A Month of 'When I Get Home'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Albums That Got Me Through 2018

1. Astroworld by Travis Scott

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

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

2. Daytona by Pusha T

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

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

3. Whack World by Tierra Whack

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

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

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

4. Invasion of Privacy by Cardi B

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

5. Care for Me by Saba

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

AKA DeAsia's Favorite Albums of 2018: Ranked (Astroworld, Daytona, Whack World, Invasion of Privacy, Care for Me, Pieces of A Man, Hive Mind, Dirty Computer, Last Day of Summer, Redemption)

6. Pieces of a Man by Mick Jenkins

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

7. Hive Mind by The Internet

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

8. Dirty Computer by Janelle Monáe

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

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

9. Last Day of Summer by Summer Walker

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

10. Redemption by Jay Rock

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

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

Homecoming

I have intense anxiety about going home for the holidays now. I’ve never felt this way before, but my current sentiment stems from the recent realization of home not being a safe space for me anymore. I’ve always considered Detroit, Michigan, (the city where I was born) to be my home. Since I was a child, Detroit, amid all its dilapidated homes, assumed lack of vibrancy, and recently gentrified neighborhoods, has always created this irreplaceable aesthetic of belonging for me. Most of my family was there, and that offered a brief refrain from the loneliness I felt living with either my mom or auntie in the suburbs of Illinois. Detroit was a fucking MOOD for me— one that was welcoming and warm enough to make me forget about my issues. It was happiness. It was triumph. It was peace.

Now, the beloved city that was dear to my heart represents pieces of broken promises. It’s the place where I tried and failed at being intimate with someone who I knew didn’t care about me. It’s the place where the cousin of that person sexually assaulted me a month later. It’s the place where I tried and failed at rebuilding relationships with people I grew up with. It’s the place where I didn’t feel protected by my dad and stepmom. And having no cousins my age or any siblings made the situation worse.

Three weeks before Thanksgiving, all of these dark thoughts clouded my mind and stifled my energy. There were times that I’ve cried alone in my room because those thoughts were too overwhelming for me to function. So, in the words of Solange, I tried sexing those thoughts away. Long story short: I failed miserably. I came to the harsh realization that there wasn’t any amount of  sex that could help me ignore the real emotions that I was feeling.

At the time, I felt betrayed and powerless by people who I assumed had my best interests as a priority. While I’m sure that my dad and stepmom will always have my best interests in mind, I find myself still having to question that notion based on their reactions following the incident during the summer. And, although going to therapy has helped me significantly, I often still struggle with those feelings of betrayal. Thus, I knew I had to stop using sex as a temporary fix for the pain and start dealing with the real issues: being afraid or generally reluctant of going home for the holidays

This is the first time that I haven’t went home for the holidays since being in college. I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, and I have anxiety about going home for Christmas. The only reason I’m going home for a couple of days during the Christmas holiday is because I wanted to see other family members whose loyalty I didn’t have to question. I didn’t want to neglect those members like my auntie who was the main one who had my back following the incident. Her house became a safe space for me during that time, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that.

Home isn’t the same anymore, and going home certainly incorporates a lot troubling thoughts and ideas that are the exact opposite of what home should feel like. However, I’ve grown significantly since the last time I came home, and acknowledging that growth is a crucial aspect of the healing process for me. I’ve adopted the bad-bitch confidence that was long overdue. I’ve gained true friends. My writing was published on different outlets. I’ve started making significant changes for minority students at my school. I came to the realization that I enjoy sex more than I enjoy being in relationships, and I’ve learned to be ok with that. And, more importantly, I have a better grip of the woman I’m becoming.

I’m not the same woman I was when I left Detroit four months ago, and I’m certainly proud of that. Although going back home has conjured uninvited feelings, it certainly has made me reflect on my journey to becoming the woman I am now, and I refuse to compromise anything for the sake of her growth because I’m starting to fall in love with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Tony. (@SoLyrical) November 13, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Joe Budden (@JoeBudden) October 28, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three things about love and sex that I've unlearned since being in college

Last week, I joined Tinder. It was a very weird experience for me because I never imagined myself being on the app. I didn’t even know how to use it. Do I chose a selfie or a full body picture for my profile? Should I include a bio? How long does it take to find a match? Those were some of the questions that flowed through my mind after I created my account. After spending at least thirty minutes of constantly swiping left due to being discouraged about the lack of black men in my college town, I deleted my account.

Having a Tinder account was initially unorthodox to me because it was always hard for me to conceptualize the idea of showing interest in someone by simply swiping right or left.  I didn’t think that was the proper way of getting to know someone. My socialization on love and dating, which stemmed from my family’s Christian background, was basically equated to courtship, marriage, sex and children (in that order). I attended many Bible study discussions and church services in which my sexuality was compared to a used car, which was basically meant to be understood as my value as a woman decreasing the more I let someone penetrate me. And abstinence was the extent of my sexual education, so joining an app for hookups was damn near revolutionary for me. My short-lived Tinder experience made me reflect on other traditional ideas of sex and love that I no longer agree with, so here’s a list of some of those concepts that I’ve gradually distanced myself from since being in college:

I don’t believe in virginity

Since I was a child, I was taught that my worth was inextricably linked to my sex life. I was socialized to think that the more I had sex, the less likely I would be considered in a man’s eyes as someone worthy for marriage. And I believed it. I spent most of my teenage years abiding by this rule, and it seemed like everyone around me was rooting for me to fall in that tradition. It was during this time that I learned that the race of virginity leading to marriage is a toxic competition in the black church. It seemed like women who cheerfully announced their marriage in the sanctuary felt like they had one-up on the single women. Meanwhile, girls who had became pregnant from sex out of wedlock were forced to announce their “sin” in front of the entire congregation, shamefully eliminating themselves from this unspoken competition. And girls who had elaborate purity ceremonies and vowed their “virginity” to God until a future husband replaced their purity ring with a wedding ring were viewed in high regard at the church. Those were the type of women who were said to have been aligning with God’s perfect plan for their lives.

Seeing these performative practices in the church instantly made me afraid of anything dealing with sex because I didn’t want to experience the shame and embarrassment of letting people down. The extent of my sexual education was abstinence because the pastors in my church and people in my family taught me that pregnancy would always be the result of having sex. I didn’t learn about birth control until I came to college, so most of my teenage years were spent heavily avoiding pregnancy. For black girls, especially those growing up in the church, being abstinent and not becoming a “stereotype” was met with a great sense of accomplishment. A black girl could be disrespectful, have failing grades, but as long as she didn’t get pregnant, then she was automatically viewed as better than the girl who did get pregnant outside of marriage. And I think that’s why many women in the church did their best to protect their daughter, granddaughters and nieces from being viewed that way.

Virginities are human/social constructs. Rooted in religion and geared toward women, it was invented to especially control sex drives and sex lives. If dick tearing a hymen means loss of virginity, then 100s of girls have lost their virginities to tampons.

— Asia Cheyanne (@GiftedAsia) August 25, 2018

I remember my older auntie being very concerned with the way I presented myself at church: Wear a dress that doesn’t show too much of your ass. Don’t wear that skirt that doesn’t go past your knees. Don’t show off your shoulders. Remember to wear a girdle so your ass won’t shake in that dress. Wear a shawl over your skirt when sitting down to hide your thighs. Don’t be the only girl with a group of guys.

It’s because of this hyper-surveillance on a girl’s body that now leads me to believe that virginity is a social construction. It’s only purpose is to inhibit a woman’s sexuality and discourage her from exhibiting any type of sexual pleasure for the sake of winning this unspoken competition. Furthermore, the definition of virginity being linked to having an “unbroken hymen” isn’t exactly accurate because the hymen doesn’t typically break during sexual intercourse, and it doesn’t completely cover the vaginal canal. It can only stretch. The hymen also stretches during other activities such as inserting a tampon and riding a bicycle, so why isn’t there the same surveillance when women participate in those activities?

The concept of virginity, at its core, is a heteronormative idea that shames women from enjoying sex and automatically eliminates trans and queer people. It only exists for the sake of controlling women and making them pyrrhic victors of limiting their sexuality.

Marriage, or having kids, isn’t a goal for me.

After graduating from high school, I imagined that my college experience would be the equivalent of Whitley Gilbert’s in “A Different World”---- finding the man of my dreams while achieving my goals. Whitley and Dwayne’s relationship was the first representation of black love that I saw on television, so I wanted my own love story to look similar to theirs. However, I think those representations, along with common discussions regarding marriage, have fueled the socialization of college being a wife school for women. Women are taught that being in college makes them more susceptible for being swept into the happily ever after of marriage and children.

Well, I’ve learned that my value doesn’t rely on my reproductive organs or me being married.

At what age did you realize that your dreams were more important than marriage? At what age did you realize the type of woman you were, might lead you to potentially never find love.. and what age were you okay with that?

— Goddess of Black. (@afualareine) October 12, 2018

In fact, since being in college, I’ve realized that the only benefit of being married is getting more money from taxes. There isn’t any significant difference between being married and being in a committed relationship. It’s just that when you’re married, the law gives legitimacy to your relationship. This was always weird to me because I didn’t think love needed to be validated by the law. If anything, the law makes things more complicated than they need to be.

The performance surrounding heterosexual marriage is embedded in patriarchy. It’s traditionally acceptable for the man to propose to a woman for marriage, which basically gives a man control over a woman’s desire to be married. Yes, it’s true that a woman has the choice to decline a man’s offer . However, that’s the extent of a woman’s control in that regard because it’s traditionally unacceptable for a woman to propose to a man. This made me realize that if marriage starts with a man asking the question after seeing the woman worthy enough of being married, then marriage is nothing but an institution controlled by men.

When I was younger, I imagined that I would have six children. Being the only child made me want to have a lot of children. However, that number has significantly decreased to zero since last year. The idea of me having a child scares the shit out of me. What would I even say to a child? The idea of being pregnant is even scarier. Another human being being trapped in my body for most of the year and imposing uncomfortable changes on it sounds like something in a horror movie, and I want no parts in it. Maybe it’s because I’m still young, but I don’t genuinely understand the appeal of having children. I’m not naturally maternalistic, so I don’t think there’s any reason for me to have a kid. And I won’t change my mind unless it’s my own choice and not under the influence of wifely performative duties.

I think there’s something wrong with me cause I don’t get the want for a child. I wish I could understand it but I genuinely don’t see the appeal..maybe I will someday but currently the entire concept of having my own child sounds like a pure. nightmare.

— queen quen (@quenblackwell) October 14, 2018

Most heterosexual relationships are built in patriarchy

My last relationship was very eye-opening. It was a very gratifying relationship in which I learned a lot about myself and the parameters of what modern-day love looks like. Heterosexual relationships being based on a man’s needs were among those lessons learned. I realized that most men require women to support them in ways that ultimately neglect the woman’s feelings and needs. Men typically want a woman who can they can build with. They often require women to be present when they’re figuring out their dreams and ideas while most women already have their career goals intact prior to entering the relationship.

I’ve seen many relationships in which the women had her life together while the man didn’t. I think this is because we teach women that they have to well put together to capture a man’s attention while we don’t teach the same lesson for men. It’s for those reasons that I can’t see myself in any relationship that abides by those standards. Relationships often require women to sacrifice a piece of themselves, and I don’t have time or energy for anything like that.

Noname Finds Herself on 'Room 25'

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

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

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

I make lullaby rap music.

— Noname (@noname) September 16, 2018

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

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

“My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Insecure' Season 3, Episode 1 Recap

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

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

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

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

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

— Erika Alexander (@EAlexTheGreat) August 14, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

— Natasha Rothwell (@natasharothwell) August 13, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

My thoughts:

Issa is fucking up

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

Molly is fucking up, too

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

Cruel Summer: How I Learned To Love Myself

I am concerned about black girls. I am concerned about black girls dealing with depression. I am concerned about black girls dealing with depression while trying to define themselves. I am concerned about black girls dealing with depression  while trying to define themselves in a world that doesn’t care. I am concerned about black girls dealing with depression while trying to define themselves in a world that doesn’t care about them or their bodies being violated.

I am concerned about me.

---

During finals week of my sophomore year of college, I was depressed. As fuck. Grieving the death of my grandmother collided with the stress of final exams. The stress of final exams collided with the fear of being alone. But, in retrospect, the depression really stemmed from disappointment of not being where I wanted to be at 19 years old.

I mean, in terms of my aspiring journalism career, everything was in tact. Shit was beautiful. Pristine. I was getting closer to my dreams of being like Sanaa Lathan’s character in “Brown Sugar”, writing about my love for music for a popular platform. I had accepted an internship. I was on the cusp of finishing a journalism fellowship with one of my favorite writers that resulted in a byline with a major publication, and I was looking forward to furthering my college reporting career with my school’s student newspaper.

On the outside, it would be easy to describe me as someone who had her shit together, but on the inside, I was fucked up. I was disappointed that I ended my sophomore year in the same way that it started—— very depressed and lonely. I couldn’t shake it. Before the school year started, I was on the path to recovering from the trauma of ending my relationship with the church and re-evaluating one with God, so I had every intention of ending the school year with more friends, a better social life and having a life less traumatized from the burdens of depression. But I found myself more unhappy as none of those things came to fruition.

I wanted a different reality for summer 2018.

I was ready to leave all of that shit behind and bury it deep in the Kansas soil to start a new life,  one in which I was able to meaningfully define myself and what I truly wanted and didn’t want. That included making new friends, having some sort of social life and starting my new internship. I was set to do all of those things in Detroit, a place that conveys of sense of home and broken promises for me, but I was determined, nevertheless.

It started off pretty well during the first month and half there, too. Amid the scenes of abandoned homes and neighborhood decay tied with prevalent gentrification and a budding renaissance, I started my time in Detroit off pretty well. I connected with friends, smoked weed for the first time, had sex, had more sex and surprisingly became less committed in my relationship to my boyfriend. I finally got my driver’s license and a car. I was finally able to realize what I wanted in my life, and being in a committed relationship wasn’t one of those things.

I just wanted to fuck. And I only wanted to do that with one person. However, now I’m not really sure if that’s what I really wanted. I am sure, though, that the DeAsia nearly two years ago would have judged the sex-having, weed-smoking DeAsia of this summer. But I realized that this was a part of the process of becoming the woman that I envision myself to be: free from the limits of patriarchal thinking, a rigid church culture, and a close-minded attitude. I realized that true happiness  is being fully aware of and content with who you are without worrying about others opinions. And I couldn’t judge that.

I thought I was truly at the finish line to finally discovering that happiness and embarking on that newly found freedom, but some life-altering experiences took me off course:

• I wasn’t in love with my boyfriend like I thought I was.
• I was sexually assaulted by a family friend’s cousin in July.
• A potential friend died in the exact location where I was the week before.
• I was betrayed by people I thought were friends.
• I didn’t feel comfortable in the home where I was staying.

Somehow, I managed to suppress all of these feelings while going to my internship every day. There were times when I wanted to go to my boss, explain what happened and suggest needing a day off. I couldn’t do it. I was the only black intern, and I knew that I had to follow the unspoken but extremely felt rules of being more than enough, regardless of whatever I had experienced. I knew that it would look typical for the black female intern to take a break from work due to personal issues while none of the white interns asked for something even remotely similar. This isn’t to say that my boss wouldn’t have understood. I just knew that everything that I went through was too much for me to explain, and I couldn’t bear the self-inflicted disappointment of not being able to successfully finish my internship. I didn’t want to succumb to any stereotype, and I wanted to prove that I deserved to be in that newsroom.

So, I left my depressed face at home only to pick it back up when I returned from work. I went on long drives at midnight to escape the home where I was staying and the pain of feeling alone and unprotected from everything that happened.

Amid all of those things, the person I was trying to avoid was the person who needed me the most—myself. The girl who wanted to cry herself to sleep after the assault, the girl who contemplated suicide, the girl who contemplated about becoming Jennifer Lopez during the ending scene of  Enough and beating dude’s ass who assaulted me——she needed to love on herself a little more. And that included not giving one fuck about people’s opinions.

In trying to appease everyone’s feelings and thoughts about what I was doing and how they could make me happy about the aforementioned situations, I neglected myself. I abandoned myself in search for a happiness controlled by other people, ultimately setting myself up for disappointment. I was more concerned with others (and my own) expectations of where I should be in my life instead of enjoying the moments and experiences I’ve already had. I wasted an entire summer desperately relying on others to make me happy.

I won’t do that again.

I’m currently beginning the process of self-love, and I’m finally in a spot in my life where things seem to be more clear. Some of those things include:

Niggas ain’t shit

I never truly grasped the understanding behind this motto when I first heard it because I believed that everyone deserved the benefit of doubt. Therefore, it wasn’t entirely fair to just deem an entire demographic unworthy of any acceptance or understanding. But after I was assaulted in July, the depths of patriarchy became visibly clear. This was the second time I’ve had to experience this in my life, and I wasn’t sure what I had done to deserve any of it. Was I too forthcoming? Were my shorts the visual translation of “Yes, I want you to touch me”? I didn’t know what to think.

It was only a week after the incident that I realized that this nigga simply wasn’t shit.

In retrospect, he’s not  the only nigga who isn’t shit. There are many. There are many niggas who are raised to assume control over women’s bodies. The assault made me think about how I, and other girls I grew up around, were raised to  hide their bodies for fear of pregnancy, which is treated like the Black Death in the Black community. Meanwhile, I never witnessed the same amount of attention toward a boy’s sexuality and his appearance.

The assault also made me think about how Black girls  are taught to be docile. At least that’s what my childhood socialization led me to believe. I was taught that my obedience to authority, and especially God, would ultimately lead to my success. I was taught to be homely, modest and refrain from thinking about sex until the man “chosen” for them sweeps them off their feet and marries them.

Some black girls are perfectly fine with this lifestyle. There’s nothing wrong with that. It  becomes problematic when that way of life becomes the only route for every black girl to follow.

After the assault, it dawned on me that maybe the guy who assaulted me was fully aware of this unspoken rule of docility for black girls. And I think it’s the reason why I was targeted that night——because he knew that I would be quiet and act like the situation never happened.

And I did stay quiet about it. I didn’t speak up until hours later and told the guy’s cousin, someone who I considered a friend, someone who I had allowed to have sex with me, someone who I thought would protect me. I was wrong. He brushed it off as if it was something that didn’t need to be dealt with immediately. I believed him, and didn’t say anything more about it until hours later. That moment reminded of a time when I was in A.P. government class in my senior year of high school. During a group project one day, an Indian girl in my group would almost instinctively write off any answers that I gave her as if I had no idea what I was talking about. It was almost like she didn’t believe what I was saying to be true. I’m not sure if that’s how she truly felt, but she made me feel that way, and I turned that feeling into a reality when I stopped participating in group projects for fear of saying the “wrong” answers. Similarly, the guy that I told about the assault made me feel like I wasn’t worthy to be believed and reduced the situation. And, considering that it was his cousin that was being accused, maybe that’s not how he truly felt, but he made me feel that way, which is why acted like nothing happened.

As I was driving away from the home that morning, my body didn’t feel right, and I instantly knew that I wasn’t wrong about what happened. I told someone else in the guy’s family, and she handled the situation immediately.

In the aftermath of everything, I didn’t feel protected  (not even by my dad and step mom at the time). I never pressed charges, and I don’t think I will.  I also felt unsafe in my parents’ home. I know it wasn’t their intention to make me feel that way, but they did. And I learned a long time ago that I should never apologize for the way that I feel.

That’s why I’m not apologizing for feeling the need to embrace the idea of niggas not being shit.

I like sex

I was raised in a Christian household that praised docility and being prude. According to the way my family and the church perceived that behavior I graced for most of my life, I was well on my way to success. I was socialized to believe that me being prude would ultimately ward off pregnancy and lead me to marriage. I was also taught that guys respected that behavior more than a woman who embraced her sexuality.

I considered all of those things to be true, and lived most of my teens abiding by those rules. However, when I came to college, I realized how fucked up all of those rules were. I started reading the feminist works of Morgan Jerkins, Brittney Cooper, Candice Benbow and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie— black women who are of a Christian background——, and I saw myself. Their words became my Bible during a time in which I wasn’t clear about my relationship to God. They gave me clarity on things that I wasn’t receiving within the four walls of the church. They became my spiritual empowerment. And it didn’t seem blasphemous, either because I truly believe my God to be a black woman.

By reading their works, it was confirmed for me that those things I was taught about sexuality do nothing more than oppress women and uphold patriarchy. Furthermore, I realized that religious ideas of sex and love pertaining women revolved around men and how they feel. Women shouldn’t have to hide their bodies until a man, who finds them worthy of marriage, gives them the leeway not to. That basically gives men the control of a woman’s sexuality.

And it was that same control that made the guy who assaulted me that night believe that he had the right to touch my body without my consent. It’s the same narrative of control that leads many more men to think that any part of a woman’s body is freely at their disposal. It’s the same narrative of control that protects rapists and perpetuates a lifelong feeling of abuse and brokenness for women.

I had a sexual reawakening after learning all of these things. I had more sex. And I liked it. I enjoyed it without having fear of an unwanted pregnancy or religious consequences, and it really felt good. The best part about it was that it was something that I really wanted to do. It was the first time in my life where I really felt secure in my sexuality, and I’m not afraid to explore my sexuality more as I enter my twenties.

I plan to have more sex. But I should be aware of not catching feelings for the other person while doing it because Lord knows that I’m not ready for any relationship yet. Because I was taught that marriage/commitment and sex are related, it will be hard to deconstruct this idea, but I’m learning and I haven’t fucked up yet. But if I do, then I know that having casual sex certainly isn’t for me.

Self love is a journey

I started therapy a week after I was assaulted. I desperately needed someone to talk to, and I didn’t think I could get that from my parents. Seeking counseling isn’t something that would’ve been natural to me two years ago because prayer was always the resolution. I’m glad I was able to overcome the stigma of being vocal about my mental health.

Considering that I only had three weeks left of my internship before heading back to school, I could only attend three sessions. But they damn sure were worth it. I felt a huge burden lifted off my shoulders as I was able to tell a complete stranger about my feelings without the fear of judgment. I learned that I don’t focus on the positive aspects of myself during my second session as it became blatantly clear that I couldn’t tell her three things that I liked about myself. She told me to start writing down things that I liked about myself, and I’m committed to doing that now.

The biggest realization of myself came at the end of our last session, when I had an epiphany that I rely on men to make me happy. I don’t know why I do it, but I know that it’s wrong. I often neglect long-term relationships with friends and family for an opportunity to be in the presence of a man that I’m attracted to. That’s a huge problem because I’m just walking right into disappointment and unhappiness, and I’m ready to explore the root of this issue so that I can get rid of it. I think seeking therapy near my school to tackle this issue will be best for me, and I don’t plan on getting into any relationship until this problem is gone. I cannot be in a different relationship with that unrealistic expectation. It’s not fair to me or the other person, and having those expectations is what went wrong in my previous relationship.

I won’t do that again, either.

Therapy taught me that truly loving myself is going to take some time. It’s not going to happen when I want it to, and I’m going to have to put the effort in to make it happen. Love takes time. I’m in a fully committed relationship with myself, and I’m ready to explore the depths of all the things that make up who I am. I’m still getting to know myself. That’s ok. But what I do know is that I just finished two bomb ass writing opportunities within the same year and fostered important relationships in my professional career. And, for now, I’m going to allow myself the space to take pride in that. I’m a great writer who has many things to learn, and I’m excited to discover myself more with my writing.

What My Grandma's Death Taught Me

It was finals week. I was just days away from completing my sophomore year of college. As I was cleaning my room, I couldn’t help but look one last time at the pink obituary lying on my dresser. It had been lying there for almost two months, and there was a sense of freedom associated with school being over that gave me the space to finally reflect on my grandma’s death. So I read her obituary and scanned the pictures in it again as if I didn’t know who my grandmother was. Maybe I didn’t.

My grandma died in March. I didn’t cry about her because that’s not how I choose to express my grief. I didn’t become filled with some unresolved anger due to us not having a closer relationship. Actually, I couldn’t properly grieve about her at all because stress from school was too overwhelming for me to focus on losing my grandma. It wasn’t until a month after the funeral (during the last week of school) that I started to heavily reflect on my grandma’s life and legacy. And an integral part of her life and a lasting memory of mine that I’m still pondering is her battle with mental illness. During our last phone call, she was in a manic state when her caretaker’s son informed me that she was about to take her medication.

Since I’ve been alive, my grandma had bipolar disorder. I never knew my grandma before she became mentally ill, but it was by simply reading her obituary that I discovered she had an accomplished life that seemed to not be overtaken by mental illness. LaDonna Davis graduated summa cum laude from high school, went to college to study business and worked her way up to becoming the youngest manager in the history of First Federal Bank’s loan department in Detroit. She was also active in her church community. I was impressed by what I read. In fact, I learned more about LaDonna Davis, the woman, through an obituary than I did knowing her as my grandmother, which is sad, to say the least. I guess I never fathomed her life outside the boundaries of mental illness.

As I glossed over her achievements, I didn’t see any paragraph about her mental illness. No one even mentioned it during the funeral. This surprised me because her mental illness was a significant aspect of our relationship, but I later realized that maybe her illness wasn’t a factor in her relationship with others. As a child, I knew that there was something wrong with her. However, “something’s wrong with grandma” never translated to her being bipolar. No one voluntarily told me. I guess you don’t just voluntarily tell a child that a family member has been mentally ill. I guess it’s something that’s not talked about in many black families. I guess you don’t just talk about someone’s failing mental health to a sanctuary full of family, friends and strangers. No. And I guess you don’t do that in a space that warmfully embraces the practice of recommending prayer over therapy.

As I glossed over her achievements, I kept wondering how did those achievements translate to mental illness. How did making the dean’s list and having a successful banking career end up in a life that was scarred by bipolar disorder? Did she get it after she had my father? Before? All of those questions raced in mind as I tried to pinpoint the moment she became mentally ill. Then I had an epiphany— being successful and seemingly having it “all together” and being mentally ill aren’t mutually exclusive. My grandmother could have made the Dean’s List and graduated with high honors while battling her mental health. It’s likely that she could’ve been dealing with it as a child and never received proper treatment.

It’s also likely that the church couldn’t help her. Throughout her life, LaDonna Davis was a member of several churches, even serving as a Sunday school teacher at one of them. She was a diligent servant in  Detroit’s African Methodist Episcopal (AME) community. She could’ve been mentally suffering while being active in the church.She could’ve been suffering silently because mental illness is typically dismissed as “a sign to go to God and pray” in black churches. And maybe her illness was something that couldn’t be fixed by only God. Maybe God couldn’t fix it at all. Considering these things, I’d imagine my grandmother being frustrated that a mental illness was starting to consume her life.

Maybe that’s why her heart gave up and stopped beating—— because she was simply tired of being in a battle in which victory wasn’t imminent.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t cry about her death—— because the desire for freedom when fighting a mental battle without a subtle victory is a feeling that’s too familiar for me.

I don’t know how long I’ve battled with depression. I do know that my teenage years have been engrossed by it.  Thanks to High School Musical (1,2 and 3), I thought my teenage experience would be fun and carefree. Instead, it was filled with a lot of pain. In college, it became worse. I started isolating myself from people and settings that would likely make me happy because I thought people would eventually find out that I wasn’t “ok” on the inside. I still do it.

“The desire for freedom when fighting a mental battle without a subtle victory is a feeling that’s too familiar for me.”

I often feel empty and alone because I’m not enjoying the “best years of my life” as I thought I would. I felt uncomfortable at the only college party that I’ve been to (I basically just sat there and acted as if I was on my phone the entire time). I rarely hang out with people, and I don’t have a close group of friends that I would even hang out with.  When I see photos of my peers enjoying college with their friends, I instantly want to cry because I desperately wanted those things to happen for me. I always envisioned myself of having a close circle of friends that mirrored something like “Girlfriends” or my auntie’s crew of best friends. And I thought it would happen once I got to college. Instead, my depression exacerbated itself to the point in which I became used to being alone even though I wasn’t satisfied with it.

I tried seeking a therapist through my school’s CAPS (Counseling and Psychological Services) program twice. In scheduling my appointment, I was met with a man whose inability to pronounce my name accurately for 15 minutes overshadowed him making arrangements for my appointment. When he finally got around to making the appointment, I was discouraged by having to wait two months before meeting with a therapist. My busy schedule with school and work ultimately made me forget about the appointment, and a $15 fee was immediately billed to my account again.

That was the last time I sought therapy through my school. Although my school boasted about their psychological services, my experience certainly didn’t match what they were saying. It was in that moment that I realized college wasn’t the place for me to focus on my mental health. The standards set by some teacher that are often hard to attain makes it difficult for students to focus on things other than school. At least that’s what it felt like when my grandmother died. I had two projects and an in-class writing assignment that interfered with my chances of attending the funeral. Honestly, I was going to skip it because travelling to another state for a funeral felt like entirely too much for me to do, considering my workload. College doesn’t just give you a week off from school for bereavement. Missing a week of classes ultimately means risking your grades. But I knew that I couldn’t miss my grandmother’s funeral, and I knew that not attending meant more than just keeping my grades and being able to work on projects. It meant that I couldn’t be in Detroit to emotionally support my dad, auntie or great-grandma. Thus, without any sleep, I took the earliest flight to Detroit and returned the same day.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but school obligations would only allow me to miss one day. That was it. In retrospect, though, I wish I had more time to be with my family and grieve (or simply just think) about my grandma’s death.

As I prepared to move out of my apartment, I looked at that pink obituary on the dresser again. I scanned it for ten minutes and thought about how my grandma transcended her mental illness. I thought how maybe her mental illness actually didn’t define her. I thought about her strength. I thought about the many ways in which I saw myself in her. I thought about how she never neglected our relationship, although I could never hold a phone conversation with her due to her illness. I also thought about how I almost neglected her when she needed me because I was too busy with school. In almost neglecting her, I neglected myself by not giving me the space to properly think about my feelings,which is a trend that I’ve practiced since I’ve been in high school. I’ve finally realized its pernicious effects.

LaDonna Davis was only 63-years-old when she died, and I couldn’t help but think about the stress from her mental illness and other health issues that led to her death. It’s something that reminded me of how weathering, a condition in which physical and emotional stress tears on the bodies of marginalized communities, impacts black women. It makes them more susceptible to chronic diseases and makes them age earlier than their white counterparts. I think that was a factor in my grandma’s death. I don’t want that to be a factor in mine.

I threw the obituary away. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to deal with my grandma’s death. It was because I knew that the best way for me to honor my grandma’s legacy would be to confront my mental health with at least half as much of the strength that she had when battling her mental illness. And I can’t do that by just reminiscing on pictures in an obituary; I have to act on it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Michael Arceneaux (@youngsinick) May 1, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice for what?

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

— 🍒 (@delafro_) March 31, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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