claire.she.goes

Author: Claire

  • Watch it!: The Gilded Age – Season 4, Episode 2

    Watch it!: The Gilded Age – Season 4, Episode 2

    Do you watch The Gilded Age? I do!

    Photo by Joshua Woods via Unsplash.

    When I first saw it, I thought, “Ah yes. The American [version of] Downton Abbey.”

    And that’s not at all an unfair comparison, as both series were created by Julian Fellowes.

    Currently the show is in its fourth season. I’ve got a few spoilery thoughts on last night’s episode.

    At the top of the show, the review of last week’s season premiere started off with a fitting quote. “This is going to be such fun.”

    And indeed, it was…

    Opening clips include Dr. Jidenna aka Dr. William Kirkland, pleasantly saying to Peggy that the wedding planning between her and his mother was going well. Meanwhile, I don’t trust Dr. Kirkland’s mother, Mrs. Kirkland–played by the legendary Phylicia Rashad. In The Gilded Age, a few of the characters have nicknames and I call her Evil Clair Huxtable. And do I trust her?

    HA!

    Not one little bit.

    Cut to the credits and Episode Two has officially begun.

    Railroad Daddy aka Everyone’s Favourite Robber Barron, Mr. George Russell, hired The Pinkertons to find out who attempted to kill him last season. Sadly, it was Will Morris, son of the man who took his life after a deal with Daddy took a turn*. Given the Pinkerton’s history of both private security and union busting, I suspect that we’ll see them again soon.

    In the meantime, they’ve invaded the Morris’ household to capture Will with George in tow, and he wants his pound of flesh.

    While the taking of Will Morris took place under the cover of night, we were next thrust into the daylight, where Big Bertha is seen triumphantly returning by carriage to the museum that she calls home. She and her son Larry caught up briefly concerning her daughter giving birth–nearly at the cost of her life, I might add–in England.

    Moving across the street, I can tell you that a few days ago I saw a clip on Instagram where Louisa Jacobson, the actress who plays Marian, said that her character’s attitude was relevant to this season’s arc. And for Marian’s sake at least, I hope so. Because although I understand her professional choices, her personal ones are bewildering.

    For those who didn’t see the previous episode, Marian and Junior–Larry Russell–went out, and on their way home in the midst of a rainstorm, one of their carriage’s wheels broke. Logistically, getting home from there would have been a pain, so Marian and Junior ended up spending a night in a nearby hotel. And by “spending a night” I mean “spending a night TO. GE. THER.”

    Flash forward to this Sunday.  When Marian told Junior that “I cannot look at you without seeing my own shame…” I let out the deepest sigh. In spite of the fact that I understand the historical context of Marian’s circumstances, a part of me wishes that she was able to subvert them.

    Call my attitude towards Marian what you will. Modern woman privilege? Yes. In the end, I hope all of this frustration is worth it. I can imagine one or two possible storylines where that ends up being true, but right now in my mind, my cynicism is winning.

    Cut to Railroad Daddy. I’m all for him running his business. Except for when he’s running it into the ground. We see him in a meeting with Mr. Rockefeller–his biggest client, according to Larry’s exposition–where he’s being loud and unreasonable. Quite frankly, if it wasn’t for Junior’s presence, their business relationship might’ve been irreparably damaged. Yet does he appreciate his son’s intervention? No.

    Last week Evil Clair Huxtable made a point of telling Peggy that she wanted to introduce her to her organization, the Daughters of Friendship. This week over in Newport, moments before one of the Daughters’ meetings, Peggy and her mother–played by Broadway great Audra McDonald–were chatting with a group of young Black women. And for some reason or another it seems that Newport’s finest had great difficulty processing the idea of one of their own having her own career.

    I found their response to the fact that Peggy is an author to be incredibly underwhelming and irksome. After Peggy explained what her book was about, one of them managed to utter a brief sentence beginning with, “How interesting…”  To which I responded in my head, “What is it that’s ‘interesting’, exactly? The fact that her book has A PLOT?!” Truly, these young women acted as though they were shocked that it took Peggy more than one sentence to explain what her work is about.

    To be a woman in society back then when nothing was expected of you–and then to be a Black woman, who faced even further scrutiny and restrictions?

    I can only imagine what that must have done to one’s self-image. Contrast that idea with today, when we Black women are encouraged to be educated and proud of ourselves!

    Meanwhile, back in Manhattan, Ada hired Jack’s replacement–a young man named Oliver Keith. I can’t recall what he said about his experience during his interview. But I don’t buy for a minute that he’s ever served in a house before. He’s too earnest and chatty and green. While adorable in theory, I’m sure he’s going to be chaotic in practice.

    And honestly, I hope the boy doesn’t con Ada or rob her house. For a moment I wondered if his demeanor was a ruse. Meanwhile Ada enlisted Bannister to train up this young man. Cue the flattery, “…with a role model such as you…” Yet my question is, does Bannister want to take on such a task in the first place? With the faces he made while Ada questioned Oliver–I hollered!!–it’s hard not to wonder.

    Last week when I was on Threads I saw some chatter about how nice Mrs. Kirkland was being. Meanwhile, I wasn’t buying Evil Clair Huxtable’s act for a second. Normally when someone who’s notoriously unkind is suddenly extra kind, it’s because they’re secretly sharpening their claws.

    This proved to be true as we returned to the Daughters of Friendship’s meeting. While introducing Peggy, she quipped, “Miss Scott is a widow herself…” and I think I might’ve shouted, “The HELL?!” or something else quite unseemly at my TV.

    I mean really. Why lie? For those who may not remember, the truth of the matter is just as Peggy recounted to her mother: She had a previous marriage that was annulled, as well as a child–who has since been adopted. Furthermore, how is Peggy’s past marital status any of these women’s business in the first place? She doesn’t know them from Adam, and that’s what you lead with?!

    But I digress.

    Immediately after we were first introduced to the Van Rhijn’s new footman, we see Dr. Kirkland with a patient who needs specialized care. Eventually, he brings said patient, Mr. Davis, to Bellevue Hospital. Although Kirkland wants to accompany him to the examination room, the doctor at the hospital informs him that “Colored doctors are not qualified” to practice there. Instantly I felt sad, sorrowful over the fact that Dr. Kirkland’s qualifications were rendered useless. But this exchange reminded me yet again that although the Black characters of the era were able to function within the New York society, they were able to do so only marginally.

    I was glad to see Peggy and her mother, Dorothy, confront Mrs. Kirkland in the aftermath of her remarks. It’s as Dorothy said, when someone speaks savagely about you in public, “Lord knows what [they’ve] said in private.”

    I agree wholeheartedly, and I was uncomfortable thinking of the ramifications of Kirkland’s dishonesty. Although my patience for Marian’s behaviour towards her suitor is thin, the fact that women of that time needed to demonstrate an exceptionally-detailed amount of care in their relationships with men is not lost on me. Judgment was–and in various circles, still is–always guaranteed, and could scar her for life.

    Nevertheless, I don’t like how Mrs. Kirkland excused her words, claiming that she wanted to make Peggy more relatable to the other women. Personally, I think she wanted Peggy to risk being held in low esteem, as a woman of “ill repute”.

    And may I say that I will never tire of seeing Audra McDonald and Phylicia Rashad go toe to toe? Cunning as Mrs. Kirkland is, watching these actress’ counterparts clash is pure art!

    Once again we’re in New York, where Bertha has gone to visit her husband at work. “You’re back.” Yes, Railroad Daddy, Bertha is back. Back in the city. Back home. And possibly back in your life, if you’ll let her be.

    Don’t muck this up. *prayer hands emoji*

    After a conversation in which Railroad Daddy seemed to display everything from annoyance to devotion to his wife, he planted a kiss on her lips. Some will say the scene was par for the course–the Russells are known for their passion for life, and each other. Yet something in the periphery of their interaction left me again hating how George’s addiction has changed his personality.

    Next, we were treated to some scenes at the opera–the Met. I tend to enjoy these, as the opera is the seat of society’s gossip and game playing. More to the point, if we’re here, it’s likely because some scheming and dreaming is about to go down. Amongst the upper classes, social strategy is a priority. And I especially like the way that Bertha used a chess analogy when discussing matchmaking: “Children only look at individual pieces. It’s our job to keep our eye on the board.”

    But not everyone is interested in arias and arched eyebrows. Junior has a friend who encouraged him to leave and check out another spectacle instead. “The opera’s getting stale. People want something more cheerful. More hummable.” Immediately, I was onto him. I wrote “Russell’s friend is trying to get him to invest in [the precursor to what we now know as] Broadway. I know it.”

    Minutes later we cut to Young Russell and co in an otherwise empty audience, watching a group of actors rehearse a musical on stage. “People are hungry for entertainment…” Friend explains. Indeed, they are. Given The Gilded Age’s reputation–virtually everyone with a role on this show is a theatre veteran–I’m curious to see how this plotline unfolds. I predict fun, but also hijinks–quite possibly involving Junior putting money into a show that’s an abysmal failure.

    Anywho.

    After a pair of carriage vignettes, we see Bertha in hers, arriving at home. Anne Morris is there to greet her on her front steps, and alerts her to the fact that Mr. Russell took her son. They chat for a minute inside, at Bertha’s insistence. But something happened that confused me. Bertha left Mrs. Morris at her house, while she went off to find her husband…

    No doubt Mrs. Morris was escorted out immediately thereafter. But the moment gave me pause.

    Across the street, Ada and Agnes went at it as usual. At one point after Ada mentioned her plans to get a phone, Agnes quipped, “Who on earth would use a telephone to reach you?”

    This line!!!

    Instantly, it made me think of a couple of things. First, there’s the matter of just how far technology has come. A phone was once something that people had to go out of their way to use–in the early days it wasn’t a popular household item. The first phones weren’t even a normal local item, depending on where you lived. And now, nearly everyone has one in their back pockets.

    I also continue to love and bemoan the barbs that Agnes tosses at Ada. I’ve never worked professionally as an actor. Yet the performer in me imagines it must be fun to fling zingers back and forth with someone. The Gilded Age’s writing is definitely one of its perks.

    At the same time, in real life I’ve been the sweet one that people think they can be blatantly snide to. And that’s a type of behaviour that gets old very, VERY quickly. Hence, admittedly, I enjoy the moments when Ada stands up for herself.

    I almost forgot to point out that from the moment society’s finest gathered at the Met, Mrs. Curtis, editor of the Ladies’ Home Journal, has been shadowing Agnes. Early on in this episode, she consented to be observed and interviewed as a part of her duties for the Heritage Society. After all, President Cleveland is going to be dining in her home.

    While interviewing Mrs.Van Rhijn, Mrs. Curtis asked, “What color should the tablecloth be for such an important dinner?”

    She was poised with pen in hand as Agnes answered, and I felt I was watching a tale as old as time unfold in front of my eyes. “This,” I thought, “is how trends were set back then.” Cut to me replaying Miranda Priestly’s “Cerulean Blue” speech from The Devil Wears Prada.

    Something tells me that Mrs. Curtis’ article is going to be a hit piece. But we shall see.

    I also must say that I appreciate it when this show teaches me about the faux pas of the day. During Agnes’ interview, Oliver brought Mrs. Curtis tea with milk already added to it–something that he didn’t even give her the opportunity to ask for. And the fallout was intriguing, to say the least. (“Not milk in tea!” *gasp*–I scrawled in my notes.)

    Apparently this was a serious offense, as even Ada was alarmed. Truly, when she found out what happened, she asked, “Why?” with an almost horrified expression. Needless to say, her reaction made me do a double take: Between the two Van Rhijn sisters, I think of Ada as the relaxed one who isn’t so strict about society’s traditions–so for her to be stunned over tea, that’s saying something.

    I’m also glad that this show isn’t shying away from important issues such as Black patient mortality. Poor Dr. Kirkland. “A patient of mine just died,” he informed Peggy.

    Remember Mr. Davis, the man that he had accompanied to Bellevue? His wife sent a message informing the doctor of his fate. “You did everything you could,” Peggy tried to comfort her fiance. “Everything I’m allowed to do, you mean. If I had been able to stay…” The good doctor’s reply stung, reminding me again of the history of the injustices that Black patients and medical professionals have had to endure.

    Last week on social media various people speculated about Railroad Daddy’s laudanum consumption, and it’s confirmed in one of this show’s last moments as he takes a swig during a carriage ride. In an undisclosed location, he then confronted Will Morris–the young man who had sought to even the score on his late father’s behalf. Their confrontation was intense. Enraged and armed, George came THISCLOSE to shooting Will, but thankfully remembered himself.  As a resolution to this strenuous plot thread, the young man and his mother scurried away, vowing to leave New York immediately.

    In the aftermath of this gripping exchange, Railroad Daddy came home and roused Bertha from her sleep. I really appreciated one of her last lines. Addressing their fractured marriage, she embraced a fully clothed Daddy as he lay next to her. “I refuse to go on in this half life. It’s intolerable…”

    I pray that they get back together. Meanwhile I wonder what she’ll have to say once she discovers her husband’s new habit.

    What’s next for the rest of this season?

    Railroad Daddy’s laudanum addiction. I wonder what it will cost. I should also look into the Gilded Age’s–the era’s, not merely the show’s–version of rehab, as I wonder what that may have entailed. I fear that George is going to damn near ruin himself–both personally and professionally.

    Marian. She’s taken on a job working as a nurse–among other things–in a mission that serves her city’s less fortunate. Meanwhile, regarding her personal life, I’m concerned. Elsewhere, I called what she’s going through a “reverse Edith”, as in Edith from Downton Abbey. (If you know, you know.) But I don’t think there’s any “reverse” about it. It seems to me that Julian Fellowes has something against letting (high society) young women who take on regular jobs have fulfilling love lives. I distinctly remember seeing him in a special on Downton Abbey where he acknowledged that a fan had to tell him to “let Edith be happy”.

    Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the idea of depicting cultural norms. But if he’s intentionally  bringing misery to Marian, I’m not eager to see what happens to Peggy.

    Speaking of Peggy, I want the best for her. But not if it means that she’s going to continue to be humiliated by her mother in law. Hopefully she and her mother won’t be the only ones who work to keep Mrs. Kirkland reigned in.

    *I need to check because I don’t remember exactly what happened.

  • Reference Check

    Reference Check

    Story time!

    Have a seat and grab your favourite beverage…

    Late last year, someone asked me to be their reference. I wasn’t their employer, but for whatever reason, she felt comfortable enough with asking me to comment on her character. Shortly after accepting this role, though, I changed my mind.

    Since then, I‘ve had some time to reflect, and I wanted to talk about the situation. I learned some important lessons. And maybe you will, too.

    Photo by Christina @wocintechchat.com on Unspalsh

    Paige (not her real name) and I never met in person. In fact, we first connected a couple of years ago online, via LinkedIn. She worked for a freelance client of mine—an organization with a great reputation. Long ago, I sent her a note asking her if she’d like to have a chat. And although she accepted, I never followed up. For some reason, though, last fall, I finally decided to confirm our connection.  And before I knew it, a failed attempt at a Zoom meeting turned into a brief series of phone calls.

    Our first chat went well enough. Although our ancestors were from different islands, we shared common ground via our Caribbean heritage. We also shared war stories. The most significant thing that happened to me last year was the loss of my mother, and I spoke a bit about what that had meant to me. The cruel realities of grief have been a shock to my system. 

    From perspectives on grief, to distasteful employers–as our conversations continued, at first I thought Paige and I were laying the foundation for a decent professional relationship. We spoke mainly about our future plans which included entrepreneurship. Our conversations remained comfortable, and we got along just fine. 

    And with our 2nd or 3rd conversation, came a surprise: Paige offered to mentor me. 

    At first I thought it was an unusual offer to make–she didn’t seem to be at any more of a professional advantage than I was. But I accepted.

    As I said, during our first conversation, we exchanged backstories and she knew the gist of mine. In the wake of my mother’s death, I was trying to prioritize my mental health. I knew that I needed to be serious about my self care. And quite frankly, although she never disclosed them, I assumed that Paige’s motives were noble.

    The rest of our discussions seemed normal: More light entrepreneurial talk, mainly about steps we needed to take, domain names, thoughts on networking events–that sort of thing.

    All this while, I should point out that although our conversations were friendly, Page and I still didn’t truly know each other. Sure, she seemed like a nice person. But I didn’t feel especially close to her, and I wasn’t deeply aware of the scope of her life or achievements.

    It wasn’t until our fourth call that a question came that took me by surprise: Could I be a reference of hers? 

    Paige was applying for a program. They were seeking people of good character, and as an experienced mentor, she needed a reference from someone who knew her as a mentee.

    At first, I almost felt flattered that she asked me to sing her praises. But then immediately I thought, “Wait! Shouldn’t she be asking someone that she actually knows?”

    Yet this reaction was quickly shot down by other ideas: I’m in a new era of my life–growing and changing. 

    I am still, quite literally, rediscovering myself daily.

    Shouldn’t I live a little, loosen up, and be more willing to help others–even those I barely know?

    I took a deep breath. And within a few minutes, cautiously, I said yes to Paige’s request.

    Interestingly enough, if ever there was a second that I felt confident in my decision, reality quickly gave me the check of a lifetime.

    Red flag number one: Although I liked Paige well enough, when I thought of being asked questions about her, or having to make a statement, I drew a blank. 

    I honestly didn’t know what I could say to vouch for Paige, and ended up reaching out to her for some ideas.

    In response, she very kindly sent me a sample reference letter. 

    Before receiving it, I had already made a plan of attack: I would  digest and reword this letter, making its language my own.

    Easy-peasy, right?

    But the second I laid eyes on Paige’s document, my heart nearly stopped, and all of my doubts were confirmed: In agreeing to be her reference, I’d made a horrible mistake.

    A part of me started to shut down as I tried to read her letter. Mentally, I was in a stunned sort of panic, seeking an emergency exit. 

    Page had assured me that once I sent her recommendation, the organization I was writing to wouldn’t contact me. Yet her claims didn’t ease my mind. 

    What if she was wrong? Worse yet–because I didn’t truly know her–what if she was lying? 

    Or–wonder of wonders–what if the organization was known for not contacting references–yet for some reason, they spontaneously decided that I would be the exception to their rule?

    As I kept attempting to look over her sweeping text, the reality of the situation forced itself into my chest and behind my eyeballs. I had agreed to submit a statement attesting to someone’s character and achievements—with my name attached.

     And that someone was someone that I barely knew.

    That didn’t sit right with me.

    It was true that I was growing and wanted to expand my horizons. Yet the old me–the AUTHENTIC version of me–still had certain standards. And the fact was that if a message about someone else comes from me, I know that I need to be able to communicate confidently, without feeling like I was memorizing lines from a play that was still being written.

    I should also point out that by that time, Paige and I still had not met in person. And four telephone conversations is not enough to guarantee that you genuinely know or are comfortable with someone. 

    The day after reviewing Paige’s version of what I should say about her, I reached out and rescinded my response: I could not be her reference.

    And  this is when reality set in.

    Naively, I had thought that Paige wouldn’t mind my change of heart. After I expressed my concerns about not being the best person for the job, she had actually used the words “no worries” along with the tried and true, “just let me know what you decide”. 

    I thought she was being sincere, and had just wanted the facts.

    And so, I told her what I’d decided. 

    I’d even imagined that immediately after I told Paige, she and I would remain on good terms. 

    After all, according to her, the program she was applying to had open deadlines. She had asked me to be her reference on a Tuesday. That Wednesday, I reviewed her sample reference letter, and in spite of myself, the truth of what I’d signed up for haunted me. And by Thursday, I let her know that I’d changed my mind.

    I didn’t anticipate any major problems. As always, our correspondence had remained polite.  And as I said, although Paige had wanted me to respond to her personal timeline, she had told me that her program had a flexible deadline. Any worries I’d had about changing my mind were tempered by the idea that she could ask someone else for an endorsement–something that she had mentioned on her own.

    More importantly, she would still be able to apply for her program without facing a penalty.

    In short, after this mishap, I thought that things between us would go back to normal. 

    That is of course, until I reached out at the usual day and time for our phone call. Instead of hearing Paige’s voice after 2 or 3 rings, she never picked up the phone. I even sent a message, but there was no follow-up.

    Naively, I’d figured I’d at least receive a simple,  “Hey, Claire. As I said, it’s okay. Don’t worry about being my reference. I’ll find someone else…”

    But no such luck.

    By then, it was time for reality to set in. I’d changed my mind about being Paige’s reference. And as far as I could tell, she no longer wanted anything to do with me.

    Lessons? Learned.

    So. As I said at the start of this post, I’d learned some lessons. But what were they…?

    Let me begin by speaking to anyone who may get asked to be someone’s reference. Should you say yes? 

    I don’t know your life, or who you do and don’t know. And of course, I can’t speak on how well you know someone. But here are a few points for your consideration.

    If someone asks you to be their reference, and your first reaction in your head  is to say, “Why are they asking me?”

    That’s a sign.

    Next: If you know you’re going to be asked about someone, and you can’t spontaneously think of what you’d say about them other than, “They seem nice and sound okay on the phone…” 

    That’s a sign.

    And if your forte is writing, and you have no idea of what you could possibly say to endorse someone…. Or in other words, you have to be TOLD what to say about them?

    In my opinion, you  do not know them well enough to be their reference.

    Look…

    I don’t want to tell you how to run your relationships.

    Maybe you like taking risks. Perhaps living dangerously turns you on…

    Before I told Paige I changed my mind–even though I knew it was the right thing for me to do–I had my doubts. So I consulted a friend. What was wrong with me? I wondered. After all, people vouch for people that they barely know all the time!

    “Yes, Claire. But you’re not them.”

    And I have no idea of if I ever will be. But thus far, that day hasn’t come.

    In this world, plenty of people function superficially. They’re satisfied with transactional back-scratching, at the expense of their own values. 

    But I have no interest in being one of them. And I seriously doubt that’s something that’s going to change.

    In all things, it’s best to move with integrity. And remember your boundaries.

    Turning the Tables

    On the flip side of these circumstances,  if you’re the one who is asking someone for a reference, please think carefully. I know that people can find themselves in a rough patch when the time comes to gather different branches of their personal network. 

    Yet regardless of how desperate you may be to find someone, ask yourself: If the person that you have in mind for a reference can’t write or speak extemporaneously about you, why, exactly, do you want them to be your reference? Don’t you think you deserve a word from someone who is more than a warm body parroting nice words about you? 

    That is, unless your intention is to just use them.

    Nevertheless. When someone writes or speaks about you, don’t you think that they should actually mean what they say?

    Because I do.

    And if you’re the sort of person who–as you’re just getting to know someone–would ask them to take on a role specifically because you know that eventually you plan to ask that person for a favour–such as to be your reference–I have only one question:

    Why?

    Doing that is dishonest, to say the least.

    I can understand people who volunteer to mentor someone, and then, down the road, they discover organically that they need the person they’ve helped to put in a word for them. 

    But right now I’m looking back at the time I spent in touch with Paige–from the tone of voice she used when she offered to be my mentor, to the timing of her request. And it’s very, VERY hard for me not to question her intentions.

    Ultimately, in the rubble of this swift but enlightening experience, I realized that Karma had finally come for me: Many years ago, I had asked someone if I could use them as a reference. I don’t remember if the person hesitated or not. But I definitely remember their final answer. They said that they couldn’t do what I’d asked because they didn’t know me well enough.

    And at first I was hurt. I thought they were purposely being unkind—dismissive and unhelpful.

    After all, we got along, etc.

    Back then, though, I didn’t think about how important it is for your reference to feel comfortable with being able to attest to your strengths. Regardless of what you may think of your rapport with someone, when you’re asking them to be a reference, it’s their opinion of you–as well as their comfort with sharing it–that matters. 

    Thankfully, now, I see the error of my old ways of thinking. And as for saying yes to something when my instincts say otherwise?

    I think my era of people pleasing is finally over. 

    If you ask someone to be a reference and they say no, take it from me. It’’s for your own good. 

    And theirs as well.

  • Superman and The Manosphere’s Superhero Complex

    Superman and The Manosphere’s Superhero Complex

    Photo by Esteban López on Unsplash

    For ages, offline, I’ve been writing and wanting to share some of my thoughts on what’s been bothering me about the manosphere. The latest version of my work contains a few segments, and this post is inspired by one of them.

    I’ve noticed a curious trend in the critiques of James Gunn’s latest film, and rather than offering a long preamble, I think I’ll cut to the chase.

    Looking into why people don’t like Gunn’s version of Superman brings up articles like this one. (And in my list of search results, I couldn’t help but notice a piece entitled, “They’re Literally Angry at Superman for Being Nice”–something that I might read, even though I’m pretty sure the writer and I are on the same page.)

    Superman–as depicted in James Gunn’s latest film via David Corenswet–troubles many Big C Conservatives and their acolytes because he violates a core tenet of the manosphere. 

    Specifically, this:

    Physically fit, good looking men are NOT supposed to demonstrably (earnestly) care about, or be sensitive towards others. (Here, of course, “others” refers to those members of humanity who are vulnerable or likely to need their help–or, hell–are just people who may be different from them, and therefore have experienced life differently.) These men don’t need to practice kindness of any kind in order to get what they want out of life.

    And if a man is white, that rule goes double for him, and six times on Saturdays.

    But Claire–you say–what are you talking about? When has one of the Manosphere’s Leaders–herein, otherwise known as Podcast Bros–dared to utter such a thing out loud?

    Well, it may not have been explicitly said. But time and again, such a guideline has been HEAVILY implied and encouraged.

    Within the manosphere, individuals and causes that require sensitivity, depth, and nuance are mocked. You could be talking about the environment, race or racism, equality…

    (And by the way–the way some of the leaders of the Dudebro Dynasty used false rhetoric over time to slander the concept of DEI needs to be studied…) 

    Time and again, ANY call for men to help, or understand and accept various members of humanity is depicted as laughable and somehow beneath what “REAL” men ought to be interested in.

    Men who demonstrate any sort of sensitivity to others–such as women–are called names like “cuck” and at least one other term that escapes me as I type.

    Meanwhile, those who tell the truth about what the rest of humanity would appreciate in men are vilified and treated as The Enemy. 

    Womanese

    I remember a few weeks ago, I saw a video wherein a man noted certain qualities that he expected from a woman in a relationship. In return, the woman shared her hopes concerning a partner.

    And what did the man say in response? He declared that she was speaking “womanese”–as in some sort of foreign, woman-specific language.

    In return, I thought, “Pardon me, sir. But don’t you want to end up with a woman? Shouldn’t you care about how we think or what we genuinely desire?”

    Within the manosphere, Dear Reader, I MUST ask: Where is this desperate need to make normal things sound repugnant coming from???

    Never mind. I’m getting away from myself. 

    One thing that I want to point out is that intentionally casting everyone that isn’t A Certain Type of Man or Person as The Enemy isn’t getting these men where they think it is.

    And indeed, as I was saying–my main grievance at this time stems from the fact that within the manosphere, the most basic of human traits connected to kindness–an INTRINSIC and VERY popular human value–are lied about and portrayed as antithetical to what men should aspire to. 

    If you don’t believe me, let’s consider how the manosphere regards the “s” word, aka something that’s–judging from their reactions–one of the most wretched of all things in this world:

    Safety.

    Everything is… AWFUL?

    Let’s kick off this part of my discussion with a little comedy, shall we?

    Take a minute and watch this.

    I remember the first time I saw “The Official Woke List”. I thought that whoever came up with it deserved All of The Awards.

    Seriously.

    All great comedy contains grains of truth. And watching the podcast host receive Colin’s litany of “woke” offenders reminded me of some of the top Manosphere Leaders’ content. Over time I’ve noticed they’ve been heavily invested in warning their audiences about society’s supposed dangers. 

    And did you notice what “Colin from Portsmouth” shouted at 0:47?

    You can run it back if you want… 

    Among all of the things that he listed as “woke” and detrimental to civilized society, he barked

    “PLACES WHERE PEOPLE FEEL SAFE!!!”

    Now, I’ve seen the way Podcast Bros discuss safety, and in particular, people’s desire for safe spaces. Watching them, you might believe that safety and safe spaces are something needed by people who are mewling, immature, or inferior. Meanwhile, within society, who tends to speak openly of needing a safe space?

    Nearly anyone who isn’t a straight white male.

    And in saying that, I can’t help but think about what I believe people are after when they (we) say they want a safe space–or just to feel safe. 

    Which makes me ask the following:

    If you’re a man who’s reading this, whether alone or around others, don’t you appreciate being in places where you are

    • Genuinely listened to–especially during your most vulnerable moments
    • Taken seriously
    • Respected
    • Comfortable, not made to worry or needlessly feel stressed
    • Not at risk of being baselessly ridiculed or criticized
    • Not at risk of being attacked–physically, verbally, or otherwise

    I could go on. But don’t you (men) want to be able to experience this sort of social decency–for lack of a better term? 

    Why, then, depict safety as some sort of monstrous enemy?

    I don’t mean to lump all men into the same massive stereotype. But for the most part, I could argue that a large percentage of them don’t have to worry about being disrespected or feeling unsafe to the degree that other people do. 

    Perhaps that’s why certain Podcast Bros have so successfully portrayed the concept of purposely seeking safety as ridiculous. Because so many of their audience members can’t fathom something that, as adults, they haven’t necessarily needed. Or at least had to consider to the extent that others do.

    Nevertheless, I’ve been alarmed by the lack of maturity the manosphere has displayed regarding this subject. Just because you don’t need something, that doesn’t mean it isn’t important to someone else. Especially when that someone is more vulnerable than you are.

    And yet…

    By now, if you’re a heterosexual man and you’re reading this, and you still don’t understand why other people value safety, I’m going to offer you the following illustration. Take a moment, and ask yourself: What’s your relationship like with women?

    I’m not even talking about long term relationships, or how frequently you date. Just think.

    Do women find you attractive? Do they simply enjoy being around you? Do you appreciate their attention?

    If you answered those last few questions with a “yes”, then know this: If women didn’t FEEL SAFE around you, then they (we) wouldn’t want you within a thousand miles of them. Period.

    Understand: Contrary to what the Podcast Bros have been spewing, the word “safe” and its derivatives aren’t some funny, loopy buzzwords. And safety is not just a human right. It is a human value. Something that most human beings genuinely appreciate, on a molecular level.

    Anecdotally speaking, I’ll tell you–a few days ago, I saw a social media post where someone asked women–apart from material factors such as money, what did they really want in a man? 

    “Safety” and its cousins–words relating to kindness and sensitivity came up time and again. 

    Meanwhile, for some reason, Podcast Bros seem dedicated to encouraging men to be the antithesis of what is needed for them to succeed in their interpersonal relationships–romantic and otherwise. 

    Isn’t it Ironic?

    Don’t you think?

    While working on edits for another story, it hit me: The Men of the Manosphere provide their mostly (white) male fans with THE ULTIMATE Safe Space. 

    Really. Think about it.

    Their takes on humanity’s pressing issues fall on the ears of a large, attentive audience. Their views are supported and thus far haven’t been questioned in a way that inspires them to change course.

    All the while, the information that the Podcast Bros share encourages men to remain culturally impotent. Through their programming, the public sees the hosts modeling behaviour and using language that encourages their audience to believe that it’s fun and badass to be ignorant of others’ basic needs.

    And yet, in spite of their eagerness to support popular lies about their chosen topic(s), they have the gall to regard others with dismay and disdain.

    Why?

    Because, apparently, the mainstream doesn’t appreciate their “special” knowledge and how they conduct themselves.

    But is that really what’s wrong?

    Or, could it be that various individuals like me tend to avoid Podcast Bros and their True Believers because they’re committed to upholding ignorance?

    In all seriousness, their loyalty to these men’s ideologies is downright frightening. In the end, I wonder what dividends these men’s blind fealty to the Dudebro Dynamos is yielding in their relationships, apart from frustration.

    And on a personal level, is it any wonder that certain men end up like Colin from Portsmouth? He sounded so angry, and his portrayal would have been truly comedic if I wasn’t willing to bet everything that it was grounded in reality.

    When you’re invested in thinking the worst of others for absolutely no good reason, just how good can you expect your mental health to be?

    My Point? And Perhaps Superman’s

    Human beings are powerful. Men, in particular, are powerful. This is absolutely NOT a bad thing in and of itself.

    Yet so many men are wasting their abilities and energy, and tying themselves into knots by engaging in counter-productive habits such as insisting that the most normal and benign of human traits are their enemy. They end up judging their fellow human beings accordingly, and needlessly damaging their connections with others. 

    Yet in reality, it’s their attachment to weaponized ignorance that is hurting not only humanity on a broad scale, but them as well.

    The manosphere’s leaders seem to think it’s a shame that men aren’t loved or appreciated the way they used to be. (Not since the proverbial good old days, anyways.) And yet all the while, they leave out the fact that genuine love and appreciation are a result of reciprocal interaction.

    From what I’ve observed, the manosphere teaches men from a selfish space–that they deserve God knows what (*gestures broadly*) merely for existing. Meanwhile in reality, it’s vital to remember a timeless truth: At the end of the day, people are loved for how they treat others.

    And contrary to what contemporary society likes to trick too many of us into believing, attention is NOT love.

    Or, put into superhero terms: Superman isn’t a sensation simply because he’s good looking and has powers. He is genuinely loved because he actually cares about and uses his powers to help others.

    Meanwhile, the manosphere has their followers sulking over a lack of superhero treatment, while encouraging them to offer their fellow humans less than the bare minimum. 

    I’m longing for the revolution: The days when the manosphere movement’s leaders and followers awaken and realize that ALL human beings deserve better–including them.

  • Here’s the thing about fact checking.

    These are some thoughts I had before the 20th. And I haven’t changed my mind.

    A lot of people these days want to reserve their right to believe whatever information they like, whether it’s actually correct or not. They long to hold onto their ideas, even if believing them will result in others being harmed. 

    They may say that they don’t mean for these outcomes to occur. Yet they remain shortsighted.

    Sadly, the lies people tell publicly these days only tend to negatively affect a certain segment of the population.

    And if you are a woman, or Black, or like me, both–or some other flavour of “other”–when you dare to comment on the pending doom brought about by popular, publicized lies, what happens?

    Certain types of media intentionally interpret our words of warning as whining. Laughable. Meaningless drivel–having the potential to kill everything from people’s joy, to their bank accounts. And the faithful among their audiences believe them, and in turn grow addicted to not taking us seriously.

    To far too many, feeling good about themselves at all times matters more than recognizing the truth about society.

    Meanwhile, at the root of it all, all we’ve really been asking for is help. Or just the basics—like respect.

    As they say, genuine kindness costs nothing.

    To me, right now, our collective future looks bleak.

    Not entirely. But I don’t want to wait until An Evil Unknown takes place in society–something fomented via social media and the internet–before those who enjoy keeping their heads in the sand have an epiphany.

    One could easily say that such incidents have happened already. But have people been willing to think about them in ways that will bring about sincere, sustainable and positive change? Because that is what we truly need.


    Photo via Joice Kelly on Unsplash.


  • Your 40s: Reality, Perceptions, and Plastic Surgery

    Do you know what I absolutely love? And by “love” I mean HATE…?

    The way the public discusses aging. In particular, I’ve noticed certain stereotyping related to women who are over 40.

    On social media I keep seeing plastic surgeons who claim to know which celebrity has had what done to their face. These people seem to love nothing more than showing folks photos of famous 40-something women and screeching about how much work they’ve supposedly had done.

    Before I continue, I should offer a disclaimer: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having wrinkles. As for me personally, there’s a high chance that I’ll develop laugh lines. And I’m currently keeping an eye on the area under my eyes just because…

    That said, concerning alarmist plastic surgeons, I can’t help but wonder: Do they know any women in their 40s? I mean, in real life?

    During a woman’s fourth decade of living, concerning our appearance, anything is possible. Some of us may indeed have deep wrinkles. But there are others among us who don’t. And speaking from experience, having smooth skin at this age doesn’t necessarily require Botox and access to Hollywood’s most popular procedures.

    So why do some doctors insist on depicting us this way?

    On one hand they may genuinely believe that women in their 40s can’t be wrinkle-free without going under the knife. On the other, I think they’re trying to give older women a complex. Mind you for some, I imagine it’s some sort of strange marketing tactic. Nevertheless–either way, I’m tired of their rhetoric.

    Photo by Sam Moghadam Khamseh

  • The Idea of the Alpha Male Idol is No More*

    The Idea of the Alpha Male Idol is No More*

    At least for me. Like my childhood belief in Santa Claus, the man and the myth are truly, merely, a legend. For all I know there may be real-world examples that fit the bill. But the hope of finding his example among public figures is no longer realistic.

    But has it ever been? I tend to frown on the idea of worshipping humans. But recent events have made me realize that depending on how certain people show up in the world, I have held onto certain expectations.

    And I know that depending on who you consult, the term “alpha male” can have a negative meaning. For instance, one definition I discovered mentioned words like “domineering”, which led to a definition of that term, involving the word “arrogant”.

    But let’s connect for a moment to its positive connotations: There is the notion of the “alpha male” as a larger-than-life man who people look to in order to fulfill a leadership role within society. Some might consider him a hero-like figure who cares about humanity. Who has backbone enough to stand by his convictions. Who believes in defending and protecting the vulnerable.

    He also knows certain truths. Like the fact that POC and others deciding not to be friends with bigots is a matter of personal dignity, and not us trying to be “divisive”.

    Now, in response to what I’ve suggested, some may try to argue that I’m selfish, and only value these sorts of men for what they can do. “You only want something…”

    Well, excuse me. First of all, that’s not true. Secondly, don’t these men want something, too? I thought one of their objectives was to be respected and admired. (I had the impression that some of their favourite media figures claim that these qualities were lacking in their relationships.)

    But what else could they possibly desire?

    What about the idea of good people feeling at ease around them?  (Never mind those who are evil, or unkind! They can cower, if they choose.) Additionally, of course, there’s the idea of people believing in alphas and thinking of them as—as mentioned before—triumphant leaders in our culture.

    Here I must pause and note that there are those who will disagree with me. They may see the danger in making assumptions about people based on their gender and want to argue that the road to respect and admiration is a two-way street. And I couldn’t agree more!

    If so, then surely, they understand that for most people, respect and admiration are built on a foundation of trust.

    Unfortunately, I feel like that is a concept that certain folks have forgotten over the years. Trust is something that is normally earned. It shouldn’t be assumed, nor is it something that one is entitled to simply because they are born in a particular package. Yet that seems to be what certain folks have been taught and have come to take for granted.

    Meanwhile, it is hard to trust someone who is invested in ridiculing people for things like simply being honest about the harm done by prejudice and injustice.

    Returning to the idea of alpha males being the stuff of legends, in a certain sense, I hope that somewhere on Mount Olympus, the Great Heroes are seeing how their progeny have come to think of others, and are reviewing their Code of Conduct.

    *This article contains hyperbole. There are definitely “great” great men out there. But there are negative examples as well. And lately, the words of one in particular have left me disappointed.

    The picture in this post is an edited version of a photo by Marcin Lukasik.

  • Cowboy Carter: More of where my mind has been.

    Cowboy Carter: More of where my mind has been.

    A final post before The Big Release.

    As an antidote to the negativity in my last post, read this article from Vulture.

    And here’s another look at the performance that inspired the gift that we’re about to receive.

    I read that Vulture piece the other night, and it lifted my mood. Although Beyonce’s performance was met with negative—and in certain instances, blatantly racist—energy, the days leading up to it weren’t all filled with sour grapes.

    For one thing, Beyonce was at the CMAs because someone in charge genuinely wanted her to be there. And I quote:

    Robert Deaton, executive producer, CMA Awards: I was in L.A. when Lemonade dropped. When someone like Beyoncé puts out an album, you listen to all of it. “Daddy Lessons” came on, and I was like, “Man, this is so Texas country. This would be great for the CMAs.”

    That afternoon, I saw an article going through each cut, and when it got to “Daddy Lessons,” it said, “This is Beyoncé’s CMAs performance.” I’m like, Okay, someone else is thinking that! Normally, I make asks to be on the show after the nominations come out. But this was different. This was Beyoncé. I didn’t know anybody in her camp, but I did get the emails for the publicist and manager. I sent a note to Beyoncé’s team that day, going, “I don’t know what your plans are, but the CMA Awards are in November. This would be a great performance for everybody.”

    via Vulture

    The rest was, truly, history. (Go read the whole article if you can. It’s pretty damn good.)

    As an aside, I can’t help but laugh as I contrast Deaton’s reaction to “Daddy Lessons” with those of others who question(ed) whether or not it’s a country song. Anyone with ears knows what genre that track is.  

    Meanwhile, within the stunning performance, there’s one heartwarming detail that I keep recalling—Beyoncé blew kisses into the crowd. I may feel a bit sad and protective of Bey concerning what might have transpired. Yet I keep trying to console myself with the notion that she had a few friends in the audience.

    Other thoughts…

    Can we kill the crabs in the bucket?

    Reyna Roberts. Tanner Adell.

    Those are two of the amazing Black country artists that the Instagram algorithm threw my way after Beyoncé released her country singles. I was already aware of people in the mainstream, like Mickey Guyton. And I know that there are more.

    Yet while I was thrilled to discover Reyna and Tanner, I’ve been alarmed by some of their so-called-fans’ attitudes. Beneath their Instagram posts, as expected, there have been racists. But in addition to them, I couldn’t help but notice comments made by certain (Black) fans. The words that irritated me the most fell into two camps, which I’ll paraphrase.

    Number One: “Beyoncé needs to stay in her lane*. Look at how she’s taking away from REAL Black country artists!!”

    Concerning “stay in her lane” I’ve actually seen someone use that language. And I think it’s shameful. For one thing, no single artist is obligated to only perform one genre of music.

    And ANOTHER thing: Look at the doors Beyoncé is kicking down with this new release! As I write this post, I have yet to hear Renaissance Act 2. Yet let’s not forget that “Texas Hold ‘Em” hit number one on the country charts.

    I know that she’s not the first Black woman to do so. Lord willing, she won’t be the last.  

    The second type of sentiment that I’ve seen and want to address? “The only reason you say you like Beyoncé is because you have to, as a part of the music industry. Blink 3 times if you need help!!” Shoutout to Reyna Roberts. In defense against one of those comments, she said that one of the reasons she sings is because of Beyoncé.

    Talk about giving props to your inspiration!

    And while I’m at it, shoutout to Tanner Adell. I wonder how many people complaining in her mentions know that she’s featured on Cowboy Carter?

    Furthermore, this idea of musicians secretly being manipulated into liking Beyoncé is utterly ridiculous to me.

    Beyonce’s success in the country music genre does not mean that other Black artists are doomed to fail. If nothing else, I think she’s making their stars shine brighter.

    As she said

    Touching everything in my plain view
    And everything next to me gets lit up, too.

    “I’m That Girl” – Beyoncé

    I don’t know about you. But I’m leaning into this long weekend. I’ll be thinking of Jesus and bouncing along to Cowboy Carter.

    Happy Easter to you all!

    Photo by Israel Palacio.

  • Countdown to Cowboy Carter: Contemplating An Old Controversy

    Countdown to Cowboy Carter: Contemplating An Old Controversy

    As previously discussed, when I first heard Beyoncé’s new singles, I couldn’t help but reflect on her “Daddy Lessons” performance with the Chicks at the CMAs. But I didn’t only remember her performance. I also clearly recalled some of the negative buzz surrounding it.

    Among other things, I remember that A Certain Country Star was so disgruntled, that they shared their thoughts on Beyoncé’s presence on Twitter. In response, people were very quick to call what they thought was a spade a spade, and took note of this individual’s perceived racism. (I’m not sharing the person’s name directly in this post because I’m focusing on their attitude over them as an individual. That, and I realize that more than one person had an issue with Beyonce’s performance.)

    Years later, after seeing this person’s obvious displeasure, I wondered, “Did they feel the same way when Justin Timberlake took the CMA stage with Chris Stapleton?”

    Well, apparently, they did.

    Not too long ago, I looked up a story about Country Star’s reaction. Their statements, as featured in this article, mentioned Timberlake and other artists. (And if you have time, reading the whole piece will give you a clearer picture of their thoughts.)

     Among other things, they said,

    “…for every pop performance or R&B performance or any other type of genre performance that you have on the CMA Awards, that takes time away from somebody who is a country music artist, doing country music songs, releasing country music singles to radio, selling country music under that moniker to people all across the country and across the world. That’s taking time away from them. There are other artists that could have been just as much of a draw and that really should have been involved in that slot to celebrate the music that they have helped to create.”

    The other day I started to unpack this statement. But I’ve decided to spare you from reading my detailed ideas. For now, I’ll just say that I think that in addition to racism, there are other prejudices that the country music industry needs to divest itself of.  

    From “Daddy Lessons” to Today

    And yet, looking back at Beyonce’s “Daddy Lessons” era, I couldn’t help but remember certain other odd and unfortunate things. For instance, I’d heard that someone in country music media had claimed that “Daddy Lessons” couldn’t be a country song because people from Music Row—aka Nashville’s songwriting community—didn’t have a hand in creating it.

    More recently, I was watching the opening of the second episode of Friends in Low Places. While discussing the element of surprise in performance, legendary artist Garth Brooks says, “When we started our careers, I didn’t understand why all of a sudden country music couldn’t do the things that the other genres could.”

    Moments later, one of Brooks’ staff notes that people had critiqued his performance style. Apparently, whether in an arena or a more intimate setting, Brooks dared to make everyone feel welcome. The industry response? “That’s not how we do it”.

    I could get into other artists, and things I’ve heard and wondered about. But ultimately, I have the feeling that the Country Music Industry is incredibly staid and stuck in its ways. And if white country artists experience opposition over the trivial things, I can only imagine what Black and other diverse artists go through.

    Needless to say, Beyoncé’s newfound presence in the genre has made me hopeful. I look forward to her continuing to disrupt it for the greater good.

    Photo by Chad Morehead.

  • Poetry in Progress: Where to share?

    So I’ve taken to writing poetry. Or, rather, my spirit has taken to sharing pieces that I’ve randomly written over the years.

    I’ve only just begun to bring my private work to the public. And I’d love to do it more often.

    That’s why, for various reasons, I’ve been looking at what it takes for my work to be featured in a literary journal.

    Most of the reputable ones that I’ve reviewed want you to submit work that hasn’t been previously published. Meaning, your poetry cannot have appeared in another literary journal. But I’ve also noticed journals going on to explain that your work cannot have appeared online in places such as your personal website, or social media. 

    In this era of Instapoetry, that’s bound to cramp someone’s style. 

    And for a little while, I’ve felt conflicted. I know what the establishment’s rules are. But deep down, I don’t want to be punished if one day I decide to spontaneously share my material.   

    Finding poetic freedom

    Last week I was relieved to find Button Poetry. They seem to be a legitimate organization. They also seem to understand that art can’t always be contained in an overly-formal box. For example, if you share your work online, that won’t lead them to dismiss your work.

    Meanwhile, much of my poetry is still under development. I’m dusting off old pieces and surprising myself with new ones. I don’t yet know what will become of this new era of my writing, but whether I share it on a stage, or an online page, I know one thing for sure: My artistic freedom must supersede everything.

    Photo by Ksenia Makaganova, featuring a quote by Mary Oliver.

  • Watch It: American Fiction

    Watch It: American Fiction

    Note: This post contains minor spoilers.

    On Sunday night while American Fiction was winning the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay, I was watching it on my computer. The movie’s on Amazon Prime, and when I selected it, it was purely a coincidence. While I didn’t feel like watching the Oscars, I kept seeing Issa Rae, Sterling K. Brown, and more of its stars in my Instagram feed. I only realized why they were hitting the red carpet after I pressed play.

    As for the movie itself, you may or may not have already seen the trailer.

    The Plot

    American Fiction tells the story of Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, a professor and author from Boston. He’s hit a bit of a rut in his career—a lull, if you will. He hasn’t sold a book in ages. That is until one day he witnesses the success of a novel by a fellow Black writer.

    It’s impossible for Monk not to notice the seemingly stereotypical portrayal of Black people and their circumstances in his peer’s work—along with its staggering success. Eventually, Monk recognizes that he needs to swallow his pride if he wants to pay the bills. He decides to throw his hat into the Popular Black Fiction ring by writing a book of his own—My Pathology My Pafology. In order to preserve his professional reputation, Monk releases this new volume under the name Stagg R. Leigh.

    My Many Thoughts

    We live in an era where the desire for authentic representation of Black people and other diverse voices is abundant. And across a host of industries, publishers and producers have been eager to answer audiences’ requests. Meanwhile, I’ve been noticing the quality of representation that’s available. I can’t help but love the playful and serious ways that American Fiction asks viewers to consider how Black people are portrayed in media.

    One thing I enjoyed about this movie is that it’s not solely a hard-hitting satire. I genuinely enjoyed the scenes featuring Monk and his family. Their interactions added a warmth to the story that might have been absent if it had remained focused on his professional pursuits.

    As for the script itself, what is it that people say these days? “Ten out of ten, no notes”? When you watch American Fiction, you’ll see very easily why it won an award for writing. The dialogue never disappoints. It was clear to me that writer-director Cord Jefferson heard that classic instruction to “make every word count” and actually listened. Throughout Fiction his work is consistently sharp, poignant, and never boring. Even before I knew the reason for its Oscar win, I kept asking myself, “Who wrote this movie?” And I scream-laughed several times.

    My only nitpick? My inner critic wanted to offer a minor rebuttal against a character’s comment on the word “potential”. I won’t get into detail about how it’s discussed. But I will say that I’m reluctant to cast this word in a negative light. Prior to the way it’s highlighted in this film, I mainly thought that people used “potential” when speaking about something or someone that possesses undiscovered excellence.

    Incoming spoiler: As seen in American Fiction‘s trailer, although Jeffrey Wright’s Monk writes My Pafology as a joke, it’s embraced in literary circles and is quickly published. Meanwhile, along with a small group of other writers, Monk is asked to judge a set of books for a literary award.

    And guess which book becomes the top candidate for said award?

    Among the judges, Monk and the sole other Black author aren’t comfortable with Stagg R. Leigh’s book. Yet after they state why Leigh’s work is unacceptable, a well-meaning white female character pipes up and says, “I just think it’s essential to listen to Black voices right now.” In response, I laughed, sighed, and said to myself, “Oh my God. Nooooo!”

    How many times have I heard or read that sentence—or something like it—over the past few years? And why does it drive me crazy?

    It calls to mind a trap that too many people fall into: The belief that in the pursuit of diversity, all art ought to be publicized and praised—even when the vision behind it seems skewed.

    Which begs questions like: Who controls the sharing of stories about Black people? When approving Black-focused art, what are gatekeepers’ expectations? What kind of preconceived ideas do they have about what Black people are actually like? What, if any, trends are there in what gets approved? And what can be done to ensure that a variety of voices are able to speak?

    In a post- Black Panther and Woman King world, I know that some people might think stereotyping is a problem from the past. But consider Cord Jefferson’s answer to the first question in this interview.

    There are people currently producing movies who have limited ideas about what Black people are like. And not only do these people produce movies, there are likely also people who think this way who are studio heads—able to determine which projects go into production in the first place.

    Not to mention the number of people who let the art that they consume determine their expectations. Regardless of whether you depict people as rich or poor–high or low class–unbalanced portrayals of people from diverse backgrounds often influence viewers’ real-life perceptions and behaviour.

    But I digress.

    American Fiction is an unapologetically critical look at media makers’ insistence on embracing limited ideas in spite of the varied realities of Black lives. I’m glad that this film was made. As Cord Jefferson’s directorial debut, it was brilliant, and I look forward to seeing what he does next!

    Stock Photo by Thibault Penin