#TheeSoulTrainSeries: when i think of black girl luxury….

‘black girl luxury’… what does that mean to me?

I was inspired to write this after listening to Earth, Wind, & Fire’s ‘Boogie Wonderland.’ The funny thing is— when people listen to this song they think it’s so bubbly and bright. But when you listen to the beginning of this track, it actually starts out really dark— describing the perspective of someone who is craving a break away from reality. Someone who is tired, exhausted, and beaten down from the harsh demands of life. Eventually, this person goes to a disco club and finds themselves in an elevated mood and alternate universe, due to the dreamy soundscape of a Disco club. Essentially, this person is in a Boogie Wonderland— a temporary fix for the funk they are in— submerging themselves in the club scene, and embracing their imagination before they return back to the familiar. The song really take you on the excursion from one’s monotonous life to the iridescent gates of Boogie Wonderland.

“I find romance when I start to dance in Boogie Wonderland…”

From my perspective, it sounds like the backing vocals are supposed to be symbolic of this person’s subconscious or inner monologue. This person creates the beauty in their chaotic life through ‘Boogie Wonderland’— which for them, is a nightclub. It’s dancing. It’s Disco. These things put them in an imaginative, bubbly, kaleidoscopic-like state. They find romance in their lives through dancing amongst others and digesting good music, without a partner even involved. Just community, art, and great vibes.

This resonated with me. Going through a quarter life crisis is no fun, but I’ve been finding solace in creating Pinterest boards, writing, painting, tapping into my imagination, creating community, and dedicating time to experiencing nature. Those things are my Boogie Wonderland— forcing into a psychedelic like trance. I’m beginning to create beauty and romance in my life.

Here is my idea and depiction of ‘Black Girl Luxury.’

***

When I think of Black girl luxury, I dream of privilege.

I dream of a world where assimilation is never a survival tactic.

I dream of days where I don’t have to end the work day with “…and scene.”

I dream of not feeling like I’m on stand at a slave auction, having the world stare at my Black, curvy frame.

Picking my body apart. White fingers grabbing my hair without consent as I crack a smile, so as to not be viewed as an animal.

“Is it all yours?” “Is it fake?” “How long did it take?”

As if I’m a zoo spectacle and not a human.

When I think of Black Girl luxury, I dream about fucking up.

Learning shit the hard way.

Being hardheaded.

Going out sad.

Being a fool in love.

Making mistakes just like the other girls, without condemnation and judgment.

I dream of publicly basking in all my glory.

Publicly professing my deep love for myself.

Publicly admiring my drive and my process

… without the ‘bitch’ labels.

Without the public opprobrium for publicly announcing my love for my brain.

When I think of Black girl luxury, I dream of a humanizing existence.

How beautiful it would be to be extended grace and compassion.

Grace and compassion.

Understanding.

Empathy.

When I think of Black girl luxury, I dream of shit that is bigger than me.

I dream of collective freedom for my community.

I dream of having the resources and funds to help my people.

I dream of multiple art centers and free mental health facilities in the hood.

I dream of arts funding in public schools.

I dream of little Black kids being able to find themselves through reverie and creativity.

When I think of Black Girl luxury, I dream of the effects of those things:

community love.

impactful conversations.

little Black boys using paint and dance and music and poetry in replacement of

Violence.

Hypermasculinity.

Guns.

Misogynoir.

When I think of Black girl luxury, I dream of financial freedom.

I dream of buying every art supply known to mankind.

I dream of pole, yoga, and Pilates classes.

I dream of learning without the stress of Uncle Sam occupying a room in my head.

Rubbing his hands and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, serving as a distraction to my learning.

I dream of learning material that is decolonized.

But wait.

I have whimsical visions as well.

Visions that act as an escape to this capitalist, fucked up reality.

They keep me afloat.

These starry-eyed ideas and fantasies? They act as my life jacket.

When I think of Black Girl luxury, I dream of purchasing my entire book list.

I dream of purchasing Black art in bulk.

I dream of purchasing real, gold jewelry in bulk.

I dream of living in a state-of-the-art condo with bright colors, spunky decor, eccentric furniture, and Afrofuturistic art everywhere.

I dream of a sacred space where a man is not the first waking visual of my day.

I dream of waking up surrounded by color.

I dream of interior design inspired by the likings of me.

I dream of living separately from a partner.

Is that too wild?

Too untraditional?

Too masculine?

Does it make me less of a woman?

I’ve been told that makes me detached.

Undesirable.

A walking red flag.

How dare I not want to wake up to a man every single day?

Sinful.

I dream of curating an artsy haven irrespective of a man’s personal aesthetic.

I dream of opening my eyes first thing in the morning and being enamored by space reflective of my brilliant mind, interests, and quixotic nature.

When I think of Black Girl luxury, I dream of being in Seychelles.

Nude on the beach.

Suntanning.

Eating fruit.

Blasting Sadé, Jill Scott, or Erykah Badu.

Basking in my sensual energy.

I dream of being at a New York rooftop club with my best friends.

Kaytranada playing in the background, fully elevating and embracing my movie character aura.

I dream of brunch with my friends every Saturday, and proudly saying “the tab is on me.”

I dream of driving a pink 1957 Fire Thunderbird.

I dream of buying my mom a house.

And the furniture and appliances too.

I dream of retiring my mom early.

I dream of buying my siblings whatever they want.

I dream of Thanksgiving dinners at my place— vegan options included for my friends.

I dream of hosting family dinners every week— documenting laughs and cries and Black joy on my vintage camcorder.

I dream of Waiakea Water being delivered to my doorstep, props to a monthly water subscription.

I dream of my Beagle dog barking at the door, alerting me that my water has arrived.

I dream of constant trips to art museums.

Aquariums.

Festivals.

I dream of being such a regular at Uncle Bobbie’s that my order is made before I even get to the register.

I dream of a walk-in closet. Pink, sparkly walls to be exact.

With graffitti all over them.

When I think of Black girl luxury, I dream of a pure love.

That has to be a luxury.

I dream of a love where I feel safe, appreciated, and adored.

I dream of a love where it transforms me in a positive way.

I dream of a love where we are writing each other love letters, leaving cute sticky notes around, and affirming each other with every interaction.

I dream of a love where I can be playful, childlike, and goofy.

I dream of a love that unravels parts of me that I never knew existed.

I dream of a love where we meet each other at a bookstore, or an art museum, or a coffee shop.

I dream of a love where I look up to my partner as an individual.

I dream of a love where we are each other’s creative muses— leaving our marks on each other.

I dream of a love where I can yap about my hyperfixations and ADHD deep dives.

I dream of a love where we are cuddled up, in our matching onesies— watching video essays, documentaries, and Marvel movies.

I dream of a love where the sex feels like we’re creating soulful art.

When I think of Black Girl luxury, I dream of working at the top advertising agency in the country.

Creating the shift and Black girl representation I want to see in Media.

I dream of working alongside Issa Rae— drinking Viarae, maybe?

I dream of owning my own media company.

I dream of owning a content hub and art space— merging Black visions and ushering in a new wave of Black creatives.

I dream of being a neighborhood hero.

I dream of being a brand strategist.

A writer.

An advertising executive.

A culture critic.

I dream of working in TV or Media Management.

Sometimes, my vision of Black Girl Luxury seems out of reach.

I may never get all of it.

But the daydreaming and the hint of delusion in it all acts as my life jacket.

Visions of my ideal Black Girl Luxury keep me afloat. ✨

Existence.

Community.

Creativity.

Experiences.

Friendships.

Joy.

Freedom.

Love.