Thanks for stopping by. In case you didn’t read my little tagline, I’m a bisexual Black feminist who writes about things mostly related to that. I write for a couple of publications and am the Editor-in-Chief of BLK INK.
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🌈 = queer stuff | ✊🏾 = race and/or social justice | 👑 = women and/or femme stuff
The age of the #Girlboss was ushered in by businesswoman Sophia Amoruso’s book of the same name. In the years following its 2014 publication, the term “girlboss” became synonymous with the “empowered” millennial woman — financially independent, career-prioritizing, and (most importantly) marketable. Desk placards and mugs with the term emblazoned in shiny gold fonts flooded the decor section of Target, and many women ate that shit up, myself included.
For a while, at least.
I was gifted Amoruso’s book in 2016. I was nearing the end of my college career, hopping from one internship to the next, looking for a…
I’ve been going to therapy for about three years now.
I lucked out — I was able to find a fellow queer Black woman with a practice very close to my home; a relatively Herculean feat given the difficulties many Black women have in finding culturally competent mental healthcare. My relationship with my therapist is great and has been from the beginning. She’s not the first or only therapist I’ve ever worked with, but she’s by far the best for me.
The success of therapy is highly personalized; what works for some people will never work for others, and that’s…
When I was a small child, I spent every morning on the floor watching cartoons while my momma secured my hair in tight braids wound with hard plastic bobos and fastened with butterfly-shaped barrettes. All of my outfits were perfectly color-coordinated and pressed free of any wrinkles. I was explicitly told not to let anyone touch my hair and was repeatedly implored to stop picking up rocks and stuffing them in my pockets.
Presentability was instilled in me from an early age. All the women in my family know how to dress, and I was taught to take a lot…
I have a unique name.
Purely a figment of my mother’s imagination, I’ve grown to love and appreciate my name more with each passing year. Even as a kid suffering through the inevitable pause from teachers before half-hearted attempts to pronounce it, I loved my name.
(Although it is worth mentioning that when I was really young, my mother had to correct me on my own pronunciation of my name because I had gotten so accustomed to my white teachers mispronouncing it.)
It’s because I’ve always been so fond of my six little letters that, growing up, I always responded…
Sometimes it can feel like social media exists purely to call people out in the most embarrassing and biting way possible. And let’s be honest: a good drag can offer some peak entertainment when a deserving party is involved. But it makes the online world an extremely scary place to admit ignorance, especially where social justice is concerned. We are often expected to have every answer and fully prepare all opinions for a future debate.
For a long time, I struggled with being honest about my own ignorance. Years ago when I was embarking on my journey as a fledgling…
As someone who lives in a small state without a particularly vibrant queer community, connecting with other LGBTQ people is both important and rare for me. Last year when I realized the pandemic would be putting Pride on hold indefinitely, I was distraught.
Since 2016, I’ve made it a point to travel during Pride month and experience what queer communities have to offer in various parts of the world. …
It seems like at this stage in our society, every person with a platform is teetering on the edge of cancellation and public backlash.
Recently, I had the uncomfortable experience of realizing that — *dusts off 2010's phrasebook* — one of my faves is problematic.
A person I look up to in the social activist sphere made some biphobic commentary that was, in a word, disappointing. Especially from someone in the queer community. …
I was not Black enough as a kid.
At least, that’s what I was often told by my classmates and, more subtly, by my family.
As soon as I entered middle school, I became obsessed with shoujo manga and anime — the type of Japanese visual media made for teen girls. Magical girls, romance stories, and cute colorful characters were my kryptonite. Every week I was in Borders (I know) spending my allowance on every volume of Tokyo Mew Mew (which was for me what Sailor Moon was for everyone else).
Yet when talking to friends at school, I hid…
I love babies. Always have. I love their chubby little cheeks, the way their little hands grasp around my fingers, and the bug-eyed, unblinking way they look at you when you make any sort of unexpected sound.
Kids seem to take to me pretty well and pretty easily too. I’m among the eldest of my cousins, with the youngest being eight years old. I also taught elementary students in the earlier stages of my career. Nothing about children mystifies or confuses me. I don’t find them strange or repulsive. Most of the time, they’re pretty funny. Sticky, but funny.
Bisexual Black Feminist | BLK INK Editor-in-Chief