in. The house was quiet, which was odd for Nina. She usually left the TV on or her humidifier going, whether she was at home or not. She set her purse down on the couch and headed towards Nina’s bedroom, assuming she was just sleeping. Audre didn’t mind joining her if it meant she got to sleep another hour or two.

She cracked open the door to see if Nina was in there and saw her foot hanging from out of the covers, proving she was there. She opened the door fully, and before she could do anything else, a white girl with red hair and no clothes on popped out from under the covers.

“Audre?!”

“Abby?!”

“Oh my gosh,” Nina said, covering her face in shame, as she came from under the covers.

Stunned, Audre was frozen, mouth agape, staring at Abby’s actual breasts.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God,” Audre repeated as she ran out of the bedroom.

“Audre, wait!” Nina yelled.

“It’s okay. Really. I shouldn’t have come over unannounced. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you guys get back to… whatever it was you were doing.”

“Audre, please wait. Let me explain.”

Audre, nearly out of the door, turned around, looking at Nina with no clothes on, messy curls, and the most worried look she’d ever seen on her best friend’s face.

“I mean, what is there to explain? You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re grown. You can do whatever you want.”

Nina could tell it was a front. Audre was hurt. Not because it was Abby, but because it was another reminder of everything that went down with MLBG.

Abby emerged from the primary bedroom, dressed in Nina’s green silk robe. The same robe that Audre had given Nina when she moved into the condo. Seeing Abby, who silently watched as MLBG continuously took advantage of Audre, wearing the robe meant to match Nina’s eccentric Black girl magic personality, felt like she lost the last person who was on her side.

In Abby’s hand, she had a T-shirt and shorts. As she approached Nina and Audre, she handed Nina the clothes so she could get dressed.

As she put the clothes on, Nina began explaining herself anyway, “I didn’t tell you because I knew you had so much going on already, Audre. It just didn’t seem fair. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you.”

“How long has this little fling been going on?” Audre asked.

“Almost a year,” Nina admitted. “But it’s not just a fling. This is my girlfriend. I love Abby. We love each other. And I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Audre looked over at Abby, who was fighting a smile after hearing Nina’s declaration of love. She noticed Audre looking and felt the need to chime in.

“I’m sorry, too, Audre. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but as Nina said, we didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Why would this hurt me?” Trying to put on a brave, supportive face, Audre really didn’t know what to say.

The room was filled with silence. Tears began to fill Nina’s eyes. Audre felt the heat rising from her feet.

“I don’t know why you thought I’d be anything but happy for you… for both of you. You’ve been talking about Abby since I introduced you. I wish you would’ve just told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Nina repeated.

“Look, I’m fine. There is no reason for you guys not to date or be open with your relationship. At least not because of me,” Audre admitted. She meant what she said, but there was something in her that felt guilty. Angry, even. Had she become so outwardly depressed and sensitive that her best friend couldn’t share her happiness with her? Why Abby of all people? All of her feelings were conflicting with one another.

“I appreciate that, Audre. You know I love you,” Nina said as she reached for a hug. The two embraced and held on for a little while. “How about you stay for breakfast? I was going to make some pancakes.”

“No, that’s okay, actually. I don’t want to mess up your day and plans. We can just hang out another time.”

Nina and Abby glanced at each other, knowing what Audre actually meant. She didn’t want to deal with this right at that second.

“You sure?” Abby asked. “I’d love to catch up with you.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Maybe another time.” Audre said as she headed towards the door. “Text me, okay?”

Before Nina could respond, Audre closed the door and headed to her car. She sat in her car, exasperated. Confused. Anything but the little bit of joy she felt when she was on her way to Nina’s. She started her car and began looking for an album to play on Spotify, then she got an Instagram DM.

Message from @meech.j: [Hey Audre! It’s great to hear back from you. I’m actually free today if you have some time. We can meet at a coffeehouse or something.]

Audre desperately needed a distraction.

Message to @meech.j: [Sure. I’m actually out and about now. Would you be able to meet soon?]

Before she could return to her music search on Spotify, Meech replied.

Oh, this guy is serious.

[Yeah, that works. We can meet at the Starbucks in Midtown. If that works for you?]

[Yes, send me the address and I’ll head that way.]

She tossed the phone into the cup holder, shifted her car into drive, and as she began to back up, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was tossed into a rushed, greasy, messy bun. Her face was bare, and there were still sleep boogers in the corners of her eyes. She was wearing faded yoga pants, smelling faintly of Nina’s weed and Tyrique’s cheap cologne, with exactly $1.32 to her name. She was a walking disaster. But as she pulled out of Nina’s parking lot and headed toward midtown, Audre again thought to herself, “What do I have to lose?”

And just like that, everything is about to change. Next week, things get even more intense as Audre finally sits down across from Meech, and the real story begins.

If you’ve been locked into the journey so far, thank you for the incredible love on the launch of my novel! Don’t forget that today (Friday) is the absolute last day that a new chapter will be released completely for free. To make sure you don’t get locked out when Chapter 3 hits the paywall next week, hit that button below and become a fully subscribed member of the CENTER | FOLD family today. You don’t want to miss what comes next.

Subscribe now

Over Father’s Day Weekend, Beyoncé released a video in which she described the laborious process of combing out her husband’s locs. For those who may have missed it, Jay-Z had been growing out his hair and rocking wicks for nearly a decade. The hairstyle made him instantly recognizable as he went from his signature low cut to a full head of hair. It was completely shocking when he took the stage for his highly anticipated concert with the Roots with an afro.

Missed last week’s lead story? Read now!

Immediately, there was a lot of speculation surrounding the bold choice he had made. Was the afro a wig? Had his locs been a wig this entire time? Would he really take the time to take out those thick wicks he had?

And in true Beyoncé fashion, she shut everyone up in her own special way. In the video, she discussed the rapper’s decision to grow his hair out in the first place. Their daughter, Blue, had been feeling insecure about her hair and its natural texture. As a result, Jay grew out his hair to show her that her hair was like his, and that she had everything to be proud of. She also discussed his reasoning behind combing out his locs, which was his way of honoring his father.

The video also displayed the intense process that came with combing out his hair. It became a family affair, involving all of their children. Not to mention, it was the perfect shameless plug for her haircare line, Cécred.

The Verdict of the Six-Day Comb Out

Though the video gave everyone warm feels, and a deep look inside the Carters’ lives, there is something that everyone is missing.

Over the years, Jay-Z, Beyoncé, and Blue have faced extreme and unfounded criticism surrounding their hair. Even though there has been much online discourse about correcting the negative stereotypes about Black hair that Black people themselves enforce… Black people still don’t know better?

To be completely frank, there should never have been a question of Jay-Z’s hair being a wig. Because a Black man having a full head of hair should not be shocking. Regardless of the reason why, his growing out his hair should have never been questioned because the way it grows out of his head is just fine.

For years, Beyoncé’s talent was overshadowed by questions about her hair. “Is that her real hair?” “I bet it’s a wig,” and “She always got the fake hair in her head.” Black women have notoriously worn wigs, weaves, and other protective styles throughout history. But for some reason, it was wrong when Bey did it. Now, she is the industry standard for false hair and protective styles.

Read Chapter 1 of my novel, The Cost of a Renaissance, now!

When Blue Ivy was just a toddler, and her parents let her hair be how it comes out of her head, there was a media firestorm. Everyone criticized her parents and the baby herself, because her hair “wasn’t done.” People demanded that they perm Blue’s hair, and created petitions for Beyoncé to “do her baby’s hair.” It became so bad that she famously included “I like my baby heir with baby hair and afros” in her 2016 hit, “Formation.” She had to make it clear that she is Black, her husband is Black, therefore their children are Black. Their Black children are going to have Black features and curly hair.

We Should Know Better By Now

With all this history involving this family alone, why are Black people still questioning everything about their hair?

The ultimate betrayal here isn’t just the criticism, but it’s the hypocrisy of the source. Black women intimately understand the math of a protective style; we know the exhausting maintenance of travel, work, and life that makes a wig a saving grace, yet we stripped Beyoncé of her hair autonomy for years. Black people understand the physics of our texture, and we know the reality of a loc takedown and the history of locs. We champion Black hair care, yet we choose to use that insider knowledge not to extend grace, but to construct more precise weapons of ridicule against our own.

Not only do Black people need to leave them alone, but they’ve also got to start unpacking and understanding their desire to assimilate themselves. Who are we trying to please? What exactly is “presentability,” and who set those standards?

The Plantation Dress Code

There was a time when Black women were not even allowed to show their hair in public. Though we are no longer bound by those specific chains, we place another set of chains around Black people’s ankles when we shame, bully, and judge other Black people for what is naturally theirs. We can wear our straightened, in locs, braided, curly, slicked back, sew-in, cornrowed, under a wig, or anything else we desire, and all of it is presentable and professional. It should not be a political statement that the Obama women wore braids to the opening of the Obama Center, or that Blue wore braids on the red carpet. But it is.

It is a political statement because we are still allowing the white gaze to dictate our internal metrics of worth. When we log onto social media to debate whether a Black man’s afro is a piece, or whether a toddler’s curls are “tamed” enough, we are effectively doing the supremacy’s administrative work for free. We are clocking into a system that was designed to keep us hiding, acting as the masters of our own mental plantation.

Beyoncé’s video was beautiful because it exposed a private sanctuary: a multi-generational, six-day labor of love where a father protected his daughter’s confidence and honored his own lineage. It was a masterclass in healing. But the digital fallout from that video proved that while the Carters have spent the last decade intentionally unpacking their generational trauma, the Black internet is still deeply homesick for the plantation’s dress code.

We know the history. We know the struggle. We know the literal, physical toll of loving our texture in a world that fears it. It is exhausting to fight the outside world for the right to simply exist as we are. But it is tragic when we have to fight our own people for it.

The Carters shouldn’t have to release a mini-documentary to justify the hair growing out of their scalps. And we, of all people, should know damn well better by now.

Thank you to everyone who tapped into the release of Chapter 1 of The Cost of a Renaissance! The response to the book launch has been nothing short of incredible. If you haven’t read it yet, take a look now!

Hold tight, because Chapter 2 drops this coming Friday, and things are about to get a lot more intense. Take note: Friday is also the absolute last day that a chapter will be released for free. Make sure you’re fully subscribed so you don’t get locked out when the paywall goes up for Chapter 3!

Subscribe now

The brake lights from a sea of cars waiting to go nowhere paint Audre’s face and beige Camry interior a fluorescent red. She began tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, making a rhythmic beat. Drunk in Love is blasting through her car speakers. Slowly, her mind begins to wander off as she reminisces about what once was. The 60th-floor corner office in Downtown Atlanta that she worked hard to earn. Her name on a gold plaque on the wall outside her office. The see-through conference room that she led meetings from. The quick walk to Tropical Cafe for lunch. Her first pair of Louboutins that she strutted in proudly. The Louis Vuitton Neverfull she never thought she’d own. All of it was beautiful and everything she could have wished for.

Violently interrupting her daydream, a blaring car horn brought her back to the reality of Atlanta traffic on 285, which she could never seem to avoid. In her lane, the G-Wagon that was once right in front of her was a good 50 yards away. She lifted her foot off the brake and tapped the gas to catch up. Suddenly, she felt a sadness rise, reminding herself that the past is the past, no matter how much she wished it was her present.

The catchy tune of Beyoncé’s hit song no longer felt like the pick-me-up Audre was searching for when she originally turned it on. It was the wrong vibe for the broke, sad, and touch-starved girl. She grabbed her phone from the cup holder and hurriedly unlocked it to open Spotify. Instead of finding something that fit the mood, she cut off the audio entirely and sat in silence. As traffic continued to snail along, she got a call from her mom.

“Hey, mama,” she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Hey babygirl! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why do you always think something is wrong?”

“Well, you are my child. I know you better than anyone else. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, Mama. Just tired is all. I am sitting in traffic, headed home. What’s up?”

“If you say so… I was actually calling because I wanted to see if you wanted to go with my sorors and me to a free concert in Chastain Park tomorrow! You haven’t been getting out of the house, and it could be good for you, you know?”

“I don’t know, I might be busy. Can I get back to you?”

The truth is, Audre wasn’t busy this weekend. Matter of fact, she is never busy these days. But leaving the house, pretending to be happy, and faking a smile, was becoming too much for her. It was easier to stay in, down a bottle of pinot grigio, stuff her face, and watch The Game for the 100th time. She wasn’t going to tell her mom that, though. She’d be in her car, on the way to Audre’s apartment, before she could finish the sentence.

“Yea, I guess so,” Audre’s mom replied. “But don’t forget! Call me tomorrow morning and let me know please?”

“I will, mama. I promise.”

“Okay, baby, well, call me if you need anything, no matter what it is.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

After getting off the phone with her mom, Audre thought to herself, ‘I need a job, and I need money.’ Nevertheless, her spirit was lifted a little. It always was after talking to her mom. But it didn’t solve her problems.

By the time she was done talking to her mom, she was able to take the Cascade Road exit to her apartment. As she pulled into the parking space in front of her building, she remembered that she had no groceries in the house and would eventually be hungry.

“Maybe I can just order a pizza,” she said to herself as she checked her bank account app.

[Checking account balance: $8.32]

Or maybe not.

Overwhelmed with her life seemingly falling apart, she trudged up the dirty concrete stairs to her third-floor apartment, stuck the key into the lock and unlocked the door. Walking into the apartment, she had to stop and take in the mess. Unpacked boxes were stacked in almost every corner of the living room, though she had moved almost three months ago. The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes. And the stove showed reminders of the chicken alfredo dinner she had last night.

Looking at the pig sty that had become her apartment, she almost felt the desire to clean up. But instead, she went to her bedroom to change clothes. She unbuttoned her black blouse and tossed it onto the pile of clothes that had been accumulating for the last two weeks. Her slacks followed soon after, along with her lacy panties and bra.

She kicked off her good luck sandals that didn’t seem to be bringing her much luck lately, slipped on her robe, and fell onto her unmade bed. Staring at the ceiling fan spinning, she began to miss how she used to feel. Strong, powerful, smart, resilient. But now, those feelings were replaced by despair, anger, and hopelessness.

“How did I end up here?” she whispered to herself.

Audre used to be a career woman, well on her way to becoming a top executive at Modern Luxury Beauty Group. After graduating from Georgia State with her master’s in marketing, she landed a job as a junior marketing strategist at the group. It was an entry-level position, but it was more than she could have hoped for. She got to do what she absolutely loved. Over time, she became a trusted member of the team, having collaborated on some of the biggest campaigns for various brands within the beauty group. So much so, after three years, she was up for a promotion, but it wasn’t easy getting there.

When she first started, her bosses considered her “rough around the edges.” She wore her natural hair, curly and big. She had her signature nails, long, square, with bright pops of color. Her fashion choices were edgy, all while remaining office-appropriate. She ditched the traditional colors for suits and reached for hot pink, butter yellow, and money green choices. Not to mention her shoe collection. She set aside black kitten heel pumps for platform sneakers and strappy mules. She was unique.

However, the top dogs at the firm weren’t so keen on her choices. Six weeks into working there, Audre was called to the 60th-floor conference room. Unsure of what the meeting was for, there were nerves, but she never thought she’d hear what she heard.

She joyfully walked into the cold white conference room and saw her boss, Abby, a senior marketing executive, Abby’s boss, Jada, the Vice President of Marketing, and Michael from the human resources department.

Wasting no time, Jada began the meeting.

“Hi, Audre. I know we are all busy around here, but we wanted to carve out some time to talk.”

This did not sound good.

“Okay,” Audre said nervously.

Before Jada could continue, Michael jumped in to calm the tension in the room.

“There is no need to be nervous, Audre. We appreciate all of the great work you have done so far. We just need to address… the look.”

The look? What could he be talking about? She was always dressed appropriately, didn’t show too much skin, and was sure to be neat.

“The look?” Audre asked.

“Yes, the look.” Jada chimed in. “We love your… creativity. It’s what got you the position here. However, it’s a bit much when talking about office-appropriate.”

Even more confused, Audre looked over to Abby, her immediate boss, who had just complimented her fashion choices the day before.

Tucking her long, straight black hair behind her ear, Jada continued, “I understand your decision to be natural. Trust me, I get it.”

Jada, Audre, and a guy named Jayson were the only Black people in the marketing division at MLBG. It was no wonder that Jada was in this meeting. She was the perfect corporate Black girl. It was obvious to Black people that she was Blasian, but to the white executives, her features were just ambiguous enough to feel safe, but exotic enough to get those extra DEI points. Audre had never seen Jada’s curly hair because she regularly attended the Dominican shops for silk presses. It was long, beautiful hair, but any other Black girl knew it was probably fried to the bone.

Adopted by a white affluent family who owned half of the McDonald’s in Georgia, Jada clearly lacked a secure relationship with the Black community. Probably why she felt comfortable being the one to police other Black women in the office. The C-Suite bosses ate her up at every turn. She spoke so eloquently, and was never late, always dressed perfectly. She was even married to one of her boss’s sons. Yes, he is white. Luckily, he didn’t work at MLBG. He was a practicing attorney at one of the city’s biggest firms, defending some of Atlanta’s most notorious criminals.

“But this is a place of business, and we must look the part. So, we need you to tame the curls.”

Less abrasively, Michael added, “We just want all of our employees to be uniform, that’s all!”

Audre was tight-lipped and lost for words, not replying to Jada or Michael. But Jada continued.

“The hair, on top of your bright color fashion choices, is really sending the wrong message to clients. When they come to meet with us, they don’t want to focus on an afro covering the projector or the only person in the room wearing a pink suit.”

“Oh, I see.” Audre was finally able to spit out.

“I mean, you get it right? What you do at home or with your friends is up to you, but when you are at work, we need you to look the part. So, do you think you can handle that?”

“Um, yes, I can handle that. I was unaware of a policy regarding this.” Audre shot one more look over to Abby, who hung her head in embarrassment and shame.

“Great!” Michael exclaimed. “Being that it is Friday, on Monday, can we expect these changes to be implemented? Do you need a voucher for suits?”

As a junior marketing strategist, she wasn’t making the top dollar at the firm, but she was making decent money. She just bought a new Camry, and had an apartment in midtown to be clear. Of all people, Michael from HR knew that, so it was unbeknownst to her why she would need a voucher.

“That’s okay, I have money to buy my own clothes.”

Startled out of her second daydream for the day, her phone vibrated as it lay on her chest. Audre looked at her phone and saw notifications stacking on top of each other. An Instagram DM from an account she didn’t follow, and texts from her mom, her best friend, and a guy from a past life.

Instagram DM from @meech.j: [Audre, you don’t know me, but my name is Meech. I run an independent publication called The Juice. I’ve been tracking some of Modern Luxury Beauty Group’s recent acquisitions, and your name keeps coming up. I have an idea of what happened at MLBG, and I think we need to talk. Let me know if you’re open to a coffee this week, or email me securely at meech.ceo@thejuice.com.]

Audre stared at the DM request for a brief second, and her heart began beating faster from the paranoia that was creeping in. She swiftly swiped it away.

“A journalist? Absolutely not,” she thought to herself. She wasn’t going back to that mindset. Especially not now.

She focused on the messages she could actually handle.

Text 1 from Mom: [Hey baby, look at this funny video I found!]

Text 2 from Bestie: [Hey girl! Feel like grabbing pizza, and binging Girlfriends?]

Text 3 from Do Not Reply: [It’s been a while! You free this weekend?]

Audre replied to her mom without watching the video.

[LOL. Hilarious!]

Then to her bestie, Nina.

[You literally read my mind! Yes, my place or yours?]

Hoping Nina says her place, so she doesn’t have to clean, she replied to the last message.

[Hey Tyrique. It has been a while. Thought you had a girlfriend?]

Tyrique was the first to reply. It’s clear what he was after.

[Nah, we broke up a few weeks ago. She moved to LA, so it didn’t work out.]

[I miss you though! We used to have fun ;)]

Audre knew exactly what Ty wanted. She was his in-between girl. When he was in-between women he actually wanted to be with, he bothered Audre. Usually just for sex. Audre typically didn’t fall for it, but she felt weak. Not to mention, she hadn’t fulfilled her womanly needs in a while.

Though she knew he was only hitting her up for sex, she imagined them together. Ty never had the body. He was the kind that rocked the dad bod, but his height and face made up for whatever his body lacked. Plus, he wasn’t so bad in bed.

Audre knew she wasn’t going to meet up with her mom and friends, but she used it as an excuse.

[Well, I’m busy this weekend. I’m hanging out with my mom.]

[That’s too bad :( Maybe another time?]

[Actually, if you want to come by tonight, I’m free.]

In her current state of mind, Audre was not keen on the mind games. He wants sex. She needs sex. Let’s just cut to the chase.

[Yea, I’m free. What time?]

[Let’s plan for midnight. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving Nina’s.]

Tyrique knew Nina as well. They all went to high school together and subsequently went to Georgia State. They were a close-knit group until Audre fell for Ty, but the feelings weren’t reciprocated. Nina told Audre not to pursue anything, but she didn’t listen and thought he might gain feelings for her one day… but he never did. He actually did the worst thing possible and broke her heart. Maybe that’s why she was still weak for him.

[Cool, let me know.] Ty replied.

Nina and Audre agreed to meet at Nina’s for their dinner plans. Audre offered to grab the pizza, knowing she couldn’t afford it. Luckily, Nina had already ordered. As the duo watched Girlfriends for the 50th time, Audre was beginning to feel a little better.

“How was your day?” Nina asked.

“I don’t even know if I want to talk about it.”

“Don’t hold it in. Let it out and let it go,” she said as she sparked a joint.

“Eh, it was just another day of rejection, honestly. I got three job rejection emails, and the consulting contract I currently have will be up in two weeks. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“I keep telling you to just move in with me! I have the extra room, and I won’t make you pay rent. Why won’t you consider it?”

Audre had always been independent. She was an only child and never really had to share her space with anyone. Freshman dorms were a nightmare for her.

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m impeding on your space, to be honest,” she told Nina.

“You are my best friend. You would never be impeding. That’s what sisters do for each other,” as she passed Audre the joint.

“I know, I know. If I don’t get another contract or a job soon, I’ll consider it.”

“Good.”

Audre caught a look at the clock on Nina’s colorful wall. Nina’s condo matched her personality to a tee. Her artistry was all over the place. Since she owned it, she could draw and paint on the walls. Not to mention the framed artwork she made just for herself. Plants in every corner of the place, a vintage record player, and a shelf full of record sleeves. A dream for any eccentric, Erykah Badu listening, Black girl.

“Damn, it’s 12:15. I gotta head home.”

“Yeah, it’s getting late, and I have an early makeup appointment tomorrow.” Nina was a successful makeup artist in the city. She had been building her clientele since she was 19 and it started paying off 3 years ago after she did Megan Thee Stallion’s makeup for a last minute show.

“Get that money, girl! One of us has to have it together,” Audre said with laughter.

“You have it together,” Nina reminded her. “This season of your life will mean something soon.”

As Audre walked to her car, she texted Ty.

To Ty: [I’m on the way home now.]

[I almost thought you forgot about me. Are you still at the same apartment in midtown?]

[No. But can I just come to you? I’m close to you already.]

That was a complete lie, but again, Audre did not feel like trying to clean her apartment.

[Yeah, that’s cool. I’m at the same place.]

[Bet. See you in 15.]

As Audre knocked on the door, she thought to herself that she should just turn around and go home. She was already in enough emotional pain and knew that this wouldn’t fix her problems. Before she could think to turn around, she heard the door unlock. No going back now.

“Hey, Audre! It’s good to see you!”

“Hey, Ty. Thanks for letting me come over here instead,” she said as she walked in. Ty offered an awkward side hug, and Audre relented.

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t mind… Man, it’s been a while. What? Like six months?”

“More like nine.” Audre immediately regretted her answer. She knew it gave him a hint that she had been thinking about him. “But who’s counting?” she said through a fake grin.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Ty said through a chuckle. “So, do you want to pull up Netflix? I can open a bottle of wine. I think I have your favorite.”

“That’s okay,” Audre said before he could get to the kitchen. “It’s after midnight. We know what this is, Ty.”

Audre headed towards his bedroom. It still looked the same as it did before. Clearly, his ex-girlfriend didn’t lend a woman’s touch while they were together. Sports posters were hanging on his wall. It always rubbed Audre the wrong way that LeBron was hanging over his bed, and that was all she had to look at in certain positions.

No lamps, no real decor, and the flattest pillows she had ever laid her head on.

She sat on the bed and began taking her shoes off as Ty closed the door to his bedroom.

“Audre… I know we have some history. But I don’t want you to think all I ever hit you up for is sex,” Ty said nervously.

Audre couldn’t help but laugh.

“So what did you text me for? To catch up?”

Ty looked a little embarrassed. His eyes were sincere, almost like he might tear up.

“I mean, yeah, actually. We used to be friends, you know? Beyond whatever drama there was, we were friends first. And I never wanted to mess that up.”

“But you did. And now we’re here,” Audre said as she began to undress. Ty tried to remain focused.

“Just stop for a second… Look, I heard about what happened with MLBG. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with them.”

“Who told you?”

“Nina. Nina told me, but only because I had asked about you, and she thought it’d be a good idea for me to reach out.”

“And when did she tell you this?”

“Right after it happened, I think.”

“So more than eight months ago? And you are just now reaching out? Doesn’t seem genuine.”

“I mean, to be fair, I had a girlfriend at the time, and she knew what we used to be. I didn’t want to disrespect her.”

“Oh, now you care about hurting people’s feelings?”

“Audre…”

“Look, I think it’s great you want to have a conscience and everything now, but I know what it is and what it ain’t, Ty. You like having sex with me, and I like having sex with you. It will never be more than that. I’m okay with that. I’m a grown woman, so I can handle it. What I really need is an orgasm, so please, can we get on with it?”

Audre’s firm stance was shocking for Ty, but he wasn’t opposed to it. He was actually turned on by it. He took off his white tee, revealing his work in the gym.

“She had you in the gym, huh?” Audre jokingly asked.

“She was a fitness influencer. But I don’t want to talk about her right now.” He licked his lips and kicked off his house loafers. Audre was always weak for his lips.

The look in his eyes had gone from sincerity to lust. Audre’s little speech did something to him. And honestly, his new chiseled abs were doing something to Audre. She couldn’t help but stare.

Her eyes quickly shifted down as Ty began untying the drawstring on his pajama pants, and Audre couldn’t help but notice just how much her stern words had affected him. The tension in the room was familiar. The love Audre once felt for him was not made up in her head. Their chemistry was undeniable. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their kisses always perfectly in sync, and their desire for one another instantly reciprocated.

As Ty climbed onto the bed to join Audre, she put her hand firmly to his chest, “Uh uh. I don’t know what you got going on. Wrap it up, buddy.”

Ty rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. He reached over her to open the top drawer to his nightstand, and pulled out a black condom wrapper. He opened it with his teeth then stood up by the edge of his bed, deliberately looking down at Audre as he rolled it on, giving her a full, arrogant show of his manhood.

Audre had forgotten what it was like to be with him… or a man at all. His full goatee against her thighs. His grip around her waist. His ability to not miss an inch of her body. How full she felt. His strength while handling her. Before she knew it, she had reached her peak, and he wasn’t far behind her.

The two lay in Ty’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Audre thought about staying the night, but knew how that would end… with her feelings hurt.

“Well, I should get going. It’s almost 2:00.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Ty asked.

Audre thought about it but ultimately said no. As she got dressed, she worked up the courage to ask something she’d always wanted to know.

“Ty, can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he smiled.

“Why not me?”

He looked at her, perplexed.

“Like, why are we so good at this?” she said as she wagged her finger back and forth between their chests. “But you never chose me. I was always just the second choice. Sometimes the third and fourth.”

Ty hung his head, more than likely hoping to avoid giving his answer.

“I don’t know Audre. I guess I just never saw it for us. You’re great, though, and I do love you, but not in that way. I tried too, I really did. You were always so headstrong, had to be right about everything, and I just never felt like you and I could find a common ground. It was great for our friendship, though. Our debates about music, your rants about Beyoncé being better than Michael Jackson, my belief that LeBron is better than Michael Jordan,” he chuckled.

“But?” Audre asked.

“But that was it for me, Audre. The sex is great. Isn’t that good enough?”

The inner warmth that resulted from the last thirty minutes in bed was drained almost immediately. The familiar feeling turned into a cold, distant, heartbreaking air, sending her right back to her 20-year-old self crying in Nina’s lap over Ty. Her inner voice nagged at her, shaming her for giving away her body for a temporary distraction again.

“Right. Got it.”

“I said something wrong, didn’t I?’

“Nope, you said everything right.”

Ty offered to walk Audre to her car, but she refused.

“If I get kidnapped, I’ll scream,” she said jokingly. Ty didn’t quite find it funny, but he didn’t fight it. He waited until she was on the elevator, then closed the door.

Enjoyed Chapter One?

I am so incredibly excited to share Audre’s journey with you. The Cost of a Renaissance is a labor of pure love, drama, and deep romance, and new chapters will drop right here every Friday!

To give everyone a front-row seat to the kickoff, the first two and a half chapters will be completely free to read. Starting midway through Chapter 3, the weekly drops will move exclusively into our paid subscriber section.

If you want to make sure you never miss a single Friday drop, you can lock in your subscription ahead of time! As a special thank you to my day-one readers, use the private link below to score a lifetime 20% discount before the paywall officially arrives:

👉 Click here to claim your Day One Members lifetime discount

See you next Friday for Chapter 2, where the fallout begins.

For the past few months, I have been locked away, working on something new that I am truly proud of. Today, I am finally ready to pull back the velvet rope.

My debut serialized novel, The Cost of a Renaissance, officially launches this Friday, right here on Substack.

This story is a premium corporate thriller mixed with a slow-burn, literary Black romance (to be completely transparent, this one is for my deep romance and smut lovers). It follows Audre, a brilliant marketing executive who finds herself blacklisted, completely broken, and staring at a zeroed-out bank account after a toxic corporate betrayal at her high-end beauty firm. But when she crosses paths with Meech, a powerful, fiercely protective investigative journalist, a dangerous alliance is born, and a high-stakes corporate war officially begins.

Because you have been with me from the absolute jump, I want to make sure you get the best seat in the house before the general public arrives. The first two and a half chapters will be completely free for everyone to read and get hooked on. After that, the weekly Friday chapter drops will move into our premium, paid inner circle.

As a massive thank you for being here since day one, I am giving my current free list exclusive access to lock in a lifetime 20% discount on your subscription.

👉 Click here to lock in your “Day One Member” 20% lifetime discount before the offer expires this Sunday night at 11:59 PM EST.

To give you a taste of the luxury, the tension, and the drama coming your way this Friday, here is an exclusive first look at Chapter 1:

By the time she was done talking to her mom, she was able to take the Cascade Road exit to her apartment. As she pulled into the parking space in front of her building, she remembered that she had no groceries in the house and would eventually be hungry.

“Maybe I can just order a pizza,” she said to herself as she checked her bank account.

[Checking account balance: $8.32]

Or maybe not.

Overwhelmed with her life seemingly falling apart, she trudged up the dirty concrete stairs to her third-floor apartment, stuck the key into the lock, and unlocked the door. Walking into the apartment, she had to stop and take in the mess. Unpacked boxes were stacked in almost every corner of the living room, though she had moved almost three months ago. The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes. And the stove showed reminders of the chicken alfredo dinner she had last night.

Looking at the pig sty that had become her apartment, she almost felt the desire to clean up. But instead, she went to her bedroom to change clothes. She unbuttoned her black blouse and tossed it onto the pile of clothes that had been accumulating for the last two weeks. Her slacks followed soon after, along with her lacy panties and bra.

She kicked off her good luck sandals that didn’t seem to be bringing her much luck lately, slipped on her robe, and fell onto her unmade bed. Staring at the ceiling fan spinning, she began to remember how she used to feel. Strong, powerful, smart, resilient. But now, those feelings were replaced by despair, anger, and hopelessness.

“How did I end up here?” she whispered to herself.

Startled out of her second daydream for the day, her phone vibrated as it lay on her chest. Audre looked at her phone and saw notifications stacking on top of each other. An Instagram DM from an account she didn’t follow, and texts from her mom, her best friend, and a guy from a past life.

Instagram DM from @meech.anthony: [Audre, you don’t know me, but my name is Meech. I run an independent publication called The Juice. I’ve been tracking some of Modern Luxury Beauty Group’s recent acquisitions, and your name keeps coming up. I have an idea of what happened at MLBG, and I think we need to talk. Let me know if you’re open to a coffee this week, or email me securely at meech.ceo@thejuice.com.]

Audre stared at the DM request for a brief second, and her heart began beating faster from the paranoia that was creeping in. She swiftly swiped it away.

“A journalist? Absolutely not,” she thought to herself. She wasn’t going back to that mindset. Especially not now.

She focused on the messages she could actually handle.

Text 1 from Mom: [Hey baby, look at this funny video I found!]

Text 2 from Bestie: [Hey girl! Feel like grabbing pizza, and binging Girlfriends?]

Text 3 from Do Not Reply: [It’s been a while! You free this weekend?]

Audre replied to her mom without watching the video.

[LOL. Hilarious!]

Then to her bestie, Nina.

[You literally read my mind! Yes, my place or yours?]

Hoping Nina says her place, so she doesn’t have to clean, she replied to the last message.

[Hey Tyrique. It has been a while. Thought you had a girlfriend?]

Tyrique was the first to reply. It’s clear what he was after.

[Nah, we broke up a few weeks ago. She moved to LA, so it didn’t work out.

I miss you though! We used to have fun ;)]

Audre knew exactly what Ty wanted. She was his in-between girl. When he was in-between women he actually wanted to be with, he bothered Audre. Usually just for sex. Audre typically didn’t fall for it, but she felt weak. Not to mention, she hadn’t fulfilled her womanly needs in a while.

Though she knew he was only hitting her up for sex, she imagined them together. Ty never had the body. He was the kind that rocked the dad bod, but his height and face made up for whatever his body lacked. Plus, he wasn’t so bad in bed.

Audre knew she wasn’t going to meet up with her mom and friends, but she used it as an excuse.

[Well, I’m busy this weekend. I’m hanging out with my mom.]

[That’s too bad :( Maybe another time?]

[Actually, if you want to come by tonight, I’m free.]

In her current state of mind, Audre was not keen on the mind games. He wants sex. She needs sex. Let’s just cut to the chase.

[Yea, I’m free. What time?]

[Let’s plan for midnight. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving Nina’s.]

Tyrique knew Nina as well. They all went to high school together and subsequently went to Georgia State. They were a close-knit group until Audre fell for Ty, but the feelings weren’t reciprocated. Nina told Audre not to pursue anything, but she didn’t listen and thought he might gain feelings for her one day… but he never did. He actually did the worst thing possible and broke her heart. Maybe that’s why she was still weak for him.

[Cool, let me know.] Ty replied.

Nina and Audre agreed to meet at Nina’s for their dinner plans. Audre offered to grab the pizza, knowing she couldn’t afford it. Luckily, Nina had already ordered. As the duo watched Girlfriends for the 50th time, Audre was beginning to feel a little better.

“How was your day?” Nina asked.

“I don’t even know if I want to talk about it.”

“Don’t hold it in. Let it out and let it go,” she said as she sparked a joint.

“Eh, it was just another day of rejection, honestly. I got three job rejection emails, and the consulting contract I currently have will be up in two weeks. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“I keep telling you to just move in with me! I have the extra room, and I won’t make you pay rent. Why won’t you consider it?”

Audre had always been independent. She was an only child and never really had to share her space with anyone. Freshman dorms were a nightmare for her.

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m impeding on your space, to be honest,” she told Nina.

“You are my best friend. You would never be impeding. That’s what sisters do for each other,” as she passed Audre the joint.

“I know, I know. If I don’t get another contract or a job soon, I’ll consider it.”

“Good.”

Audre caught a look at the clock on Nina’s colorful wall. Nina’s condo matched her personality to a tee. Her artistry was all over the place. Since she owned it, she could draw and paint on the walls. Not to mention the framed artwork she made just for herself. Plants in every corner of the place, a vintage record player, and a shelf full of record sleeves. A dream for any eccentric, Erykah Badu listening, Black girl.

“Damn, it’s 12:15. I gotta head home.”

“Yeah, it’s getting late, and I have an early makeup appointment tomorrow.” Nina was a successful makeup artist in the city. She had been building her clientele since she was 19 and it started paying off 3 years ago after she did Megan Thee Stallion’s makeup for a last minute show.

“Get that money, girl! One of us has to have it together,” Audre said with laughter.

“You have it together,” Nina reminded her. “This season of your life will mean something soon.”

As Audre walked to her car, she texted Ty.

[I’m on the way home now.]

[I almost thought you forgot about me. Are you still at the same apartment in midtown?]

[No. But can I just come to you? I’m close to you already.]

That was a complete lie, but again, Audre did not feel like trying to clean her apartment.

[Yeah, that’s cool. I’m at the same place.]

[Bet. See you in 15.]

As Audre knocked on the door, she thought to herself that she should just turn around and go home. She was already in enough emotional pain and knew that this wouldn’t fix her problems. Before she could think to turn around, she heard the door unlock. No going back now.

“Hey, Audre! It’s good to see you!”

“Hey, Ty. Thanks for letting me come over here instead,” she said as she walked in. Ty offered an awkward side hug, and Audre relented.

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t mind… Man, it’s been a while. What? Like six months?”

“More like nine.” Audre immediately regretted her answer. She knew it gave him a hint that she had been thinking about him. “But who’s counting?” she said through a fake grin.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Ty said through a chuckle. “So, do you want to pull up Netflix? I can open a bottle of wine. I think I have your favorite.”

“That’s okay,” Audre said before he could get to the kitchen. “It’s after midnight. We know what this is, Ty.”

Audre headed towards his bedroom. It still looked the same as it did before. Clearly, his ex-girlfriend didn’t lend a woman’s touch while they were together. Sports posters were hanging on his wall. It always rubbed Audre the wrong way that LeBron was hanging over his bed, and that was all she had to look at in certain positions.

No lamps, no real decor, and the flattest pillows she had ever layed her head on.

She sat on the bed and began taking her shoes off as Ty closed the door to his bedroom.

“Audre… I know we have some history. But I don’t want you to think all I ever hit you up for is sex,” Ty said nervously.

Audre couldn’t help but laugh.

“So what did you text me for? To catch up?”

Ty looked a little embarrassed. His eyes were sincere, almost like he might tear up.

“I mean, yeah, actually. We used to be friends, you know? Beyond whatever drama there was, we were friends first. And I never wanted to mess that up.”

“But you did. And now we’re here,” Audre said as she began to undress. Ty tried to remain focused.

“Just stop for a second… Look, I heard about what happened with MLBG. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with them.”

“Who told you?”

“Nina. Nina told me, but only because I had asked about you, and she thought it’d be a good idea for me to reach out.”

“And when did she tell you this?”

“Right after it happened, I think.”

“So more than eight months ago? And you are just now reaching out? Doesn’t seem genuine.”

“I mean, to be fair, I had a girlfriend at the time, and she knew what we used to be. I didn’t want to disrespect her.”

“Oh, now you care about hurting people’s feelings?”

“Audre…”

“Look, I think it’s great you want to have a conscience and everything now, but I know what it is and what it ain’t, Ty. You like having sex with me, and I like having sex with you. It will never be more than that. I’m okay with that. I’m a grown woman, so I can handle it. What I really need is an orgasm, so please, can we get on with it?”

Audre’s firm stance was shocking for Ty, but he wasn’t opposed to it. He was actually turned on by it. He took off his white tee, revealing his work in the gym.

“She had you in the gym, huh?” Audre jokingly asked.

“She was a fitness influencer. But I don’t want to talk about her right now.” He licked his lips and kicked off his house loafers. Audre was always weak for his lips.

The look in his eyes had gone from sincerity to lust. Audre’s little speech did something to him. And honestly, his new chiseled abs were doing something to Audre. She couldn’t help but stare.

Her eyes quickly shifted down as Ty began untying the drawstring on his pajama pants, and Audre couldn’t help but notice just how much her stern words had affected him. The tension in the room was familiar. The love Audre once felt for him was not made up in her head. Their chemistry was undeniable. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their kisses always perfectly in sync, and their desire for one another instantly reciprocated.

As Ty climbed onto the bed to join Audre, she put her hand firmly to his chest, “Uh uh. I don’t know what you got going on. Wrap it up, buddy.”

Ty rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. He reached over her to open the top drawer to his night stand, and pulled out a black condom wrapper. He opened it with his teeth then stood up by the edge of his bed, deliberately looking down at Audre as he rolled it on, giving her a full, arrogant show of his manhood.

Audre had forgotten what it was like to be with him… or a man at all. His full goatee against her thighs. His grip around her waist. His ability to not miss an inch of her body. How full she felt. His strength while handling her. Before she knew it, she had reached her peak, and he wasn’t far behind her.

The two lay in Ty’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Audre thought about staying the night, but knew how that would end… with her feelings hurt.

“Well, I should get going. It’s almost 2:00.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Ty asked.

Audre thought about it but ultimately said no. As she got dressed, she worked up the courage to ask something she’d always wanted to know.

“Ty, can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he smiled.

“Why not me?”

He looked at her, perplexed.

“Like, why are we so good at this?” she said as she wagged her finger back and forth between their chests. “But you never chose me. I was always just the second choice. Sometimes the third and fourth.”

Ty hung his head, more than likely hoping to avoid giving his answer.

“I don’t know Audre. I guess I just never saw it for us. You’re great, though, and I do love you, but not in that way. I tried too, I really did. You were always so headstrong, had to be right about everything, and I just never felt like you and I could find a common ground. It was great for our friendship, though. Our debates about music, your rants about Beyoncé being better than Michael Jackson, my belief that LeBron is better than Michael Jordan,” he chuckled.

“But?” Audre asked.

“But that was it for me, Audre. The sex is great. Isn’t that good enough?”

Like what you see? Come back this Friday for the full chapter :)

Share

There is a distinct, collective weariness that settles over social media discourse whenever a highly visible and successful Black woman chooses to publicly claim and emotionally cap for a man who treats her like the girl he never wanted his friends to know about.

Lately, the discourse surrounding Latto has shifted from casual curiosity to a major eye-roll. And this time, the internet isn’t just being a bunch of haters. To the naked eye, it can seem like the constant discussions about the rapstress and her personal life are unnecessary. However, on this particular discussion, the people are just being observant.

Missed last week’s lead story? Read now!

The consensus? Latto is navigating her romantic life with the frantic, unpolished enthusiasm of a girl experiencing her very first boyfriend—or, more accurately, her first relationship with a man whose entire brand relies on getting money, and f*cking b*tches.

Between the not-so-subtle tattoo behind her ear, the luxury gifts, and the lyrical easter eggs dropped like high school notes in lockers, Latto is doing the heavy public lifting for a relationship where the other party remains noticeably silent.

And that perceived disconnection and imbalance is exactly why the girls are taking a step back.

The Psychology of the Public Soft-Launch

In the modern landscape of celebrity romance, the “soft-launch” was designed to protect privacy. It was a boundary, but also a way to acknowledge a partner without inviting the public into their bedrooms. But in the case of Latto and 21 Savage, the soft-launch has turned into a war between Latto and the public.

When an artist at the peak of her career uses her anonymous man to seek validation for the relationship, it is no longer private. That is overcompensation.

There is a profound psychological difference between a relationship that is kept quiet out of mutual respect and a relationship where one partner is left to drop hints like a hostage trying to signal for help.

The internet’s frustration with Latto stems from the simple fact that she can do better. We are watching a beautiful, wealthy woman play the role of the unverified partner, or the side chick who swears up and down that he loves her despite his marital status.

The jury is still out on whether the marriage between 21 Savage and Keyanna was for green card purposes or if the two were happily wed. Nevertheless, it’s sketchy.

It is the classic f*ckboy archetype played out in front of the whole world. The domestic and emotional labor is collected behind closed doors, but the public title is withheld to preserve a brand of cold, unbothered masculinity.

The Asymmetry of Love

This dynamic exposes the deep, systemic double standard embedded within hip-hop culture. Male artists are permitted—even expected—to collect the loyalty, time, and bodies of exceptional women while maintaining a public persona of absolute emotional unavailability. To be “unbothered” is a currency. To remain unattached in the eyes of the public keeps the fantasy alive for the fanbase and protects the ego from vulnerability.

Meanwhile, the woman is loudly and boldly claiming the man, and is the only one in the relationship verifying information. Not to mention that she is the only one speaking out about the love he has for her. Why can’t we hear that from the mouths of babes?

When Latto’s followers track her cooking for him, or holding his hand in a darkened car, they aren’t seeing a private love story. They are seeing the exhausting sociology of a woman trying to claim a space she hasn’t officially been given.

The Exhaustion of the Secret Girlfriend

Ultimately, the collective sigh from modern Black women watching this play out isn’t about hate, but more so the hope held for other Black women. Fans have seen this play out a number of times, whether that be personally or through others. The story of the woman being a placeholder, the secret, or the woman who behaves like a wife for a man who speaks about her like a roommate is old news.

Latto’s music champions an unapologetic, high-earning, take-no-shorts persona. But her public romantic narrative reflects a much more fragile reality. It reminds us that no matter how much money a woman makes, or how many plaques she hangs on her wall, the patriarchal conditioning of Black women will still ask her to accept breadcrumbs and call it a feast.

Share this post with a friend <3

Share

Over the past week, the beauty community has been locked in a war. What started as a product launch has quickly spiraled into a real conversation about corporate poaching, creative erasure, and the complex reality of who gets to monetize the visual labor of Black women.

In case you missed it, the beginning of it all was celebrity makeup artist and brand founder Patrick Ta announcing his new Transition Blurring Blush Duo. Accompanying the launch was a pending application to trademark the phrase “Transition Blush,” which is a move that immediately raised eyebrows. The technique in question (a seamless ombré extending from the cheekbone into a brightened under-eye area) is a masterclass in makeup dimensions.

To be historically accurate, the foundational concept of gradient blushing traces its lineage back to the legendary work of Kevyn Aucoin in the 1990s. But in the modern social media landscape, the specific refinement, execution, and cultural popularization of this bold, bright under-eye gradient for deeper skin tones belongs to a London-based independent Black MUA: Ngozi Edeme, known professionally as Painted by Esther.

Esther has never claimed ownership of the makeup technique. She has frequently paid public homage to Aucoin, Pat McGrath, and Danessa Myricks. But what she did claim were the receipts. In a transparent video addressing the launch (watch below), Esther revealed that members of Ta’s team had previously booked her for a standard glam appointment, only to request on the day of to film her application process, which she smartly declined.

More damningly, viewers noted that Ta’s promotional tutorials not only mirrored Esther’s specific choice of a powder puff tool but also explicitly echoed a verbal slip-of-the-tongue she had made in a previous branded video. Where Esther accidentally said to apply product to “the back of your palm,” Ta repeated the exact, anatomically unusual phrase word-for-word in his own marketing.

When the independent creator builds the cultural capital, and the corporation swoops in to institutionalize and legally lock away the language via trademark, it isn’t just “inspiration.” It is erasure—something that Black women are all too used to.

Just as the beauty community began collectively rallying around Painted by Esther, the discourse took a sharp, unexpected pivot. Industry pioneer Jackie Asamoah, aka Jackie Aina, entered the chat.

Jackie dropped a review of the Patrick Ta blushes, offering the product a glowing endorsement, complete with an affiliate monetization link. When her comment section immediately questioned the alignment, questioning why she didn’t stand in solidarity with an independent Black woman experiencing erasure, Jackie sharply shut it down. She asserted that she was not inserting herself into their situation, and when viewers pointed out that Ta’s palettes bore a striking visual resemblance to the existing duos by Juvia’s Place, Jackie went a step further. She launched into a secondary response, declaring she would never support Juvia’s Place, citing a bitter, highly public feud with the brand’s founder dating back to 2019.

It came off as… deflection.

Missed last week’s lead story? Catch up now!

Jackie Aina is a legend who spent the definitive years of her career fighting to force a racist, exclusionary beauty industry to respect Black women and expand their shade ranges. Her legacy as a disruptor is undeniable. Yet, her positioning in this Blush War feels deeply contradictory. By centering a seven-year-old corporate grudge with Juvia’s Place to justify aligning with Patrick Ta, Jackie exposed a troubling shift. Not to mention, Pactrick Ta is a brand with its own public history of failing to properly compensate Black and brown creators

It begs an uncomfortable question: Is cultural solidarity only applicable when it aligns with personal alliances and immediate profit? To protect a proximity to corporate power while turning a blind eye to the poaching of an independent Black creative’s labor does not protect the collective. It protects the gatekeeper.

The Boundary vs. The Block Button

This contradiction isn’t an isolated incident; it aligns with a growing pattern of behavior that has left the community feeling increasingly alienated from Jackie. Over the past few years, the internet has watched Jackie’s digital boundaries mutate into a general disdain for the audience that built her.

Let us thread this needle with absolute nuance: Black women in the public eye are subjected to an entitlement, hyper-surveillance, and toxic parasocial demand that is deeply unfair. Jackie has every right to protect her private life, her home, and her peace. Setting boundaries is healthy, and for Black women, it is an act of radical self-preservation.

But there is a distinct difference between maintaining personal boundaries and weaponizing the block button against basic human connection.

Like what you are reading? Subscribe now for lead stories right in your inbox!

Subscribe now

We are talking about an influencer who blocks loyal supporters for simply offering a “congratulations” on her marriage after she voluntarily updated her last name on public socials. We are talking about mass-blocking users for polite, minute disagreements or casual opinions on lifestyle choices. If the blueprint of your wealth was constructed entirely on the back of community trust and cultural solidarity, you cannot treat that community as an annoying nuisance the second you secure the bag.

When you block everyone who challenges you, who is left to watch? It shifts the narrative from a pioneer setting boundaries to an elite figure fiercely protecting an image and a corporate check at the expense of the very people who funded the luxury lifestyle.

Notice there is no mention of the Auntie situation… those are a completely different set of circumstances.

The tragedy of this entire discourse is how easily a systemic issue becomes reduced to interpersonal YouTube drama. The conversation shouldn’t be about who Jackie Aina dislikes. The conversation must remain centered on the material theft of Black women’s creative labor.

The white and corporate-adjacent beauty frameworks have always operated on this precise model: observe the innovation of Black women, sanitize it, repackage it, apply a legal trademark, and sell it back to the masses as a new trend

When we look at the history of MAC cosmetics collaborating with independent artists, or the vibrant history of Juvia’s Place prioritizing rich pigment for deep skin, we see a map of what community-driven beauty looks like. When we watch an independent artist like Painted by Esther manipulate pigment to make the divine feminine pop on a dark-skinned woman, we are looking at artistry, not a corporate asset to be legally locked away by a pending patent.

It is time to audit our alignment. We must decide if we are building a culture that protects our innovators, or if we are content with letting our pioneers become the very gatekeepers we once built them up to destroy.

Share this story with a beauty lover <3

Share

In addition to social media users loving the Houston natives linking up, there were a few scattered opinions about why Solange took Megan out on the water. On TikTok, user therealkendylll pointed out that the beach and water for vacation may have been a specific choice, especially after the news of Meg’s heartbreak.

It was suggested that Solange specifically took her to Orisha, aka the water. According to Britannica, the word “orisha” is derived from the Yoruba language and means the head or main one.

“An orisha can be described as a deity that arises when the ability to command and make things happen converges with a natural force, a deified ancestor, and an object that witnesses and supports that convergence and alignment. Therefore, an orisha is a complex, multidimensional unity linking people, objects, and powers.”

Missed last week’s lead story? Catch up now!

The Colonization of the Sacred

Naturally, there were a few comments on the TikTok video stating that orisha has been demonized, but looking further into it, it may be more helpful than we’ve been taught. And it begs the question: Why is the Orisha demonized? Why is it considered witchcraft and dark magic?

You guessed it… because white people said so.

Specifically, we have colonization to thank.

When the English decided to enslave West Africans and conquer non-white territories, they initially had trouble getting their “constituents” to fall in line. It became clear to them that their religious practices were keeping them from having psychological control, as the enslaved and colonized joined together to rebel in solidarity. As a result, the British enacted penal codes in the Americas and Caribbean that deemed the religion to be witchcraft and fraud. The same sentiments were spread in West Africa as they were colonized as well.

Although it was against the law, some Black people in the Caribbean, Brazil, and Cuba were able to stay closer to their roots by disguising Orisha as The Virgin Mary.

The Redacted Bible

Even still, once the religion and the practices were described as evil and demonic, they were able to use Christianity to indoctrinate Black people into slavery and submission. We’ve often heard that Ephesians 6:5-9 is the main verse that justifies slavery. This is evident in that the Bible we have today does not accurately represent the Bible that slaves had. The Select Parts of the Holy Bible for the Use of the Negro Slaves in the British West India Islands was published in 1807 and excluded roughly 90% of the Old Testament and 50% of the New Testament. It completely erased the entire book of Exodus, which holds the story of liberation from slavery. As a matter of fact, the slave Bible was published by the Society for the Conversion of Negro Slaves in London.

The same rhetoric was used as the British colonized West Africa, which is why there are so many West Africans (and their descendants) who are deeply religious. They were taught that their practices were wrong and that if they wanted salvation, they needed to be Christian.

In modern times, Black people still hold onto Christianity as the way of life and cringe at the thought of Orisha, Oshun, or any other African spiritual practices. Unknowingly, Black people have subjected themselves to attaining something they will never be.

The Christianity we have been taught is based on the White man, his thoughts, desires, and needs. It was not practiced with Black people (or people of color) in mind. We’re told that God and Jesus are white, despite being based in Northeast Africa and the Middle East. In addition to that, it is the main contributor to the patriarchy, which harms Black people AND women of all races. Yet, we are told that we are made in God’s image and that we are to be like Jesus. How can we even begin to imagine that if the images and practices we’re exposed to are based on white men?

The Feminine Mirror

However, deities like Oshun represent fertility, beauty, sweet waters, love, and healing. Yemoja is the protector of women and the ruler of the deep ocean. These are divine feminine energies designed to nurture. But once we were told they were demons and agents of witchcraft, we were disconnected from the thing that truly reflects who we are.

Not to mention, the white Christian framework we’ve been forced to believe is how we keep Black women stagnant. It is because of Christianity that Black people are convinced that the key is to “pray everything away,” or suffer in silence. It is the reason why women feel as though it is a sin to leave their husbands, regardless of what they do. It is why women are too forgiving in times when they should stand up for themselves. It is why we don’t seek true healing, mental health services, or medicine.

Sanctuary and Survival

And to be clear, to unpack this history is not to demonize Christianity, nor is it to demand that Black women abandon their pews. For centuries, the Black Church has been a sanctuary, a place of profound survival, communal organizing, and deep spiritual power, just like Orisha was for our ancestors. But we have to be honest enough to audit why we were taught to fear our own reflections.

The European colonizers who weaponized the Bible did so to convince us that anything originating from Black skin or African soil was inherently sinful, forcing us to turn a blind eye to our own ancestral roots. But God is not small, and the Divine is not exclusive to Western frameworks. It is entirely possible to hold a deep reverence for God and Jesus while simultaneously reclaiming the ancestral practices, intuition, and natural elements that bring us closer to God.

Honoring the Orisha, the water, or the earth isn’t a betrayal of faith; it is a refusal to let colonization dictate how we connect with our spiritual journeys. Many times, the way we worship God involves the same practices that our ancestors viewed the Orisha.

Circling back to Solange and Meg, their visiting the water for healing isn’t necessarily spooky. It is a tool to return to self and heal. We lost many ancestors to the water, as they decided death was better than being enslaved. Their sacrifice shouldn’t be in vain.

Share this with someone who wants to connect to their roots <3

Share

When a famous Black woman announces her pregnancy or a new baby, fans seemingly want to see a ring on their finger as well. They bombard the comment section asking, “Where’s the ring?” or “Here comes another baby mama.”

Not only does this create a specific kind of anxiety for the expectant mother, but it also places them on a pedestal that they didn’t ask for.

Understandably, fans and social media users want the best for their favorite musicians, influencers, and actresses. Whether coming from a place of experience or observations of other celebrity relationships, fans don’t want these mothers to experience a difficult postpartum situation.

Missed last week’s lead story? Read now!

Fairly so, relationships change once a baby arrives and parents begin to see new sides of their partners. The proverbial ring can seemingly bypass the struggle that unwed couples may face. There may be some truth to it, as it is harder to walk away from marriage than it is from a boyfriend/girlfriend deal. Married couples may be more willing to stay in the relationship despite facing a rough period.

But the truth is, this type of ridicule and backlash is only faced by Black women—famous or not.

The Kylie Jenner Exception

Let’s take a look at Kylie Jenner. She had her first baby at the young age of 19. Not only was her teenage status ignored, but once she announced the birth of the baby, the pregnancy and subsequent motherhood were seen as chic, loving, and a trending lifestyle choice. Fans praised her for prioritizing her privacy and waiting to announce the baby’s arrival. Never was it a major topic that she was not married and that she was a teenager. No one was calling her a baby mama or filling her comment sections with disappointment.

Jenner’s choice was perceived as empowering, while her Black counterparts (i.e., Halle Bailey, Latto, and Flo Milli) were labeled as making poor decisions.

The Ring Does Not Equal Respect

Again, there is some room for understanding here. Black women who have children without being married are demonized in society. The term “baby mama” was reserved for the demographic, as it described the relationship between a father and a mother who were not married. Some of the disappointment expressed on social media comes from a real place of anxiety that Black women face. Fans immediately take on the role of an upset auntie, degrading these women as if marriages don’t end.

Not to mention, the naysayers forget that these are celebrity women with sustained careers. Although we don’t know what their bank accounts look like, one can assume they can afford the cost of rearing a child and any assistance she may need.

We may never know if these pregnancies were planned or not, but regardless, they did what was best for their child and the circumstances.

Wanting to protect Black women is completely understandable and noble. But what people may not realize is that they are dabbling in the same respectability politics we claim to want to abolish. Shaming women for having a baby outside of wedlock is borderline conservative behavior and, frankly, outdated.

P.S. breaking the fourth wall — I do understand that the backlash Latto has faced is because of slightly different reasons…

Latto did a lot of bragging about her body count, sexual activity, and personal life. Though she waited a while to confirm it, the public has known that she was dating 21 Savage for years. However, 21 Savage has children with two other women, making Latto the third woman to have a baby with him. This information does make his track record a little sketchy. He obviously has been able to commit to something more stable.

With that said, I still think she deserves some grace. They have been in a relationship for a long time at this point, and it doesn’t seem like he has the ability to marry her at this time.

P.S.S. I’m opening up a new section of the newsletter called In the Fold. It’s where I’ll be sharing the books I’m loving, what I’m cooking during the week, my current skincare staples, and so much more. Subscribe to be the first alerted when it drops <3

Subscribe now

There is a specific type of skepticism reserved for the world’s biggest stars. When you reach a certain level of icon status, the public stops seeing a character and only sees the “brand.” For Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter, her unique success in music has created a blind spot in her filmography.

The common narrative is that she “can’t act” or that she’s “just being beyoncé.” But when we look at the timeline and the range from slapstick comedy to gritty biographical drama, it seems like we haven’t been giving her enough credit. When taking a deeper look, her acting career suggests she isn’t a bad actress; she’s just an underrated one. Maybe she has been overshadowed by her own shadow.

Missed the last lead story? Catch up now!

When Beyoncé first hit the scene, her main focus was music. She was the lead singer of Destiny’s Child, and had a lot she wanted to achieve. However, once she began to succeed as a musician, she wanted to dabble in some acting, which is not abnormal in Hollywood (think Mary J. Blige, Kelly Rowland, Cher, Justin Timberlake, and Will Smith).

Beyoncé was cast in her first major role in 2001, playing Carmen in Carmen: The Hip Hopera. If someone had only seen one movie Beyoncé was in, and it was this one… this writer could understand how they’d think she was a bad actress. But in her defense, she was only 20 years old, and it was her first role.

Past the juvenile performance, most people forget that her early film career was defined by comedy. Despite popular belief, comedy can be hard to master.

Proof of Versatility

In 2002, she took on the role of Foxxy Cleopatra in an Austin Powers sequel. It was campy, it was high-energy, and it required a specific type of comedic timing to hold her own against Mike Myers. Upon initial release, the movie performed well and is still referenced, meme’d, and watched today.

Then came the Pink Panther in 2006. While the film was a lighthearted reboot, she played the calm to Steve Martin’s chaos. It became clear that these weren’t just vanity projects. They were a young artist testing her versatility. But social media discourse rarely gives credit for easy performances. They confuse a polished screen presence with a lack of depth.

Ms. Deena Jones

If we want to talk about a defining moment in Beyoncé’s acting career, we have to talk about Dreamgirls. At this point, she was already one of the biggest stars in the world, yet she insisted on auditioning like anyone else. She didn’t want the role handed to her; she wanted to earn it.

According to the documentary "Building the Dream” (from Dreamgirls), the director, Bill Condon, was skeptical about casting Bey. He originally wanted to cast unknowns for the Dreamettes, but Beyoncé knew it was the role for her. She was so dedicated that she lobbied for the role. According to BTS footage, Beyoncé paid for her own hair and makeup and even came up with simple choreography… all for the audition.

The producers and Condon watched the screen test for Beyonce and were “immediately bowled over.” They called her agent that night to make a deal.

Furthermore, she famously lost weight to age her character from a teenager to an adult, but the physical shift was only half of the transformation. She had to dull her own natural stage presence to play the backup singer before Deena became the lead. It was a performance of restraint—something a bad actress wouldn’t know how to do.

In fact, her acting was so good in Dreamgirls, people began to believe that she didn’t have powerhouse vocals, something that’s she’s gone on to disprove. According to director Bill Condon, her dedication to the technicality of the role was “unmatched.” There are many reasons why she may not have gotten the recognition she was owed. Jennifer Hudson deservedly received a lot of praise for her role, and it made her a breakout star. And again, critics had a hard time separating Deena from Beyoncé.

Etta James Method Acting

The most compelling evidence of her range is her 2008 portrayal of Etta James in Cadillac Records. This was the dramatic pivot from her past roles. She didn’t just play the role; she became the role.

Etta James famously took issue with Bey’s portrayal of her, stating she felt the film didn’t accurately portray her. However, it was later revealed that Ms. James really just had some residual feelings of jealousy after Beyoncé performed “At Last” at President Obama’s inauguration.

“I can’t stand Beyoncé,” James said about Bey. “You know your president, the one with the big ears? Wait a minute, he ain’t my president. I tell you, that woman he had singing for him, singing my song, she's gonna get her ass whopped.”

She later recanted, stating, “I didn’t really mean anything,” she insisted. “Even as a little child, I’ve always had that comedian kind of attitude. That’s probably what went into it”.

Nevertheless, Beyoncé’s performance was top-notch. To prepare for Etta’s struggle with a heroin addiction, Beyoncé spent weeks at a drug rehabilitation center in Brooklyn, talking to recovering addicts. She wanted to understand the why behind the pain. She showed up on set with dark circles under her eyes, messy hair, and a raw, volatile energy that the public had never seen from the near-perfect singer. She also donated her entire salary ($4 million) from the movie to Phoenix House, a well-established rehabilitation program.

If an unknown actress had delivered that performance, she would have been the breakout star of the year. But because it was Beyoncé, the perception was muddied. Viewers and critics couldn’t separate the Bey from her stage presence, and the performance was once again measured differently because of who she was.

Beyoncé: The Creative Force

So, why did she stop acting? After a decade of trying to prove herself in a system that would always view her as a singer first, she came up with a new approach. This was later confirmed by her mother, Tina Knowles.

She stepped away from traditional acting roles to become the director of her own visual productions. With Homecoming and Black is King, she stopped waiting for a script and started writing her destiny. She realized that her acting was most powerful when it was tied to her own creative vision—where she had full control over the narrative, the lighting, and the message.

Without this realization, we would not have the Lemonade Film or the Renaissance World Tour documentary.

When you look deeper and employ critical thinking, it becomes clear she didn’t fail at acting; the industry failed to categorize her. She was too big for the box they tried to put her in.

Obsessed was panned by critics for being a guilty pleasure thriller; however, it still opened at #1 at the box office, proving that even in a glorified Lifetime movie, Beyoncé’s screen presence was undeniable.

And to clarify, in no way is Beyoncé a top-performing actress that could be categorized with Angela Bassett, Viola Davis, or Taraji P. Henson… but does every single actress need to be? Everyone is a critic now, and every movie must be Oscar-worthy to also be deemed enjoyable.

Some of our favorite classic movies were box-office busts or critically panned. White Chicks, The Wiz, Brown Sugar, The Best Man, and so many more underperformed in one way or another. Despite this, we were able to watch, enjoy, and relate to the characters regardless of their acting caliber. The same is true for some of our favorite TV shows. Was the acting on Girlfriends always top-notch? Nope. Was Eve an Emmy Award-winning actress? No. But we still watched Eve and ignored the main character’s name being Shelly.

The point is not that we should give Beyoncé a pass on honing her acting craft. The actual point is that she did hone her craft. Her skill improved with every project. It was just ignored because some wanted to box her in.

Share this with someone who thinks Beyoncé is a bad actress. Educate the children!

Share

P.S. I’m opening up a new section of the newsletter called In the Fold. It’s where I’ll be sharing the books I’m loving, what I’m cooking during the week, my current skincare staples, and so much more. Subscribe to be the first alerted when it drops <3

Subscribe now