Lena Waithe on “Twenties” and the Highs and Lows of Being Black, Queer, and Masc in Hollywood
Feature Image of Lena Waithe by Amy Sussman/Getty Images
When I first had the opportunity to briefly interview her back in May, as a part of her press tour for the third season of Master of None, I said “there are few queer creators working who have a reputation that enters the conversation before they do quite like Lena Waithe.”
Six months later — and that’s never been more true. Having spent more time with her, I’m still struck by the unhurried confidence of Lena Waithe’s pace. There was not a person I told about this interview who didn’t have an opinion about what was to come, but in her presence, Lena doesn’t bristle or fold when pushed back against. She also won’t be deterred. I came prepared to our interview ready to talk about her indie darling comedy Twenties, now airing in its second season on BET (weekly recaps written by yours truly right here on Autostraddle!), but almost immediately it became clear that Lena had other plans.
When your interview subject has: created the show with the largest cast of Black women LGBT characters on television (that’s The Chi); created the show with the first Black butch lead protagonist on television (that’s Twenties); written the series with the first Black lesbian romantic lead couple on a major streaming network (that’s the third season of Master of None); and pretty much seemingly single-handedly reshaped the possibilities of Black lesbian storytelling on television in just the last four years, you go ahead and follow her lead on what to talk about.
What started off as a conversation about Twenties became something closer to a career retrospective, exploring not only her shows, but the frustrations that accompany being The First, what it means to find an audience when your shows are too gay for Black media and often too Black for mainstream (read: white) gay audiences, and yes — most surprising to me! — her own opinions about the online discourse around Black trauma and violence has become synonymous with her name in some circles.
Our talk ended up nothing like what I imagined, but something much more nuanced, detailed, honest. An exchange between two queer Black women, who really fucking love television and film (sorry there was no other way to say that) and are trying to figure out how to navigate our different sides of this industry. Real shit? It was one of the best conversations I’ve had this year.
If Lena Waithe’s reputation, almost permanently marked on level “notorious,” enters the conversation before she does — well then, she’s also intent on having the last word. And you know what? Maybe some of the middle words, too.
Carmen: One of the things that is really important about Twenties, and what we started to rethink about our coverage of the show is… Well, to be really honest, what really started it was our interview for Master of None, in which I banged some doors to get literally five minutes. And we were all very excited even to just get those five minutes! But then during that brief interview, you were willing to reach out a limb and say to your handlers. “Can we get an extra two minutes so that she can ask a second question?” It’s a small thing.
But at that moment was I was like, “That is how we’re going to be able to get so much done in this industry as queer people, as queer Black people, by lifting up each other on these platforms.” It really stuck with me.
I started thinking about Twenties. And then that summer, when we were planning our fall coverage, I said, “I think we need to give Twenties full recaps.” And we do full episode recaps of The L Word, and we do full episode recaps of some of the gay superhero shows.
We’ve never done something like this for a Black show that wasn’t about superheros; for a show on BET. We’ll cover it in other ways, we do reviews, or include it in roundups — but that weekly commitment of a full article, every week, top to bottom, jokes, smart commentary? We hadn’t done that.
And I was like, “I think that is a disservice.” And our other editors agreed. So, we’re doing it this year.
Lena: I appreciate that.
Carmen: One of things you’ve been talking about [in the past], and that we’re getting at here is, it is so hard right now to get attention on this show! And I’ve even noticed a difference from your team this season — with them reaching out and asking, “Can we get you screeners? Are you interested in an interview?”
So I’m wondering if that was something that was intentional for you this year? Your decisions about how we’re going to start getting eyes to Twenties.
Lena: Yeah, I think it definitely is. And the truth is, the audience is going to take a show and run with it. You know what I’m saying?
They’re going to talk about it. So it’s interesting, because if a show that is maybe on Amazon, more people have access to it. Or if the subject matter is about Black family in a very white neighborhood — that’s a more clickable thing. Twenties is about three Black women tackling a dream, one of them happens to be a queer woman.
Does that get enough attention? Does that feed into maybe a story that other people want to talk about? You know what I’m saying?
Carmen: Yeah.
Lena: I want to understand. Some people could say, “She [Lena] leans toward these types of stories.” But Twenties does not fit that narrative. And you can’t act like it don’t exist, and also too, there’s a queer character at the center.
Carmen: A queer masc character at the center.
Lena: Queer masc character at the center. But how many times do you see us on Black blogs? You know what I’m saying? Black sites.
Carmen: No, I do. I think —
Lena: But everybody’s like, “Where’s The Chi Season Five”? [Editor’s Note: As of August 2021, The Chi was on pace to become the most streamed series in Showtime’s history]. And I’m looking forward to doing it! But who’s at the center?
Now we got Nina and Dre in there. We got Imani.
But Twenties is the center. It’s a comedy. And it is on a Black network! So there becomes a question, “Why doesn’t it get as much talk?” Now that I can only ask the question, I can’t answer it because it’s my show. So I do lean on journalists and publications to look at the whole thing and go, “Let’s have a conversation, folks.”
I have to look at you to write about that.
Carmen: Go ahead. Yeah, that’s why I asked the questions.
I think for me, what I think about is… The thing that I think always draws me to your work, to be honest with you, Lena is… OK. We’re having a very real conversation. I’m not trying to take us in these dark places. But I know, and you know, sometimes your work has been seen as very controversial.
But what I have always continued to stand for — and what I find to be really interesting about it — is that I don’t know much other work I’ve seen on television that is so wholly Black and so wholly queer at the same time. And what I find to be… When you look at, say for example, The Chi. The third season of The Chi, had at that point the largest cast of LGBT Black women we’ve ever had on television. Period. On any show.
When you look at Master of None, there we go again, something that’s never happened before. Now we have a Black lesbian couple in the center of a major streaming network show. That’s never happened, right?
And to be honest with you, Twenties, I do think it gets the the least amount of press. But for me, if we’re to look at the arc of your career — I believe Twenties is the shining gem of it. Because I think of the show and I’m like, “Okay, this is a show that’s on a Black network that is historically homophobic and has been a real problem in our community for that. And now here is the gayest, Blackest show I’ve ever seen.”
And then in the second season, it came back and it was like, “And we’re going to have an Official After Show. And the host of the after show is going to B. Scott.” You wanna talk about about legends in our community! You feel me? So I guess if I could ever ask you one —
Lena: Actually, can I ask you a question?
Carmen: Yes, please.
Lena: What about my work makes it controversial?
Carmen: I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sor —
Lena: No. Because we’re having a real conversation. Words are powerful.
Carmen: I think —
Lena: Here’s the deal. I want to be clear about how media also affects how we see our queer heroes.
Carmen: That’s true.
Lena: So you have been almost taught to think of me as a controversial artist. But the work that I’ve done is not unlike those that have come before me. The difference is, those directors and those writers have been straight Black men.
Carmen: I think that’s an interesting question. So let me spin that back to you —
Lena: We’ve just celebrated 25 years for Set It Off. Right?
Carmen: Right.
Lena: It was everywhere floating around. Yeah, Set It Off. I love Set It Off. How does that movie end? Three black women shot down. We will never forget Cleo going.
And then F. Gary Gray was a good director.
Carmen: Yeah.
Lena: Black man.
Carmen: Love F. Gary Gray.
Lena: All I’m saying is… You know what I’m saying? Just trying to compare it [ to Queen & Slim ] —
Carmen: No. I mean, Ok. So.
So if you want my… I’m in no way… I’m in a tough situation in that our publication is an indie publication, I’m going to keep it very real with you. I want to continue to have these conversations with you. I don’t want to say something that’s going to end our professional relationship before it starts.
I also think if we’re going to keep it at a buck with each other, and keep it to where we’re going as a community, I hear you. I think the Set It Off comparison is a very fair one. And that’s a good one. I’ve even personally written about how much I love that movie for the 25th anniversary.
I think what we have to think about is also the context in which these art forms land. And I say that as someone who respects your work.
I think that when we’re thinking about something like Set It Off, when we’re thinking about Boyz n the Hood, we are thinking about what were the stories in the 90s. We’re also thinking about the fact that it wasn’t a time when you could open up your phone and see a Black person get murdered while you’re scrolling your timeline. So I do think that the sensitivity around that has changed in 25 years, by the nature of also the ways in which we see violence every day. And that’s maybe not even… maybe that’s not a fair thing to put on you as a creator.
Lena: No. No.
Carmen: But I do think that that makes a difference.
Lena: But what about Squid Games?
Carmen: Right. But I think with Squid Games, we’re also not talking about Black violence. I think what people, for me, and again I say this as someone who loves and appreciates your work.. Queen & Slim, that’s probably not my favorite. I do love Twenties.
I think when we think about how we’re talking about Black lives, and we’re talking about Black love — and I think Queen & Slim was very much so promoted as a Black love story … you know what I mean? We have to think about what are we showing our community.
And now to keep it really honest, I don’t necessarily think all of the stuff that lands about “Lena Waithe is controversial” is fair. You’re not going to see a lot of those critiques in my writing, because I do try and look at the larger arc of your career. But I think if we’re going to ask about how these creations get made, it’s just an interesting conversation to think about, “Well, what context are they landing in? Are people already tired?”
Lena: But that sounds like what’s being said is that a Black artist, there are certain things you can and can’t do, correct?
Carmen: I would never say that. I don’t say that.
Lena: Of course not. But in essence —
Carmen: Yeah. I don’t know that to be true —
Lena: A Black artist doesn’t get to do what?
Carmen: Yeah, I feel you. I feel like you do what you do —
Lena: Because you would never say because there’s Tarantino again, going back and looking at Django as just… you know…
Carmen: I do think what I’m hearing in what you’re saying — just to bring it back round to Twenties and a frustration that I definitely feel you on, is “where do I get to have the full breadth of my work?” Right?
Because Tarantino did get to make Django. Tarantino also made Pulp Fiction, Tarantino made a billion and.. to be fair I just tried to think of a non-violent Tarantino movie, and that was never going to work. But I think what someone… like what F. Gary Gray has been able to do is that he may make Set It Off, but he also gets to make some very light hearted action movies.
And what you’ve been able to do, in a way that no one’s been able to do, is tell a variety of our stories. And that is really —
Lena: Yes. The question becomes it’s because I’m queer, because I’m woman, now I’m being controversial.
We’re having a real conversation. I’m just trying to write things that are interesting to me. And then on other side, create opportunities for things that… I produced The Forty-Year-Old Version.
Carmen: Yeah. I love The Forty-Year-Old Version. Straight up love it.
Lena: I helped finance. I helped produce. Does that get as much talk?
Carmen: I think it’s really interesting for you bring up something like Forty-Year-Old Version. And what I appreciate, again, going back to the breadth of your career is that, in such a short amount of time, there’s very few people who have been able to do what you’ve been able to do in terms of bringing so many of our stories to light… because even Forty-Year-Old Version has a queer subplot in it, and a delightful one at that.
Lena: Yes, I agree!
Carmen: I think what’s really been so fascinating, being able to follow your career, is the way in which you have built such a variety of content. And I respect the frustration of what it must feel like for that variety of content to then be flatlined.
Lena: But the weird thing is that it’s not.
Carmen: iiiiinteresting.
Lena: I cannot fix my face to look at you and tell you that my career has not been a successful one.
Carmen: No, it’s real successful.
Lena: And because of that, and you know, by looking at my career, I’m not a person who’s going to say, “Let me close the door and sit by myself.”
Anyone can look at Hillman Grad mentorship lab, they see Rising Voices, AT&T — But it’s interesting how — and I’m saying the media, and I don’t know if I’m talking about you — but I am talking about the press, and how it gets how it gets covered. How queer Black masc women are covered.
Carmen: And I think that’s a really important point.
Look… I can’t even make an fully accurate comparison. I was trying to think of a comparison of who else has gone through this door this way that we can look at and say, “We can learn from this person’s career.”
Even if I was like, “We’ve had other mainstream queer content creators, writers, producers who have made it this far.” Right? Sure. We’ve even had a few Black queer mainstream content producers, media makers who have made it this far. But when you start thinking about masc Black lesbian content producers, that list gets very small. Of course Cheryl Dunye, Dee Rees. But who’s traveled this road in such a short amount of time? When I remember the fact that you literally just won the Emmy for Master of None, what, four years ago?
I don’t want to minimize what came before. But if we think of that as like your rocket launcher moment, that’s like four years, right? It does make it really hard because, there is no other comparison.
Lena: And imagine being me! And I think for me, that’s why I think I am very mindful of sometimes, how am I being covered? Because I’m thinking about those young people that are looking, that are watching. Are they like, “oh that’s how she’s actually being treated? Fuck it, I’m going to sit over here.”
Carmen: And I mean, to bring it back to Twenties, that’s something that I know tangibly changed someone’s life. When I watch BET, when I watch not just Twenties, when you watch the after show, I’m watching B. Scott talk about what it means to be non-binary on BET… I’m like, “That is tangibly changing someone’s life right now.”
Lena: Yes.
Carmen: And I think some of what you’re asking is, what does it also mean to take those licks from within a community? Because we’re not always just talking about… since we’ve already kept it 100 in this interview, we’re not necessarily talking about, “There’s a lot of white people who have these very complicated and nuanced feelings about your career.”
A lot of times the people who have these nuanced feelings are Black people, are queer Black people.
And so what does that mean? I guess is what it really comes down to is… I have to imagine it’s hard to have created such a body of work, in such a really short amount of time, and then also have to deal with so many conversations that happen around you.
That just must be really hard.
Lena: Yeah.
Well, my hope is it’s worth it and just the price of the ticket.
Carmen: Real talk.
Lena: Here we are. I don’t have a choice. I’m not going to walk away. Not from nobody. And it can be disheartening, you know? Because you can see it. You can see it. You can look at the print, look at the covers, look at how —
Carmen: It’s a lot to hold.
Lena: Yeah. But I’m going to hold it.
Carmen: This also brings it back to Twenties. Everything we’ve talked about, this whole interview, in so many ways it does weigh on this one show on a Black network, you know what I mean? It does, it weighs right in this moment.
I think, when we think about Twenties, it’s a show that still really hasn’t gotten a lot of attention. Who is finding it? Who gets a chance to even talk about it?
Autostraddle still has a large white audience and I’ve had people write me and say “I can’t find BET. You’re writing about this show that I can’t find.” And I’ve had to physically direct them to BET, to Amazon or YouTube for purchase, the first season is also available on Showtime… I’m like, “You can get the it one way or the other.”
Lena: And the truth is, this is what I’ll say, if people don’t show up for the show, it will go away. So that needs to be your lead sentence. The truth is, because what will happen is… Say we don’t come back — and also, I’m already working. I got a little idea that I’m trying to figure out to keep this thing going for a while — but the truth is, if it were to go away, do you know how many motherfuckers would be devastated?
Like for real. And the thing is, that’s what it almost feels like that’s what they want. They don’t want Twenties to exist. I don’t even know who they is… I’m just saying like —
Carmen: They, the powers that be.
Lena: Yeah! And it’s like… what types of shows are covered. Are we just going to keep looking over there or point over there like, “There’s a gay person over there… [somewhere] in the cut.”
No. We can be centered.
Carmen: We don’t have to be a sidekick —
Lena: Twenties needs to be a phenomenon to make it. And… [sighs]… yeah, it needs to be a phenomenon.
It’s this thing where we focus our attention on as a queer community — focusing on we don’t like vs. supporting what we do like.
Carmen: And if I can just jump in here, I’m going to tell you this because I can take the hits, it’s my magazine. Again, going back to a largely white audience, I will tell you as someone who does the work of monitoring and seeing our clicks… I said this online a few weeks ago, I’ll say it now in this article, we know that if I put two Black characters in the lead title, in the lead picture, that is going to get an estimate of 2/3rds less clicks. Not a third, not half, two-thirds less people are going to look at that.
I’ve started to be more vocal about saying that, because people need to know that. And if we’re going to talk about not only what it takes to even get a show like Twenties created, then we also need to talk about what it takes to get that show supported. That has to be a part of the conversation.
Again, I’m speaking about this from my side of things. I work at a publication that does have a largely white audience, but is having an actively growing Black audience and we have been growing it intentionally for like two, three years now.
And I’m really proud of that growth. And I am so excited to see in my Twenties recaps, we have, it’s mostly Black people making Black jokes, being in community together. I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to build that. We’re at a place right now where we finally have two Black editors on staff, and Shelli (our Culture Editor) is running a whole week that’s literally about strap on sex. Every image is of a Black person for the whole week. Today someone wrote in out of the blue, and they said “Carmen and Shelli, thank you. We see it.” And that was literally just today.
Lena: That’s amazing.
Carmen: Thank you. But also, at the same time, while we’re growing it, while we’re doing that work — I also face the reality of the fact that I have to write the Twenties recaps. 1) Because, I do love your work. I’m so excited to be writing about it. But 2) I can’t really justify paying someone else to write about it yet.
I mean, it’s a gift for me because I never get to write about Black shows this way, in such detail, as I do every week with Twenties, but two, it’s a reality where I’m like, “We have to get people to start showing up for our work.” You know what I mean?
Lena: Exactly. Exactly!!
Carmen: And that’s the reality of it, right?
Lena: And if there isn’t support, we will continue to not be in these universes, in theses spaces.
Carmen: Right. And I’m not really trying to go back to being the side character. I’m being real with you, I really am not.
Lena: How often do we have a queer Black person write about a queer Black character, played by a queer Black woman?
Carmen: Thank you!! That’s what I’ve been saying. How often does that happen?
Lena: And that happened because organically, I saw Jojo (Jonica Gibbs, Hattie, Twenties’ lead character) out there raising money for a web series. People maybe now know the story, but I donated and then got her on the phone. I asked, “What you trying to do?” Just really see where she was at. I wasn’t even expecting anything.
Carmen: I know we have to wrap up, thank you again! These are just two silly questions that I had written down and I will personally be mad at myself if I don’t ask.
Lena: Let’s go for it.
Carmen: Okay. The first one is, so obviously the name of your production company is Hillman Grad, and there’s your Hilman Grad mentorship lab. One thing that we share in common is that I always joke Debbie Allen is responsible for at least 50% of my personality. And I’ve always wondered what is your favorite episode of A Different World?
Lena: I have to give you more than one.
Carmen: Okay, please do!
Lena: Okay. “If I Should Die Before I Wake”…
Carmen: [snaps] Yeeeees. Tisha Campbell.
Lena: Yes! Then “The Cat’s in the Cradle.”
Carmen: Yes.
Lena: And “Mammy Dearest.”
Carmen: “Mammy Dearest,” that’s a good one. I really appreciate that. The dance choreopoem at the end of “Mammy Dearest” is one of my favorites.
Carmen: Okay, so my second question is… I feel like people ask this of Black queer people all the time, but I could not find your answer to it, so I was interested: When was the first time you remember seeing yourself on screen? Where you saw a character and you were like, “That reminds me of me”?
Lena: Definitely Tasha on The L Word.
Carmen: That feels correct.
Lena: Yeah. And then as cheesy as it sometimes sounds, the next was when I saw myself on screen.
Carmen: I think you’re probably the only person who can get away with saying that and it not be cheesy.
No Filter: The Butch Hall of Fame
Welcome to No Filter! This is the place where I round up the best celesbian IG content for your very own viewing pleasure, and then you get to look at it and enjoy!
In honor of Butch Appreciation Day, we thought, what better way to celebrate than a round up of some of the best posts over the years by some of our favorite celebrity butches?
Everything about this is just… exactly right for Lena, I feel? This pose, the squint, all of it.
Yeah, I’ve posted this image in this round up before and WHAT of it? It is HOT and I like looking at it!!!
Black and white, sunglasses, black t-shirt, incredible vibe!!
To put together a butch roundup without Lea is probably illegal and frankly the fact that I don’t have this shirt is also simply illegal!
https://www.instagram.com/p/CC_QRoHnXU2/
The debut of Sara’s refreshed IG was a really thrilling moment for me personally, because they look simply incredible and also I cannot read that caption without listening to their cover of “The Story” AKA the only reason the musical episode of Grey’s exists.
The ability to pose with a pair of glasses and look like, cool as hell and not cheesy? Incredible.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BzbNFfkp539/
Hey Siri, can you show me the coolest hot summer vibe? Oh, it’s just this image of Brittani? Fair enough.
Take a moment and imagine a world without Megan. Kind of a huge bummer, huh?
I just…. I love Samira, and I love this kick back chillin’ image and I love the CUTOFF shorts!
https://www.instagram.com/p/COvjnQ5r0n4/
Yeah, this is just huge Butch Hall of Fame vibes, this is coming to play, this is meaning it.
I mean, look. Jessica is one of our purest, best distillations of Butch Hall of Fame energy every to walk this damn earth.
What, like I wasn’t gonna include k.d? Also, reminder, case/lang/veirs is a beautiful album and streaming it is SURE to clear your skin.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CDzlYo9J0jh/
Theee absolute chokehold this person had on the nation circa 2015….. my god.
No Butch Hall of Fame would be complete without our very own Heather Hogan, she is a legend, she is the moment, now come on now!
“Master of None” Roundtable: Sparks of Queer Black Brilliance in an Unsatisfying Story
Dani Janae, Natalie, and Shelli Nicole linked up to chat about Netflix’s Master of None: Moments of Love. The latest season stars Lena Waithe and Naomi Ackie, and is the first to feature a story that focuses entirely on the relationship of a Black Lesbian couple. Let’s get into it!
Shelli Nicole: I kinda just wanna jump into it and ask — How did you feel about the show? When Episode five was done and you were left sitting on your couch or laying in bed as the credits rolled, how did you feel about what you just watched?
Dani Janae: I watched all five episodes in one sitting. At the end of it, I felt… satisfied but also kind of pissed. What unfolds in the episodes is very simple in that we are all flawed and I think the story hit a nerve due to some personal things going on in my life. I wanted more of some things and less of others. I was happy I watched but also felt a way about what I had seen.
Shelli Nicole: I too watched it all in one sitting. I felt like I had to, I wanted to take it all in at once for some reason. Maybe because I knew there would be some trauma at some point just due to Lena’s history as a storyteller or producer, so I wanted to just get to it and get it over with.
Natalie: I finished it all in one sitting as well. I had mixed feelings about it, to be honest. I go into every Lena Waithe project wanting to love it — this has been true for The Chi, Boomerang, and Twenties — then I end up loving some things about it, but not really connecting with the rest of it. Like, I thought episode four was one of the best things Lena’s probably ever written, maybe even better than “Thanksgiving,” but then episode five came along and I was just like 🤷🏾.
Shelli Nicole: Damn that’s high praise because so far, “Thanksgiving” is still at the top of my list of anything she’s ever created. Why did episode four make you feel like that though? For me, it was the one that hurt the most, as it probably should have given the content.
Natalie: Oh, it absolutely did hurt. It felt like the writing and the performances just aligned beautifully in that episode. I thought that the story of navigating the fertility process is something that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough, especially when it comes to queer people and particularly single queer people.
Dani Janae: Yeah, I’ve never seen a queer woman trying to conceive a child on her own on a show before. Alicia’s story kept me coming back even when it hurt, I wanted resolution for her.
Natalie: Episode 4 really worked because it had an arc, in the same way that “Thanksgiving” did. It was really building towards something in a way the other episodes didn’t.
Shelli Nicole: That’s true, It’s something in the next few years that I might be looking into and I know it’s going to wildly difficult. So seeing that on-screen was an interesting call but I still feel like it was — so much pain? Like, at a certain point I was just like “Damn, I get it.” I understand the difficulty of this process, but I wanted a point in the story where she could have a break.
I am not negating the nuance of that storyline nor the importance of it needing to be told but, I was waiting so long for a break for her that the one we finally got didn’t feel like enough to make up for all the pain I just saw. It was layers and layers of just — pain. Giving up a dream, worrying about finances, physical trauma, being away from her mother, losing eggs, and I was just like WHEW.
Natalie: I would’ve definitely preferred that she wasn’t so isolated the entire time… it was hard to watch her deal with this all alone and with the nurse being her only real source of comfort. I’m genuinely curious to know if that was the original vision for the story or if COVID dictated that story choice?
Shelli Nicole: I don’t know. I feel like I wanted something sweeter. I understand that we are to use Film & TV to tell Black Queer stories — things that happen to us, things that affect us, things that go on in our communities, and more — in order to bring awareness to these things. But perhaps it’s because I (we) actually live it that sometimes, just fucking sometimes, I wanna escape into a world where that stuff isn’t.
Dani Janae: Totally get that, it was very painful to watch. I thought they used the relationship with the nurse to assuage some of that pain but it was still very hard. I agree with Shelli in wanting something sweeter. All around I wanted something sweeter. We so rarely see two BLACK women loving each other I was hoping it would be triumphant. I get that love and relationships are complicated but I feel like you can portray that in more interesting ways.
Shelli Nicole: Did y’all have a favorite moment?
Dani Janae: I really liked the “bad bitch” moment Alicia had with her doctor. Like that resolve and strength to just do it alone and continue after the first attempt was so affirming for me. I don’t want kids but I feel like that attitude of “I’m a bad bitch and I will succeed” is so translatable to various life endeavors.
Shelli Nicole: Mine was the sweet scene in the laundry room when they were folding clothes. Doing the partner shit and connecting with each other through their love of music. Everything about it was beautiful. The way they were openly silly with one another — which is something I think you only really do with a great friend or someone you love like, romantically. There wasn’t any murky space between them and they were just living, loving, and laughing.
Natalie: I was going to say the same thing, Dani. That and the moment where Alicia found out her eggs were viable felt relatable. That viability moment felt like one of the few moments of pure joy in this season.
Dani Janae: I think as a start to finish project, I didn’t mind watching it. Like I wouldn’t say I regret those hours. I will say I thought it could have been executed better. I wanted more powerful love and happiness for all but the way it ended…Really derailed it for me. I don’t want to be too hard on Waithe, there were some great scenes that I enjoyed. Would I recommend it to a friend? Not really. But I would talk about it with a friend if they already watched it — Maybe that’s the end goal to get people talking.
Shelli Nicole: I am proud that there is a piece of work in the world that has hours worth of focus on two Black lesbians that also present in different ways. I am happy that some young dyke 10 years from now will use scenes from this to inspire them in their own work, and that there is even something around like this for them to be inspired by. I wish there was more romance, less pain, and copious spoonfuls of gentleness — but I am a secret hopeless romantic, an eternal optimist, and have always moved thru the world wanting more sweetness so… this is very on-brand for me to feel this way — I’m not watching it again though.
Natalie: Moments in Love feels like a missed opportunity… Episode four was incredible and showed the potential for what this could have been. I see the sparks of brilliance there but they never connect for me in a way that felt satisfying — and I say that as a committed member of Team Love is a Lie.
Shelli Nicole: Also — so much of this felt like a love letter to cheating.
Dani Janae: !! I think portraying a couple that disagrees on having kids or not would be a dope examination of conflict in relationships, but then the cheating storyline came in and I was like oh no.
Shelli Nicole: From the MINUTE her friend showed up I was like “I know EGGZAKLEE where this is about to go.”
Natalie: I definitely wished they’d done more to deal with the emotional fallout from the miscarriage but then the friend showed up and like Shelli, I was like, “oh, I see where this is going.”
Can I ask did you guys connect with Denise and Alicia as a couple from the beginning?
Shelli Nicole: Not in any way, shape, or form.
Dani Janae: I wanted to as a Black woman that loves other Black women. I thought they were a cute couple but I didn’t really connect with either of them in that way.
Shelli Nicole: They felt like two separate people, living separate lives but just in the same space. Like friends who mistook their deep friendship connection as a sign to create a romantic one.
Dani Janae: I feel like that feeling was heightened by the lack of physical intimacy between them.
Natalie: That was the big stumbling block for me, right from the start. Despite the cute interactions between them, there wasn’t enough to make me really care about the fate of the relationship. The fact that they were in this house that, I guess, they called cozy but just felt suffocating to me… I just wanted to get out of that space.
Shelli Nicole: I love that you bought up the house because it def felt like it was this major glue that was holding the relationship together. Like they thought if they filled it with enough things that they both loved, then they could be comfortable enough to live there while they just moved through the relationship.
Dani Janae: I feel like I came to this wanting to see some blooming love but what it felt like was what Shelli said, two friends who mistook the relationship for more. The most in touch they felt in the five episodes was when they were both cheating on their respective wives.
Shelli Nicole: Absolutely Dani!!!!
Natalie: That’s absolutely right. Also, I would’ve taken that stained glass out of that damn window before I sold it.
Shelli Nicole: Lol I thought they were going to low-key! When they were in that tub in the final episode, It was the most connected and the most honest they had ever been. It was also the most, in-love moment during the show.
How did y’all feel about Aziz’s quick presence in the show?
Dani Janae: It felt unnecessary. Like that could have been another cute lesbian couple that appeared in that scene. I get it’s his show technically but I was like, meh I could go without seeing him.
Natalie: I mean, there’s a conversation to be had about Aziz and his history and whether he should have appeared in front of the camera…. but I think they needed something to ground Denise. Dev comes in and they drop back into this easy rapport and it just highlights how strained things really are between Denise and Alicia. I would’ve rather seen Denise’s mom come through or maybe her aunt — but I appreciated that juxtaposition.
Shelli Nicole: It just felt out of place for me. Like, they needed to ground her but I could have done without it being through him.
Natalie: Had either of you watched the first two seasons?
Dani Janae: I did watch the first season I believe.
Shelli Nicole: I totally did. I liked them and was a fan. It was my first intro to Lena actually. I was like “A Black Lesbian? On Netflix? Show me and give it to me now — NOW!”
Natalie: I think the other thing that’s interesting about Dev’s appearance is in the second season he seems like he’s on the cusp of breaking through but things falls apart. Obviously, by Moments in Love, he’s at a low point and it kind of foreshadows where Denise is going.
Shelli Nicole: This just wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted Black Lesbian romance. I wanted sweetness and kisses. Do you know what I wanted? A full five episodes of that scene in episode five when they were dancing to Back II Life. I understand relationships are hard and that difficulties will arise, moreso with us given our identities. But I also deserve moments in film & television where there is a couple who looks like me that isn’t bombarded with trauma, breakups, or sadness. I wanna see that and I don’t think I’m a fool for asking for it.
Natalie: They called it Moments in Love so that wasn’t an unrealistic expectation.
Dani Janae: I feel like they could have gotten away with it if the final action wasn’t both of them reveling in being cheaters. Like I would have loved to just see Alicia move on as a mother, find a partner, and be happy.
Shelli Nicole: AND BE HAPPY. And have Denise beautifully partnered, grounded in her life living as a creative on her own terms (or non-creative), and them in each others’ lives as the true friends they seemed to actually be.
Natalie: I’m curious about what you guys thought about the first instances of cheating. Denise hooks up with her friend and then gets into the accident and Alicia, who’s supposed to be in Baltimore, rushes back but we find out really she was out cheating. Did that strike either of you as odd?
Dani Janae: Very odd!
Shelli Nicole: lol yes! They were like, let’s have both of them be somewhat terrible people.
Dani Janae: We as viewers also didn’t get to see Alicia cheat so it was like… what??
Natalie: Which is fine… birds of a feather and all that… but like she was really upset about it and I just didn’t get it.
Dani Janae: I wanna say I think there are far bigger betrayals in a relationship than cheating, but it just felt so forced and unreal.
Natalie: One of the things that struck me about this (and Twenties as well) was how the story parallels Lena’s own life. Obviously, this was written before her marriage ended so I won’t dig into the personal, but I was curious about how you feel about the pressure that Denise felt as a queer creative… because, at least, that part felt true to Lena’s life.
Do you feel that pressure as a queer creative, especially as a queer creative of color? Did that portrayal resonate for you? It’s been something that’s been rattling around in my head since I watched the show.
Dani Janae: That’s a really interesting question. As a poet, I think there is a pressure to create art that is about your deepest darkest pains and secrets. Like everyone wants a piece of you on that level, for everything to be raw and guttural. So I definitely feel that pressure for sure. I think Denise’s character really grappled with that even being a fiction writer. Publishers and readers kinda want you to bleed on the page. And when you have a first big success as she did, the pressure is even higher for a second release.
Shelli Nicole: I think I felt like that at the very start of my creative career, I had success very quickly and was writing at publications that I’d only dreamed of. So many places only wanted me to only write from a traumatic view – which I did for a while because I thought it was the only way to have success as a Black Queer writer. But I had to stop writing things I didn’t want to out of fear that the opportunities would stop. It was hard but when I did, I found better success than I ever could have — and I’m not fucking traumatizing myself and others for some coin and a few followers.
Natalie: Denise carries the weight of trying to live up to the first thing she wrote… and that becomes so consuming, it blocks her from writing. I think Lena does as well. Thanksgiving is one of her first big solo swings and she knocks it out of the park, winning that historic Emmy. Now everyone’s kind of expecting that from her.
Shelli Nicole: I don’t think I am expecting Lena to live up to that — what I am expecting her to do is have some reasoning behind her work and to keep in mind the very folks she says she is creating it for. To find her own happy blend of writing things for herself and for the folks who will be watching it.
Lena Waithe on “Master of None” and Making Messy Beautiful Black Lesbian Art
I’ve wanted the opportunity to interview Lena Waithe since the minute I started writing about television professionally. I realize that sounds some kinda way to say out loud (which kinda way? I fear someplace between braggadocious and a “speak your truth into life” motivational Twitter post), but there are few things I love as much as I love Black television, Black film, and queer shit — and Lena Waithe exists smack dab in the middle of that Venn diagram. When Lena Waithe’s Master of None press tour came with the offer for even the slimmest five minutes to sit with her in front of a camera, I nearly broke my wrist I responded so fast.
“We are… Human. Beautifully. And what I hope I also do, is never try to make it seem as if we are perfect.” We maybe only had five minutes together but if it’s one thing lesbians are gonna do, it’s get the job done and so we immediately got to the meat of what matters. In Autostraddle tradition, this is usually the part of the introduction where we give an explainer on the person we’re interviewing. But there are few queer creators working who have a reputation that enters the conversation before they do quite like Lena Waithe. In fact, chances are high that when you saw her name in the title of this piece — especially, though not only, if you’re Black — on some gut level your mind was already made up on what you’d expect.
Sitting on an utterly lush copper-toned couch in an equally lush copper button up with a polo collar — in the middle of a discourse hurricane where everyone who as much as knows her name has an opinion about her, and 240 characters ready to say them — Lena Waithe is remarkably at ease. Press days are defined by their hectic nature, but she moves at a pace of her own. Even in our tiny time across a blurred screen, her confidence captivates.
Lena Waithe as Denise, “Master of None” Season Two (2017)
Since charming hearts as Denise in the OG seasons of Master of None and in 2017 becoming the first Black woman to win an Emmy in comedic writing, proclaiming from the awards stage, “to my LGBTQIA family. See each and every one of you. The things that make us different, those are our superpowers… because the world would not be as beautiful as it if we weren’t in it” — Lena Waithe set a bar that’s been hers alone to surpass. Whether or not she’s met that bar depends on who you ask. Her 2019 feature writing debut Queen and Slim became somewhat of a community shorthand for Black trauma on-screen (it remains one of the most hurtful moviegoing experiences that I’ve had) and her most recent production credit, the television series Them on Amazon, has quickly become yet another bat signal in conversations about violence and trauma (though it’s worth noting that despite misperceptions, given that her production credit was all over the promo material, Waithe wasn’t a creator or writer on the show). Fixation on violence also circles Waithe’s The Chi on Showtime, along with behind-the-scenes harassment between cast members in the show’s early seasons.
But The Chi also happens to have the largest single cast of Black LGBT women characters ever on television. And that’s Lena Waithe in a nutshell. Her work is never just one thing. In addition to creating the largest cast of Black LGBT women characters, Waithe also created the first Black butch protagonist on a television show in BET’s Twenties, which alongside her take on Boomerang, is credited for changing the face of the notoriously homophobic network. There are very few other creators — by which I mean literally none — who’ve seemingly single-handedly remolded the landscape of Black lesbian representation on television.
Taking her last four years together, plainly speaking it’s almost too much for a single person to be hold. Which is perhaps why the pressure of “positive” representation seems to be at the forefront of Waithe’s mind lately, “none of us should have to bear… particularly when you’re Black and a lesbian… it’s two communities you’re having to live up to, or be a credit to. And in addition to just trying to make it through the day! That can be a lot of weight.”
In Master of None’s third season, Denise finds herself a few years into the future from when last saw her, now married and a successful writer. It’s hard not to read Lena Waithe into her character — after all, Denise was crafted around her voice to begin with. I also reviewed the third season on its own. But for now, here’s Lena Waithe and I talking too fast together with our arms flying to make our points on an extremely hurried zoom call about finding God and humanity in Black lesbians, the uniquely queer feeling of going through your adolescence in your thirties, breaking through brick walls, and so much more.
Lena Waithe as Denise and Naomi Ackie as Alicia, “Master of None” Season Three (2021)
Carmen Phillips: I hope you don’t mind. They only gave me five minutes! I’m gonna hop right to it.
Lena Waithe: Please, go for it! I’m a big fan by the way. Love Autostraddle. I know y’all didn’t love Twenties, but hopefully you’ll like Season Two.
Carmen: HA! I will tell you, we did turn around on Twenties. So…
Lena: Oh? Cool…
Carmen: That was me [who wrote that review]. And I did not love the pilot episodes, but I’ll admit, it did come around on me. That actually ties into my first question!
I wanted to begin with jumping back to your infamous Vanity Fair interview in 2018.
Lena: C’mon! You taking it back!
Carmen: In that interview you said, “Can’t no one tell a Black story, particularly a queer story, the way I can, because I see the God in us.”
Lena: Huh.
Carmen: And in the three years since then, you’ve already given us the first Black masc character to ever solo lead her own television show [Jonica Gibbs as Hattie on Twenties]. And now with Master of None, the first Black lesbian couple to ever lead their own television show. I was wondering, looking back on that — and of course, you know, lesbian characters on Boomerang and The Chi, I’m not trying to leave anyone out! — I’m wondering: How have you been feeling about what you’ve done in such a short amount of time? Do you feel like you’re “showing the God in us?”
Lena: Well, one, thank you for that question and thank you for the… just the thoroughness of it.
I do.
And by that, I mean, we are… Human. Beautifully. And what I hope I also do, is never try to make it seem as if we are perfect, because I think that’s something that is a pressure. None of us should have to bear… particularly when you’re Black and a lesbian or Black and queer, or however you identify — It’s sort of two communities you’re having to live live up to, or be a credit to. And in addition to just trying to make it through the day! That can be a lot of weight.
But I absolutely see it as a responsibility to insert us into the narrative. To always make sure we’re present, but also to not make it about the… you know… how we love. Because that’s just a part of us.
And I think what’s exciting about this season of Master of None is that it’s about life after you come out and that there is no marching band. There is no one there to applaud you, but now you have to go be in a relationship. And for me, I can speak for myself having been born in ’84, I wasn’t allowed to be gay in high school. I was a tomboy — as they like to say, you know — I wasn’t really even allowed to be that gay in college because I lived with my mom throughout college. And I was closeted to my mother throughout those four years. So… it was not until I moved Los Angeles, which is what I did. And then I had her fly out in order for me to come out to her!
And now imagine… That’s in my twenties. So I come out in my twenties and now I have to be in relationships in my thirties.
Carmen: Right.
Lena: So now I’m starting where really, a lot of people began in adolescence.
Carmen: I have two minutes left! But I’m glad I came with the heavy hitter first. And I can’t wait for our readers in particular to be able to read that and have a chance to dig into your work, because I’m also someone who came out late and… I think that really comes through in Denise. So I’m going to go ahead and wrap because I see the one minute and —
Lena: [to the moderator off-camera] Can I get… Can we get like two more minutes? Can we get a couple more minutes, folks? For the question you didn’t ask? Thank you. Thank you.
Carmen: Ok I’m going to get into my second question!
Lena: Go for it, go for it.
Carmen: Which really builds right off [this conversation]. It’s about Denise. I think something that’s really interesting is that obviously, you know, you have this big historic Emmy win. And Denise herself has become so iconic, right? We did a list of the 100 Greatest Queer Women of Color Characters in Television, and Denise landed in the top 10.
Lena: [murmurs graciously under her breath] ‘Preciate that. Thank you.
Carmen: So… What was that process to jump back into her, three years later? Was that daunting? Was that exciting? And I think that this builds with what you were saying. The only other time we’ve gotten to really get to know her was her coming out story.
Lena: Right, right, right, right. You know, it was daunting.
It was daunting because now I got to be Denise as a grownup, as an adult and you know… in my own life, because I think there’s also this thing!
You know, Tre’vell Anderson, they do such great work and just interviewed me recently for Entertainment Weekly. They said to me, this must be a heavy cross to bear because you are someone that doesn’t really exist. You’re… you’re sort of there. And what that means is I’m going to get swung at, but I’m also going to be hugged, you know?
And so that’s the thing, it’s like for me, I embrace all of it because I am first through the brick wall. So I’m gonna get those bruises, but my hope is I will take those hits so those coming after me don’t have to. That’s the goal. Don’t make the hits that I take, be in vain. It’s all I ask.
So my thing is that what I want to always do is — show up as my human self. And that’s what I really wanted to do with Denise this season. I wasn’t afraid to make myself the villain. I wasn’t afraid to make that character not likable at times, because even in doing that, my hope is that you will see yourself. So my thing is, I don’t mind representing the best of us, but also the worst of us sometimes. And I think that’s the only way we really heal and really grow.
And because… I don’t want anyone to sanctify me.
The third season of Master of None released yesterday on Netflix, and here’s my review.
If you’d enjoy watching the video of this interview — in full disclosure it involves a lot of me talking incredibly fast from nerves and moving my arms far too much (which I’m vulnerably hoping you find charming and not annoying) — then wow do I have a present for you!
Lena Waithe’s “Master of None” Could’ve Settled for Being Black and Beautiful, But It Chose Complicated Instead
About three-quarters of the way through Master of None’s third season, formally titled “Master of None Presents: Moments In Love” — which follows Black lesbian previous supporting player Denise (Lena Waithe), as her marriage becomes the standalone focus of a story about love, romance, family, and grief in your thirties — I completely lost it and took to my group chat:
1. “Master of None S3 is so gay and so in a class of its own. It’s very gaaaaaaaay. It’s L Word gay. It’s an Art Film Black L Word. That’s my whole review.”
2. “It’s so depressing and complicated and hard and gay and so, so good. I am floored. I have never seen something this nuanced and GROWN and be just about Black Lesbians before. Just 5 episodes, three and half hours, only about this one Black lesbian couple and no one else. I am so shook. I’m not even sure if it’s as good as I think it is? Or if I’m just that shook? Or is it both? WHO KNOWS”
3. (There’s also a message about not possibly being able to form a professional, critical thought about this series when Lena Waithe is in a bathtub showcasing her tattoo sleeve, but since this is in fact a professional review, we can just let that be.)
I struggled with how to open this review, to be honest, because even more than its predecessors, this season of Master of None is serious business. It’s hard to stretch understanding this work as a comedy — and when so little about the lives of queer Black women is able to make to screen in the first place, well… I want for it be considered with the appropriate gravity. It’s fleetingly rare that Black queer women are able to create work centering our own interiority (the club is so small that it has only a handful of members, Dee Rees and Cheryl Dunye prominently come to most minds, and within television Lena Waithe — for better or for worse — has crafted a lane of her own). The third season anthology within Master of None is quite literally the only time a television series has centered around a Black lesbian couple as its sole protagonists, and in such an intimate close up portrait. I’m starting my review with that fact because in everything else I’ve read about the series, I’ve been stunned that no one else brings it up. So I will.
I’ll also make jokes about grown ass Black lesbians being messy because white lesbians have a canon that stretches literally 100s deep that they can point to and this will very likely be the only time all year where I can take a quiet squeal of joy in watching two Black queer women get high, bake cookies, and wear face masks that unironically match the white face paint of the Dead Presidents that they’re watching on screen. This version of Master of None is BLACK Black. It is GAY Gay. That should be acknowledged because in and of itself, that’s a miracle.
Lena Waithe as Denise and Naomi Ackie as Alicia, “Master of None” Season Three (2021)
But that’s not the same as, is it good?
And that’s the crux of it, right? As I so eloquently put it while typing with one hand and shoving nutritional yeast coated popcorn into my face with other, “three and half hours, only about this one Black lesbian couple and no one else. I am so shook. I’m not even sure if it’s as good as I think it is? Or if I’m just that shook? Or is it both? WHO KNOWS” I’ve been thinking a lot about Black art and Black criticism lately. What’s the role of a Black queer writer who is underrepresented in her field (in today’s scouring of Master of None reviews, so far I found only one other Black queer woman reviewing a work that is exclusively and with no exception, about Black queer women? It’s Cate Young at Vulture, you should check out her recaps) when reviewing work by a Black queer woman creator who is also fighting the same systematic underrepresentation? Especially when the stakes are so high?
In part, I think I’ve been drawn to these questions because our most recent dust up about the role Black criticism plays in evaluating Black art also came from Lena Waithe. First, from her 2019 film Queen & Slim, which inflicted such trauma onto its audience it still looms large in a collective Black imagination nearly two years after the fact. Then recently, the Lena Waithe-produced Them — which to be clear, Waithe herself did not write — became the latest lightning rod for manipulating Black horror and trauma around America’s history of racist violence without a productive conclusion (I still won’t bring myself to watch it). Building on a conversation started by Them, Kathleen Newman-Bremang at Refiner29’s Unbothered notes that, “Black voices writing about Black stories can be just as important as the Black show writers themselves. They both exist in an ecosystem that doesn’t thrive without the other.”
Objectively speaking, the third season of Master of None is great, complicated television. It’s pace is markedly slower than even the already famously meandering first two seasons, but it doesn’t mistake unhurried for a drag. It’s exquisitely filmed with the kind of lingering shots without cutaways and attention to detail that makes even the most ordinary moments feel blushingly intimate. Aziz Ansari’s directing choices seem inspired by Ingmar Bergman’s 1974 film Scenes From A Marriage, which tracks alongside all his previous art film inspirations for the series (and it’s not lost on me that Ansari’s smaller on-screen role very likely came as a result of the accusations of his sexual misconduct from a few years back. I still found it jarring to his name listed as the director of every single episode and if you chose not to watch it as a result, I wouldn’t personally blame you).
In terms of both writing and performance, the third season of Master of None is the best work Lena Waithe has ever put forth — to my mind, even topping her work in Season Two’s “Thanksgiving” episode, which is a career-defining mountain almost no performer could climb twice. Denise has always been written around Waithe’s voice, more so than ever this year when she finds herself a successful writer whose fame and wealth has isolated her from her friends and in the throes of adultery and divorce (yes, the comparisons write themselves). Yet even within those similarities to her own life, Waithe only brings the audience in closer to her. What could have been an eye roll worthy cliché instead becomes stark and heartbreaking.
Naomi Ackie as Alicia, “Master of None” Season Three (2021)
As Denise’s wife Alicia, Naomi Ackie is the definition of stunning. Every review of this season points to episode four — Alicia’s standalone — as the one that’s not to miss. I’ll join the chorus of those who were rendered speechless. In it, Alicia is going through in vitro fertilization and there’s one scene that has burned itself so brightly into my memory, even a month after first watching. The camera remains firmly on Alicia’s face as her doctor bluntly details the extra financial cost of fertility for lesbians — American insurance companies don’t cover the treatment. The doctor continues matter-of-factly, “they have a code for being attacked by an orca, and they have a code for being sucked into a jet engine, but not for ‘gay and desires pregnancy.’” In a series that’s otherwise defined by subtly, this one minute of cutting through bullshit, shakes.
I’m a Black queer woman who also faces an uphill fertility battle that I often choose to ignore, but for that single hour there was no running away. How could I, when she was me? There was only holding my breath. I had the chance to briefly interview Naomi and she shared that while “most of the characters I’ve play are really far away from me,” in portraying Alicia “this felt the closest I’ve ever been to a character. And you know, that’s not my usual experience. That changed me.” It changed me, too.
And this brings back the question — what’s the role of a Black queer critic in this moment? Because in Naomi’s fear of infertility and nerve, I found a mirror. That’s easy, and powerful or inspiring to say. But I also saw a mirror in Denise’s absolute inability to communicate even as her life imploded around her, and that is much, much uglier.
I don’t think this season of Master of None is a love story that anyone will proudly say “I see myself here!” And for that reason, I don’t think it passes whatever happens to be the latest bar for “good” representation — that narrow and ever-moving definition people are talking about when they storm forward hashtagging #RepresentationMatters. These aren’t wives living out picture perfect domestic bliss. I think some will say that in its own way, this is yet again another Lena Waithe (emotional) trauma production. Others will say that at minimum it plays with the fire of some dangerous tropes. And it might skewer too closely to Waithe’s own life in ways that make it hard to praise its creativity. None of those are my critiques.
The third season Master of None eschews any clean, simple picture. Despite its visual beauty, it chooses to revel in the muck and the mess. When a happy story about Black lesbians in love would have been easier, instead it holds up a mirror of what we don’t like to see.
And — for that? I’m grateful.
The third season of Master of None released yesterday on Netflix. In a partner piece to this review, I also had the opportunity to interview Lena Waithe on making messy beautiful Black lesbian art.
Hulu’s “Bad Hair” Skewers Racist Beauty Standards in a Film That’s Half Horror, Half Satire
This post was written by Dani Janae and Shelli Nicole. Spoilers below for Hulu’s Bad Hair!
Dani Janae: I’m so excited to hear your thoughts on Bad Hair!
Shelli Nicole: When I saw the ads for it I knew I wanted to talk with you about it. I wanna start by asking you why you dig horror films so much! I know you’re a fan and last year was the first time I saw your 30 days of horror films on your IG story during spooky season.
Dani Janae: I love this question: I dig horror so much because I find it to be the best medium to explore what it means to be human. Fear is such a universal and primal emotion: it shows us who we really are and what we are made of. I think it’s so versatile. Like you can have a love story in a horror film but I’ve never seen a romantic comedy or drama with horror elements, ya know? I’m also just so fascinated by what has scared people across time
Shelli Nicole: Whenever I watch horror my fascination is the actual gore. My favorite horror genres are Body & Revenge and in some way Bad Hair encompasses both. I don’t think I watch horror movies to be scared, I let thrillers and musicals do that for me.
When I first heard about Bad Hair, I actually thought it was an extended version of the short, Hair Wolf, and realized I was wrong. Then I thought it was an extended version of the Random Acts of Flyness sketch “Bad Hair” and was wrong again. Then I found out that it was by the same person behind Dear White People, queer Black writer/director, Justin Simien and kinda got excited but also nervous about it.
To me, although I watch them, shows like DWP feel like they are trying to explain the Black experience (or elements of it) to a white audience (or non-Black) and I kinda got scared this movie was going to do the same thing.
Dani Janae: I’ve never seen Dear White People so I went in to this not expecting much just because I’m not familiar with Simien’s work. I had reservations because I notoriously do not like horror comedies;I don’t mind if I laugh during a horror movie, but I feel like horror comedies lean heavy on the laughs
Shelli Nicole: So when you’re watching horror films you’re like, I’m not hear for a laugh I am here for some fear and emotions.
Dani Janae: Exactly! I’m here to be bundled up on the couch with the lights out and jumping at every sound.
Shelli Nicole: I usually arrive wanting to see body parts, blood, deep screams and tears. I lean in to the screen with an oddly sadistic smile.
So let’s get into it. Bad Hair centers on Anna (Elle Lorraine). She has a love for music and has big dreams of becoming a VJ (think back to the days of TRL). I’d like to say that I too had similar dreams so I can understand her completely. She works at a network called Culture and once their boss, Edna (Judith Scott), a natural haired and dark skinned woman, leaves the network, Zora (played by my Christmas queen Vanessa Williams), takes over. She’s lite skinned, a former supermodel and most importantly — has good hair in the form of a sew in.
Miss Zora is trying to make some changes and the first thing she suggest is for Anna and others to ditch the natural looks and go for sew ins.
What’s your relationship to wigs and weaves? You have some BEAUTIFUL tresses, I have asked several times about your twist out methods but were you always natural?
Dani Janae: I haven’t always been natural. I was until I was about 11 or so when I got my first relaxer. Before that I had my hair straightened with a hot comb and grease. I had a weave once: I got micros for a birthday and it hurt and took forever — I related to Anna’s hair sensitivity— so I never went back. I go back and forth every year about doing another big chop. I did mine my second year of college and have been growing it out since
I always wanted to get into wigs but never went there. What about you?
Shelli Nicole: I got my first relaxer around the same time as you. I begged for it and my mom finally gave in — it was fucking terrible and my mom just read her hair magazine while Shonica put the creamy crack in my hair. I’ve been completely natural for a while now, but I used to be a huge fan of sew ins. I actually still am, I just haven’t gotten one in a while. I usually wear my hair in protective styles like crochet braids but I also will do a natural blow dry and add in pieces. I love a good wig but am not nearly as good as the folks on YouTube who make it seem so easy installing them, so only wear them occasionally.
And on the topic of Anna’s hair sensitivity, lets’ talk about THAT SCENE — the one where she finally gives in and gets a sew in from Virgie, played by Laverne Cox. It was PERFECTLY filmed in my opinion.
Dani Janae: That scene for me was a perfect example of body horror, I loved it. I was so tense watching it!
Shelli Nicole: It was the type of horror I came for. It was one of the times when watching the film that I felt was specifically for Black viewers. Like, we know that pain — but to see it, to HEAR it. The braids being tightened, the hair pulling at the scalp, the tearing of the skin sometimes with the blood. It made me cringe but also made me lean in — I rewatched that scene about three times.
It was actually terrifying. What made it extra horrific was how calm the stylist was while doing it.
Dani Janae: When Anna cried “you almost done?” I felt that!
Shelli Nicole: It was like she was the killer in the horror films who happily goes around killing everyone.
Dani Janae: Yes exactly, she got very little screen time but I loved her attitude and her demeanor
Shelli Nicole: Okay, so we will talk about how the movie progresses but can we talk about the stars in this movie?!
Dani Janae: Names on top of names! When I saw Usher I yelped. I recently binged Moesha so seeing him on the screen again was a delight
Shelli Nicole: For me it was MC Lyte!
I have always had a little crush on her, that voice — phew. But so many people are in this movie. Blair Underwood, Kelly Rowland, DAWSON!
Dani Janae: Omg yes!! I like that the actress at the center wasn’t as big of a name, though I enjoyed seeing Vanessa Williams and Kelly Rowland. Also fucking James Van Der Beek.
Shelli Nicole: So as the movie goes on, Anna and her new hair start feeling themselves and she starts reaping the rewards of being a Black woman with good hair. She gets looked at kinder by the white folks, the trash nigga she was fucking wants to get back at her, and opportunities at work start to open up more. Have you found this to be true — the better your hair, the better you get treated? (Better being a word that I use terribly loosely.)
Dani Janae: Hmmm, I think I have when I was younger. I have 4c hair and I noticed once I got my relaxer people complained less about having to do my hair, I got more compliments on my looks, etc. When I went natural again I got lots of comments about how brave I was. Once at a restaurant a white woman told me she loved how ethnic I looked. As an adult I get a lot of well meaning white people that give you that “right on sister, I’m down!” Kinda attitude
Shelli Nicole: NOT ETHNIC!!!
Shelli Nicole: My mother always made sure my hair was done when I was younger, primarily because she had a lot of hair issues and bullying when she was a kid so she wanted the opposite for me, so I didn’t have issues with others but they were all coming from myself. I saw how the girls at church who were lighter skinned or had long pressed locs with cute headbands would have more boys looking at them, and didn’t get compliments from adults without some sort of caveat attached to them.
As an adult it’s mostly been white women who want to ask questions they can Google about my hair. Or, of course, think they can touch it.
But similarly to Anna in the movie, I have friends who won’t ever get a weave and prefer to stay natural. I liked that in the movie too: Lena and some of the other VJ’s were rejecting the changes that Zora wanted to put in place. But, what comes next is the part of the film that I hated and have a big problem with.
Dani Janae: Oooo do tell!
Shelli Nicole: Anna starts having a bit of issue with her hair beyond the headaches and itching and maybe starts to realize something is a bit off right? It’s obvious this is the part of the film where it’s time to start getting into some shit, and her landlord comes to collect the rent she is behind on — and while doing so attempts to rape her.
I am so done with the final girl in horror needed to be raped or sexually assaulted in some sort of way to move the story forward. In this case I hated it even more because it’s a Black woman and a dark skinned one at that. A lot of it can be connected with me having a history with sexual assault and rape but a lot of it comes from me being a lover of film and a writer, and using sexual harm to move a plot forward is lazy writing in my opinion.
There were simply so many ways they could have gotten that point across and pushed the story forward without having her be sexually assaulted.
Dani Janae: Yeah, we talk a lot in horror about how rape is used as a device to move the story forward and complicate the hero’s journey. It was an unnecessary moment, especially because the landlord had already been established as an aggressive asshole
We didn’t need him to be a rapist too (possibly a serial rapist at that).
Shelli Nicole: Exactly. They opened up this other plot line and wrapped it by having ANOTHER Black woman kind of confirm that he raped her. Yeah, he dies — but like, it still just was not needed.
Like I mentioned earlier, revenge films are my other favorite horror genre so I struggle a lot while watching because so many of them are women who have been raped or assaulted taking out their revenge. I get conflicted because I am like, ok yes — kill kill and take your power back but then I’m like, couldn’t it have just something different she is getting revenge for?
How did you feel about how the film progressed after this point?
Dani Janae: Yeah same, I always want to see women in horror have a wider arc than just getting revenge on a rapist/abuser.
I honestly felt kinda set up by the rest of the film. I thought we were gonna get more skin crawling, body horror moments but instead they introduced this possession story line. Anna’s hair basically comes to life and possesses her. The hair itself has a thirst for blood that I thought was interesting but the graphics and story just got so corny after that. I get it’s satire and is supposed to be kind of laughable but I felt like the tension in the film doesn’t carry after she kills her landlord
Shelli Nicole: Completely. I figured we were going to see more gore and that as the hair began to take more control we would really see what it could do. It started to get a little Hotep for me too but since you aren’t familiar with Simien’s work I will tell you, is not surprising.
Dani Janae: Yeah my other issue with the film was: what is it saying? You got a possessed evil weave on one side and natural hair on the other. The women that insist on staying natural meet a grim fate, they either die or never advance in their careers. It feels like Black women get caught in the crossroads. Get a weave and become an evil sellout or stay natural and never progress
Shelli Nicole: And perhaps it’s the eternal optimist in me, but haven’t we moved past that or at least made a huge fucking leap forward?
Dani Janae: Yes exactly!
Shelli Nicole: This is what I mean by Simien’s work being created and featuring Blackness but is for the education of non-Black people. It puts me at a crossroads with work like this. Like, if Simien wants to do the work of teaching non-Black folks about what our community deals with, shouldn’t I let him? Shouldn’t I want non-Black folks to be educated on Blackness from the massive issues to the mundane? And shouldn’t I be happy that it’s not only a Black person at the head who is telling the story but it’s also featuring Black people?
Dani Janae: Oh the movie also does another thing I hate: introduces Indigenous or African folklore without being specific about it. The story about the moss haired girl comes from a book of I believe African sort of fairy tales but like… where in Africa? Where’s the specificity? It also demonizes ancient cultures instead of uplifting them
Shelli Nicole: I didn’t think about that. I would have loved to know more and it felt like they were trying to make it an important focus (as it is the story behind the hair) but at every opportunity was forcing me to piece that story together from various other conversations spread out in the film.
Dani Janae: To your point: I was gonna say earlier, I’m all for black people who aren’t Tyler Perry giving other Black faces and Black voices screen time. I love when we celebrate our own, but do white people and their viewing experience always have to be called into question?
Shelli Nicole: Exactly. Towards the end I leaned heavily into the comedy and opted to focus on that. I made the decision to start watching it as the satirical horror comedy it was meant to be and started enjoying it more. The dialogue is what did it for me, the campy responses, the references to Black culture (Lena telling her co-worker she needed a new attitude after bringing up Patti Labelle took me way out) but then the actual ending in itself made me — cringe.
It wrapped up the folklore story that was introduced but now that I think back with your point in mind about the lack of detail, it leaves me with even more questions.
Before we wrap can we please acknowledge the soundtrack?!
Dani Janae: Yes it definitely succeeded on the comedy front. When Lena was giving her “I don’t want to die” speech, I was rolling. I told another friend that it succeeds as a comedy but not a horror comedy if that makes sense. I tried to come into it without my bias and just wanted to settle in for a good movie but left feeling nothing. The characters didn’t really stick with me. I forgot everyone’s name until I visited the Wikipedia page before our chat. The only thing that really struck me as the sew in scene and the soundtrack!
This soundtrack is GOLD.
I’m literally singing that song “I Get It” in my head right now
Shelli Nicole: i’ve rewatched the film a few times just to watch Kelly Rowland do hairography while being the fictional princess of Pop Soul.
Dani Janae: She was a shining spot in this movie.
Shelli Nicole: I’d also like to say that as much as I hate to admit it, Lena in overalls and a Maxine Shaw braided bob gave me a tingle or two.
And Vanessa Williams is the mean Mommi I aspire to be.
Dani Janae: LMAO, oh my god, I love that for you. Yes she was a dream! Still so fine
Shelli Nicole: Thanks bunches for giving me some of your Sunday to talk film!
Dani Janae: Thank you for spending some time with me, I loved talking with you and getting your perspective!
Sunday Funday Says F*CK Them Cops, I’ll Hang With Lena Waithe and Jonica Gibbs Instead
Hey! Fuck the police! Here’s some good news!
+ This work isn’t new. Learn about MPD150, Reclaim the Block, and the Black Visions Collective’s long work to defund the police department.
+ LOL remember Pride? What are you doing this year?
+ Here’s a conversation between Lena Waithe and Twenties star Jonica Gibbs looking at lesbian representation on screen.
+ Be Steadwell is giving a free concert online that you can watch!
+ Mariame Kaba writes so eloquently. Send this to your colleagues/parents/the mommy bloggers you secretly follow when they say “they don’t really mean abolish the police!”
The philosophy undergirding these reforms is that more rules will mean less violence. But police officers break rules all the time. Look what has happened over the past few weeks — police officers slashing tires, shoving old men on camera, and arresting and injuring journalists and protesters. These officers are not worried about repercussions any more than Daniel Pantaleo, the former New York City police officer whose chokehold led to Eric Garner’s death; he waved to a camera filming the incident. He knew that the police union would back him up and he was right. He stayed on the job for five more years.
Also, watch a recent webinar with her, Dean Spade, and more abolitionists as they discuss where we are and where we’re going!
+ Here’s Hawa, she’s great! Learn to make burgers with herr!
+ Utah’s new voting stickers will honor women’s suffrage. Wanna find out if you can vote by mail to keep yourself and neighbors safe? Look no further!
+ Cole Escola is absolutely a joy and also one of my queer roots.
Schools Say “FUCK the police!”
+ Milwaukee Public Schools say fuck the police
+ Bay area school boards say fuck the police
+ Prince George County Schools say fuck the police (maybe)
+ Denver Public Schools say fuck the police
+ ALL SCHOOLS SAY FUCK THE POLICE!
Okay, I love you. Keep signing petitions and wearing your masks and supporting your neighbors, except the ones that are cops. We got this!
“Twenties” Review: Lena Waithe Writes Herself Into Her Groundbreaking New BET Series To Mixed Results
Last week, Lena Waithe’s new half-hour comedy Twenties premiered on BET. In it, Hattie, a 24-year-old masculine-of-center black lesbian struggling to break into the television industry, lives and loves in Los Angeles with her two straight best friends, Nia and Marie. Part romantic comedy, part sitcom about the ups-and-downs of chosen family, and part Hollywood satire — Twenties brings A LOT to the table. Not to mention that it’s historic, with the FIRST black masc lesbian to ever serve as the protagonist of a television comedy.
The soundtrack and beautifully lit skin tones of Twenties promise to stay with you long after you’ve clicked away from the show. It also finds itself squarely within a “black renaissance” (to quote Hattie’s own words) of television that begs the question: Where do we go from here?
Carmen: In a recent interview with The New York Times, Lena Waithe described her Twenties protagonist, Hattie, as entering “our world post my character on ‘Master of None;’ it’s a world post ‘Get Out’; it’s a world post ‘Moonlight'” — that feels like as good a place to start our conversation as any.
We both loved Denise in Master of None, in fact we ranked her in the Top 10 of Autostraddle’s The 100 Greatest Queer and Trans Women of Color Television Characters in TV History list. Of course that role, and the writing of her famous coming out episode which gave Lena Waithe a historic Emmy win as the first black woman to win for comedy writing, skyrockted her career. Looking back to 2017 — did you, like Lena, find connections between Denise and Hattie?
Natalie: I think she sees Master of None as a stepping stone, right? Like, audiences fell in love with a masculine-of-center lesbian character in “Thanksgiving,” so now let’s give a masculine-of-center lesbian character more of a prominent role and see if we can replicate those results.
Just a little Thanksgiving dinner small talk. pic.twitter.com/INoVWJFuSo
— Master of None (@MasterofNone) May 19, 2017
I guess I’d ask if you see that rhetorical leap — from Master of None to Twenties — as a logical one?
Carmen: To be honest, I’m not sure! If you look at the very short history of black butches on TV (there’s been just 22 of them in all of television, according to Autostraddle’s database) then sure — there’s a leap to be made between Master of None and Twenties. If only because there’s so few too begin with! Even as television and film gets queerer with every passing year, there’s still not nearly as much growth as I think we’d all like for black masculine-of-center characters that aren’t… well… played or written by Lena Waithe (or in some other cases, Samira Wiley, if we’re keeping it real with each other).
At the same time, I think making that leap shortchanges that part of what sets Twenties apart is, as you pointed out, it’s the first time ever that a black masculine-of-center lesbian is the PROTAGONIST in her own comedy series on television. And we can add to that the fact that this series exists on a historically homophobic black network.
I’ve said before that I think that what Lena Waithe’s doing at BET is game changing. That’s going to be particularly true this spring, when she has an hour of television on the network completely to herself with two half-hour comedies that have prominent black lesbian roles! Shout out to Lala Milan’s Tia in Boomerang; I still believe she gave one of the best and funniest performances in gay television last year.
Natalie: I’m so excited for the return of Boomerang on Wednesday night and I’m looking forward to seeing how it pairs with Twenties. Like you, I think the queer representation on Boomerang — from Tia to Rocky to Ari — was 100% the best I’d ever seen on BET and, honestly, some of the best black queer representation I’ve see on any network.
Carmen: Talking about queer as hell things happening over on BET…. oh my Lorde, Twenties’ opening sex scene!
Natalie: What can I say, Lena certainly knows how to get my attention?
Carmen: I LOVE the song! “I Got Melanin” been stuck in my head for days thanks to this show.
Also, if you had bet me like ten grand and a pair of VIP Rihanna tickets that I’d live to see a full-on lesbian sex scene on BET in my lifetime, I would’ve taken that bet in a heartbeat. And I would’ve played myself. I never — and I mean NEVER — thought we’d end up here.
Part of what really struck me was is that it’s so clear these women are having sex — and for a long time! BET is very likely always going to be more conservative than some of the other cable networks that we’ve come to associate with lesbian sex, say for instance, Starz or Showtime. But that said, these women aren’t giggling and kissing necks, you know? They aren’t laying on their backs with their sheets up to their necks.
And the way all that brown skin is lit and shot by the camera? My God! Damn fucking sexy.
Natalie: There’s a frankness about the scene that kind of announces, before you even get to know Hattie, how unapologetic this show will be in its queerness.
Carmen: YES! I was just thinking about that! Because we are living in Hattie’s world, there’s no limits around her blackness or her queerness.
We rarely get to see that on television, because so often — particularly on black tv shows — when there even is a queer character, she’s a best friend, sibling, or otherwise sidekick. Centering Twenties on Hattie opens up an entirely different world of opportunities, you know?
Even from an aesthetics point of view! Sure, I think there’s probably one or two (or a dozen) too many vintage Whitney Houston shirts on Twenties, but at the same time, the reclamation of Whitney as a queer icon is about the most black and queer statement that a show could make — one that feels very real to pretty much every queer black person I know in my life. Also, every stud I’ve ever dated has a James Baldwin collection, to the point that it’s now something my friends make fun of. (Yes, I have a type! Yes, my type is Hattie! Yes, this show called me out.)
PS: Hattie’s kicks collection is flawless. Which really shouldn’t be overlooked.
Natalie: Ok, but if you get evicted, are you leaving your collection on the sidewalk while you go see All About Eve? No, you are not.
The Whitney references are plentiful! T-shirts, the sing-along…
Carmen: I think we’re actually stumbling into what I find to be one of Twenties greatest weaknesses — it’s entirely too much of Lena Waithe’s actual, well-documented life, barely re-painted and put on the screen.
Obviously writers are encouraged to write what they know, but a little creative distance never hurt anyone. Lena’s a well-publicized Whitney fan, her favorite movie is All About Eve. And of course there’s the assistant job for the fictional black TV powerhouse Ida B. (I assume we were going for a play on Ida B. Wells here, but that’s a swing and a miss for me). Lena’s spoken extensively about spending her twenties working as an assistant for black women in Hollywood powerhouses Mara Brock Akil (Girlfriends, The Game), Ava DuVernay (Selma, Queen Sugar, When They See Us), and Gina Prince-Bythewood (Love & Basketball, Beyond the Lights).
There’s a line between autobiography and satire, and Twenties trips it all the time. I don’t get the feeling that the murkiness was intentional. Ugh! Did you also find that off-putting?
Natalie: A little, yes… because Hattie doesn’t feel like a new character to me.
She feels like the Hattie we originally met in Lena Waithe’s Twenties Pilot Presentation back in 2013 that’s still available on YouTube (though, obviously, she’s masculine-of-center here whereas she was very femme in the original). She feels like the Lena Waithe we’ve met in interviews over the years. It puts us — as members of the queer community who’ve really watched Lena’s rise intently — in a weird situation of spending an hour with a new character that we already know.
I understand why you’d say that the murkiness was unintentional but it also feels like because we know Lena, we don’t have to know why Hattie wants to be a writer. Because we know Lena’s story, we don’t have to know why her conversations with her mother feel simultaneously close and distant.
Like, they’re using Lena as a shortcut to avoid telling the story in holistic way?
Carmen: I think you’ve really nailed why I didn’t connect to Twenties, and I WANTED to. You know that there isn’t a black butch character on television that I can’t find my heart towards. Especially one with those dimples and wearing Air Force Ones. But try as I might, Hattie left me cold.
I suppose there’s a lot about Twenties that’s exciting and brand new if you haven’t been closely watching the latest wave of black television, especially that coming from either Lena or her frequent co-conspirator Justin Simien (who directed the 2013 Twenties Pilot Presentation you’re talking about, in addition to directing and co-executive producing Dear White People the film with her in 2014) — but watching it, all I thought about was Netflix’s Dear White People, or Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It. These are black shows that premiered within the last three years, have queer black women characters, and use similar “woke Millennial black aesthetic” visuals as a means of not having to dig deep into actually writing black characters that feel real.
I also thought a lot about what Lena has been doing with Boomerang, her other BET creation. Boomerang has an overlapping vibe with Twenties, but based on the episodes I’ve seen thus far, goes much further in authentically showcasing multiple black points of view that doesn’t depend on obvious catch phrases and t-shirt slogans.
Twenties feels like it’s cutting corners. It wants to satirize black Hollywood, but no so much that you loose track of Hattie’s earnest dream to become a writer. It wants to write a love letter to the friendship between black women, but without having to take the time to build up the characters first. Why do these women love each other? I have no idea.
Natalie: They must love each other because if Hattie was at a table across from me and outed the details of my sex life to a room full of people, we would’ve been fighting!
What were your first impressions of Hattie’s friends, Nia and Marie? Thus far I feel like we haven’t really gotten to know them.
I recently rewatched the original Twenties presentation and its interesting to see how much of Hattie has been transferred over to Nia because they’ve chose to center a MOC character. There’s a shot in the BET version where we’re left in a dressing room with Nia staring intensely at herself in the mirror — for what? we never find out — but in the original that moment happens with Hattie
Carmen: That’s really interesting to point out!
Yeah, mostly I just hope we get to know them better. If I struggled to connect to Hattie because she feels badly drawn, then Nia and Marie are cardboard cutouts. They’re Regine and Synclaire from Living Single; they’re Toni and Lynn from Girlfriends. They haven’t been given a voice of their own.
Natalie: So, during the first episode there’s an exchange between Nia and Hattie that struck a cord with me. Nia says, “We need to support black shit.” and Hattie answers back, “No, we should support good shit that just happens to be black.”
I think, if we were talking about almost anything else, I’d side with Hattie. But that’s a conundrum with Twenties — because I don’t actually think it’s “good shit.” At least not yet. So now I’m back to Nia’s side, supporting queer black shit just because it is queer black shit… and hoping that this show eventually lives up to the bar that Lena Waithe set from the outset of her career.
I couldn’t figure out if that line was the most self-aware or the least self-aware thing I’d ever heard! What do you think? Should we be supporting Twenties just because it’s queer black shit or….
Carmen: If I knew how to answer that question, I’d go ahead and retire.
You can find Twenties on BET, Wednesdays, 10pm EST.
Lena Waithe and Wife Alana Mayo Broke Up, We’re Back to Love Being a Lie
To quote the great Ferris Bueller, “life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
2019 lulled us into the feeling of warm, sweet, heart-eyed celesbian romance (Kristen Stewart got a new girlfriend; Roxane Gay got engaged; soccer stars Ashlyn Harris and Ali Krieger had the gay wedding of the century!!). But 2020 is a new year and thus we are faced with the harsh truth of our reality: Love is a Lie.
Just two short months after publicly announcing their marriage to gays everywhere on The Ellen Show, Lena Waithe and her fellow Hollywood producer wife Alana Mayo have announced they are separated.
The couple originally broke news of their engagement back in 2017 on Thanksgiving, a wink to the famous “Thanksgiving” episode of Master of None that catapulted Waithe’s career into another stratosphere. They were together for three years total.
Following the hallowed tradition of straight celebrities before them, the couple shared a joint statement from their reps: “After careful thought and consideration, we have decided to part ways. We have nothing but support for one another and ask that you respect our privacy during this time.”
Word spread overnight while we were sleeping soundly, with many insiders speculating that Lena’s infidelity may have been at the root of their split (we, your trusted experts, have no confirmation of that intel, but I am duty-bound by internet gossip law to report it, that’s the deal I made with the devil to keep my hair so soft).
The real question I have is who will gain custody of their dog’s Instagram account!! I’ve grown very found of Simone Mayo-Waithe! Will no one think of the kids??
And now please gather together in a circle, join hands, burn the herb of your choice, and repeat the Autostraddle motto after me: Love is a lie. It’s a lie. It’s a damn, damn lie.
Joking aside, we wish Alana and Lena peace – and for Alana, some much deserved privacy – in the next steps of their journey.
Lena Waithe’s “Queen & Slim” Left Me Still Hungry for Black Queer Freedom
This review contains spoilers for Queen & Slim
I was in bed scrolling through Instagram when I saw the footage of Alton Sterling’s murder. I wasn’t prepared. It left me gasping aloud, not even aware I’d started crying. Innocuously nestled between pictures of friends at the beach, taking selfies, was the video of his shooting. It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. When I finally did register it, I was stunned, both unable to believe his murder was real and upset at my own astonishment.
Let’s be clear, Queen & Slim isn’t that. But it’s not much of a departure.
The film opens with two gorgeously dark-skinned people on a painfully lackluster first date. Already I feel myself getting pulled in just out of sheer thirst — it’s so rare to see deeply hued people as romantic leads. We find out early on that Queen, an attorney, had responded to Slim’s months-old Tinder message because her client was sentenced to death row and she didn’t want to be alone that night. They continue muddling through the awkwardness of the evening until Slim is pulled over while driving Queen home. Almost immediately it’s clear that the white officer is angry, and his anger is in need of a target. Things escalate quickly, ending with a bullet in Queen’s leg and Slim shooting the officer dead in self-defense.
They embark on a harried journey through Ohio to Kentucky, then on through Nashville to New Orleans where Queen’s uncle lives and can offer some aid (trans actress Indya Moore is one of his girlfriends). As they drive, their backstories take shape, along with tentative plans for escaping their present circumstances. Along the way they discover that they’re the accidental heroes to whole swaths of Black folks exhausted by police violence. Unsurprisingly, many others see them as villains. Their actions spark a revolution across the country with uprisings against the cops carried out to inevitable, horrific ends. With the help of Queen’s uncle and his motley crew of ex-military comrades, a plan is hatched to get the pair to Florida and, from there, on a plane to Cuba. So they can be free, “like Assata.”
They don’t make it. Not to Cuba, not even to the plane. Dropped off yards away from the aircraft, Queen and Slim smile in disbelief, running towards their freedom and looking so relieved as the impossible becomes real. The thing is, they had us believing it was possible, too. There were audible gasps and shouts in the theater as numerous cop cars become apparent in the distance. I was among them, having let myself believe that they had a chance. Both characters were brutally killed on the tarmac.
The fact that I identified so heavily with the movie speaks to some strengths in Lena Waithe’s script. Her unwillingness to translate cultural moments and references acted as an invitation to relax into our shared tongue. The dialogue was restrained in parts but also lush in the moments where more was needed. While there were times I found myself filling in plot holes, I didn’t really mind because of how successfully swept up I became in the film’s more successful moments.
The movie was a first for her and also for director Melina Matsoukas, who is perhaps best known for directing Beyoncé’s “Lemonade.” Visually, the film is an absolute stunner. One of its biggest triumphs is its unyielding tribute to Black life and Black living in the U.S. south. As the pair travel from Ohio to Kentucky, to Nashville and on to New Orleans, we’re shown the naked beauty of the south, unadorned by contemporary attempts to make it less Black and less poor than it is. As a southern transplant myself, it was so refreshing to see familiar landscapes outside of a framework that presents them as blights or problems.
The love that emerges between the two characters is equally as stunning. Brilliantly and subtly acted by both Turner-Smith and Kaluuya, Queen and Slim’s connection may be borne out of necessity but is affirmed in their ability to balance each other through moments of grounding and of flight. When one panics, the other holds them steady; and in turn when the reality of their plight starts to wear, the other breaks the tension with much-needed levity. All this, alongside an impeccable soundtrack, made the couple’s journey towards each other and their precarious future all the more irresistible.
But maybe that kind of fiercely magnetic beauty is all the more noticeable when it’s gone. Queen & Slim gave me so much of what I needed but ultimately dug into a wound that may never really heal. Viewers were asked to suspend their disbelief about some of the more dubious plot points — Queen as a lawyer who mouths off to a cop clearly escalating in aggression strikes as one glaring example — in the same ways they were simultaneously compelled to believe that another life was possible for them.
Queen & Slim’s narrative of fugitivity was far from sexy, all too familiar to Black and Brown folks who understand this precarity as inherent to our being. Each character reminds the other that they are Black and they are criminal, a harsh reminder of how Blackness has pretty much always been wrapped up in illegality, as existing on the “wrong” side of the law.
That I keep questioning myself and my own desires for a freedom unbridled by these restraints is probably evidence of the imaginative muscle I need to strengthen. In the final moments, in the morgue, the funeral, the street corner memorial, I felt silly for believing any other ending was possible. In all honesty, that thought sent me spiraling.
I know my partner Karen had a similar experience, too. I know our visceral responses were informed by the individual heaviness we carry and the collective weight of Black and Brown queer struggles. The movie just hit too close to home. I can’t help but wonder if it really is too neat, or too saccharine, to envision them actually getting on the plane. Where would the movie have taken us if they’d actually touched down in Cuba? If they’d actually been able to fully evoke Assata Shakur’s legacy? Yes, the narrative is grounded in the present moment, in the ways Black people have always existed, but can’t fugitivity become a freedom realized in this life? Is it too much to ask that we finally get to see us win?
Queen & Slim left me as rife with contradictions as the film itself. At once I was hungry for more images of the characters’ lusciously deep skin, and simultaneously I was overfed on images of that skin covered in blood. Waithe’s recent comments on her (white) influences and a Twitter storm about the controversial casting call for Queen all left me wanting more from her and from the movie. Her comments betray a limited view of Blackness that, in turn, seems to limit her character’s potentials.
I think Queen & Slim is beautifully, tragically of the culture, if not for it. It’s a film certainly reflective of our current moment and of our history. Perhaps, my envisioning of a utopia or even just a place that lets us live might be better satisfied by looking elsewhere. Maybe the answers to most of my questions lie in other films and applying less pressure to this one. So much of this movie’s burden lies in its rarity, a burden we know isn’t shared by white films. It’s especially important to mark this moment for Waithe and what she has accomplished as one of few queer Black women, and far fewer masculine presenting, in Hollywood.
For a work touted as blackness for Black people, Queen & Slim ultimately offers not hope or a way forward, but more images of beautiful Black corpses added to the growing canon of Black death for consumption. And I’m simply not able to keep bearing witness.
After the movie, Karen and I sat in the theater for a few minutes before I turned to her and said, “I need a drink.” She agreed: “We can’t end the night like this.” We promptly headed to a queer bar, not even caring that we were two of just a handful of women. We were just happy to be surrounded by loud-talking, bass-heavy QPOC joy.
Oh Hey, Lena Waithe Got Married While You Weren’t Looking!
Last week, just as we were delighting ourselves with news of Roxane Gay’s engagement, Lena Waithe was making her own waves by announcing that she’d secretly wed her longtime partner, fellow Hollywood producer Alana Mayo — demonstrating both that black queer joy is real and that 2019 is ending as a full on lesbian love fest!
“We snuck and did it,” Waithe told John Legend (who was guest hosting The Ellen Degeneres Show on Friday). “You know, I didn’t make any announcements.”
“We went to San Francisco,” she continued. “We went to the courthouse, got married right in front of Harvey Milk’s bust. It was her idea, as all good things are.”
The weight of the decision to be married there isn’t lost on us. The 1978 murder of Harvey Milk in San Francisco’s City Hall became a generational rallying cry for gay rights. In 2004, San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples at that same location, making it the very first place in the United States to perform a legal same-sex marriage. To be married there, committing yourself to your partner and declaring your love right at the center of all that swirling history? It’s hard to even imagine.
If you’ve followed Autostraddle’s coverage before, then you maybe heard us jokingly refer to Lena Waithe as our collective imaginary celebrity girlfriend, as she’s better known around these parts. We may have to retire the moniker and pour one out for our homie, but for Lena and Alana it’s definitely worth it.
It would be almost impossible to describe how singular — how stunningly, breathtakingly one-of-a-kind — it is to witness the love between two black women flourish on a public stage like this one. Black love itself is an act of revolution. Finding beauty and gentleness and care in the very same blackness that institutional power has taught you loathe about yourself is brave. When harnessed, it’s earth shattering. To love a black woman and be loved by a black woman is sacred; I couldn’t be more ecstatic that Lena and Alana get to share that together.
After the news of their nuptials went public, the couple spent the weekend partying at the premiere of Lena Waithe’s new film Queen & Slim (totally not the point here, but damn I can’t wait to see that movie) and sharing all their giddy, sexy, playfulness with their followers on Instagram.
Our warmest congratulations and love to Lena Waithe and Alana Mayo! We’re wishing you many years of dancing and happiness ahead.
Anatomy of a Power Lesbian
Has there ever been a time when we didn’t know what power lesbians were?
Certainly, when my best friend at uni (circa 2001) casually referred to one of his English Lit classmates as a “medieval power dyke” I immediately conjured a picture in my head, and it wasn’t Joan of Arc. My own lesbianism pre-dates this millennium, hewn from an ancient world before The L Word existed and Ellen hadn’t even come out. So, how did it come to pass that this phrase immediately evokes such strong images of shoulder-padded suits and tough, queer women getting shit done (probably while shouting a lot)? I don’t think there was a specific cultural inception, but rather a percolation of various feminist ideals that bubbled over during the 1980s, the decade that female masculinity went mainstream.
Probably the first intentional spotlighting of the power lesbians is in the second season of Sex and the City, in an episode which has a proper title, but let’s just call it by its more relevant name: “The one with the Power Lesbians.”
As per Carrie’s trademark annoying voiceover: “Charlotte had discovered Manhattan’s latest group to flaunt their disposable income — the Power Lesbian. They seem to have everything. Great shoes. Killer eye-wear. And the secrets to invisible make-up.”
The storyline revolves around Charlotte being dazzled by the power lesbian clique, who she says are smart and funny (but let’s be real, she’s lusting after their giant mansions and art collections). Ultimately, Charlotte is rejected because you can dress yourself up in the sharpest suit, but you can’t be a powerdyke if you do not have at least some essential element of dyke within.
Thanks to the enduring appeal of a show you may have heard of called The L Word, there’s little doubt about who is everyone’s first-choice of fictional power lesbian: Bette Porter. She’s got it all: the suits, the shouting (bonus points if it’s into a flip-phone), the attitude that she can get whatever or whoever she wants. For me, that’s what distinguishes a true power lesbian; these aren’t women who’ve had a fortune dropped in their lap, they demonstrably crave control and aren’t afraid to take it, sometimes at any cost. That’s why although a bunch of The L Word cast wore suits throughout the show, it’s only the likes of Helena or Catherine Rothberg that really have the internal avarice to match the looks. I’m also going to throw Peggy Peabody into the ring because I think that all characters played by Holland Taylor automatically qualify as power lesbians.
In recent years, we’ve had a proliferation of queer representation on TV, and though I’m not sure that the number of power lesbians has increased proportionally, there have been a few of note: Jeri Hogarth on Jessica Jones, Mimi Whitman in Empire, Tegan from How to Get Away With Murder, and Annalise Keating herself (I don’t care if she’s bi, she’s blatantly a power lesbian). While it’s sketchy as fuck that these women are usually dabbling in the greyer areas of morality (if not downright evil), it’s for pretty obvious reasons: these are all women trying to succeed in a man’s world, usually playing by men’s rules. How much they’re punished for that is generally an indicator of how shitty the showrunner is.
While it’s easy to understand the trope and motivations of these fictional powerdykes inhabiting worlds of endless melodrama, I get rather more unstuck when it comes to real-life power lesbians. Dykes in suits remain exotically alluring, perhaps because a steady job that involves business attire is but a dream for so many queers. But a cursory search for lists of power lesbians or couples shows that our definition gets a lot more flexible, littered with as many casually-dressed entertainment stars as besuited figureheads from the world of business or politics. Is there a difference between a “power lesbian” and a queer woman who just happens to have power? Or fame or money? Are those qualities all interchangeable?
Take Ellen DeGeneres — by any measure a successful lesbian, with wads of cash, and enormous cultural capital thanks to her subtle infiltration of living rooms across America and beyond. But can she be a Power Lesbian if her whole persona is built on subverting the stereotype, by playing the unthreatening dyke next door? I feel like any compiler of power lesbians that puts Ellen at the top just hasn’t sufficiently overthought it, which is surely a crime against queer culture. Whenever she pairs a dykey-looking blazer with a pair of trainers (which is to say always), is she purposefully downgrading the potentially dominant masculinity of sharp brogues or boxy heels to a more acceptable tomboyishness, or is she merely beholden to every lesbian’s desire for comfortable footwear?
At the other end of the spectrum, the tough-talking aggression of Jillian Michaels and Jackie Warner fits my arbitrary definition of the power lesbian personality type, and yet sportswear is their uniform. When Jennifer Lawrence made her infamous off-hand comment about “slutty power lesbians” I thought I knew exactly what she was talking about… how did this all get so complicated?!
Let’s get back to the basics. What exactly are the components we are all looking for in a power lesbian? For me, there’s got to be a suit, or at least a blazer. And it can’t be any old blazer, it must be a Lesbian Blazer. I once got a (straight) friend of mine into trouble when I introduced her to the concept of a lesbian blazer, which she then discussed loudly in an Oxfam with her mum, which attracted the attention of a presumed lesbian who had a go at them for ascribing sexuality to clothing, which just goes to show you should really be careful when charity shopping in the Isle of Wight. But I digress! What then is a Lesbian Blazer? I think it’s best illustrated by comparing it to not-a-lesbian-blazer, as so:
If that wasn’t clear enough, then try this:
Still confused? What about:
Excellent, glad we’ve cleared that up.
While our fictional lesbians were usually in it for their personal gain, I think I’m more interested in those who use real-life power for a wider purpose. That’s not just in the political sphere, where the de facto dress code of female politicians of the Western world for the past three decades have had sapphic overtones, with all those pantsuits and short haircuts making things terribly confusing. Thank heavens for Tammy Baldwin, Ruth Davidson, Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, Ana Brnabić and many others who have actually put the lesbian into the power.
Yes, titans of the entertainment industry undoubtedly wield huge amounts of influence over our lives, but I’m not always convinced it’s for any purposes beyond perpetuating existing power structures. It’s mildly galling that Ilene Chaiken seems to tick all my traditional power lesbian boxes, but that’s only to be expected considering she used herself as the template for Bette Porter.
If I could pick two people to be my modern day standard of what a power lesbian should be, I’d go for Cynthia Nixon and Lena Waithe. Both are using the influence gained in one sphere to actively, positively change the world around them, from Waithe’s mentoring of hundreds of diverse screenwriters to Nixon literally sticking it to the man in the NYC gubernatorial campaign. Most importantly, they can both absolutely rock it in a power suit.⚡
Edited by Heather
Boobs On Your Tube: Gentleman Jack’s Misandry Remains Transcendent
Boobs Tubers, hello! Before we dive into the week in TV, I just want to give you a quick heads up that we won’t publish a Boobs Tube column on Friday, June 7th because most of our staff will be at camp — but we’ll for sure be back the following Friday!
This week, a brand new To L and Back from Riese and Kristin! (Also the new L Word got a name.) Riese also brought together a team of trans and non-binary writers to talk about Lisa the Male-Identified Lesbian from season one. Valerie Anne recapped the Supergirl season finale and the Legends of Tomorrow season finale. Carmen reviewed season two of Vida and the Charmed season one finale. And Valerie wrote about the beautiful, tragic bisexual storyline in Lucifer’s second season.
Some notes from the TV Team:
+ Gentleman Jack has been renewed! — Heather
+ Remember how when Legacies ended on March 28th, and then how on March 29th I told you that you don’t have to watch The Vampire Diaries or The Originals to love Legacies? Well I still stand by that HOWEVER on March 31st my friend Nic and I started watching The Vampire Diaries and now today, less than two months later, we’re at the end of Season 5 of The Vampire Diaries and the end of Season 1 of The Originals (we’re alternating to try to keep it ~authentic~ #TVDFW) and I’m…obsessed?? I’ve never been so into vampire lore that wasn’t the Buffyverse, and I’ve never shipped so many m/f couples so hard, and I don’t remember the last time I loved a show with no canon queer lady couples for so many seasons (yet??? We’re still holding out hope. No pun intended.) So anyway I still stand by the fact that you don’t HAVE to watch these shows to appreciate Legacies, but I’m now amending it to say that maybe you SHOULD to enhance your experience and you have until probably October to do it, which two months ago I would have thought was impossible, but we’re on track to finish it in four months total, so you can, too! — Valerie Anne
+ It’s opening weekend on the new WNBA season and no matter how you consume your media, there’s a way for you to add WNBA games to your sports diet. Got cable? NBA TV has Indiana Fever vs. New York Liberty tonight, while CBS Sports has Chicago Sky vs. Minnesota Lynx tomorrow. Only have broadcast channels? ABC’s got a rematch of last year’s epic Western Conference Finals on Saturday. Are you strictly a streamer? You can watch two games this weekend on Twitter. See, there’s something for everyone! — Natalie
+ Did you see this first look at Pose Season Two? Because I can’t wait to see what happens in the ’90s for my beloved chosen QTPOC family. (It starts June 11th, get ready!) — Carmen
Gentleman Jack 105: “Let’s Have Another Look at Your Past Perfect”
Written by Heather
Anne’s fourth-wall breaking threat at the end of last week’s episode manifests itself in a glorious confrontation with the good reverend Thomas Ainsworth this week. He shows up at Crow’s Nest with proprietary love notes and scrapbooks and various other passive aggressive demands for Miss Walker’s hand in marriage. A week after his wife’s death, mind. Anne goads him into a one-on-one, during which she flicks his little clergy collar; waves her cane around in his face, tapping him on the chest with it at least once; and tells him to stay out of her line of sight, and Miss Walker’s life, forever.
For her part, Miss Walker is flipping back and forth like a goldfish — very much like real life, actually! — between accepting Anne’s marriage proposal and acquiescing to the demands of society and her family. Anne’s out here buying a Book of Common Prayer, for eight schillings, for them to use for their marriage sacrament; and ordering a wedding ring; and somehow walking with even more pep in her soft butch step than usual. In Anne’s absence, Miss Walker’s family convince her that: a) people are talking and b) she’s definitely going to hell if she keeps this lesbianism up.
Anne pleads with her to have courage, and recites one of the most famous lines from Lister’s real diaries: “I love and only love the fairer sex and thus, beloved by them in turn, my heart revolts from any other love than theirs.”
In the end, though, Miss Walker refuses her and Anne gets attacked by a goon sent from the Coal Brothers. It’s the least triumphant ending of any Gentleman Jack episode so far, but I have no doubt the rebound will be spectacular.
Jane the Virgin 509: “Chapter Ninety”
Written by Heather
Petra and JR try a little co-parenting this week, preceded by a smash cut of the twins like they’re in The Shining in The Marbella, which is one of my favorite sight gags ever on this show. JR takes them for ice cream sundaes, alone, and they end up getting into a food fight and she snaps at them and Other Jane (lol) overhears the whole thing. JR thinks Other Jane dimes her out to Petra. She doesn’t, though, and so Petra ends up on her doorstep demanding to know why Jane minded her own businesses this one time in her life. Petra needs to know these things!
Petra and JR do a little snapping at each other and storming out, but ultimately end up on the stoop outside JR’s bar talking about how their own childhood trauma informed their idea of parenting. Petra spoils the twins because she didn’t have anything. JR didn’t have anything and finds the twins’ behavior entitled. They agree to keep working on it, and JR even uses Petra’s patented “don’t make me take your iPad” trick to get them to get dressed.
While she’s doing that, she gets a call from her mentor, who has a job for her, a law job, in Houston. Yikes!
Lena Waithe Guest Hosts Jimmy Kimmel Live!
Written by Carmen
Do you believe in karma?
I would be hard pressed to find a celebrity who has done more for uplifting black lesbian visibility in the last two years than Lena Waithe. From her Emmy speeches, to MET Gala red carpets (x2!), to her willingness to help transform a historically homophobic black cable network – she’s the epitome of the saying, “when I enter a room, my community enters with me.” So maybe it’s only fair that she be the one to live out the dreams of millions of black lesbian, bisexual, and queer girls.
This week Lena guest hosted the ABC late night show Jimmy Kimmel Live! She opened her monologue joking “what you are watching right now is a girl from the South Side of Chicago living out her Arsenio Hall dreams” to a group of fans dog barking (the classic early ‘90s Arsenio cheer). But it’s when her good friend, and producing partner on BET’s Boomerang, Halle Berry comes to visit that my black queer corner of the internet went aflame.
Before the episode had even begun, Lena tweeted a GIF of her and Halle in a lip lock with a simple “No Caption Necessary.” Within 30 minutes, everyone I know had messaged me about it. The bit itself is pretty simple. The Kimmel studio has installed a “Berry Button” in case of hosting emergencies. Lena hits it, and Halle Berry – in full superhero pose – shows up behind a screen, then runs to her aid. Lena asks that Halle deliver a motivational speech, a slight parody of famous 2002 Oscar win. At the end of the speech Halle asks if she needs anything more.
Lena says “I think I’m good” and that’s when Halle Berry takes up a notch, holding Lena’s face by both hands and really laying one on her! We’re not talking about a quick puckered lip situation, either! OH NO, this is nearly a full on make out!!
By far the best part comes in the first seconds right after the kiss is over, when Lena Waithe – face stunned and jaw slacked – mouths “WOW.”
In that moment, I knew, somewhere in her past a 16-year-old Lena reached across the sands of time to give her adult self the most HIGHEST of high-fives.
(PS: Lena’s wearing the black queer owned STUZO Clothing. If you want her exact sweatshirt, you can get it here. I did the research because I love you.)
The Bold Type 307: “Mixed Messages”
Written by Carmen
Kids this isn’t very factual to how election campaigns are run, but I don’t care! Look at those cute faces!
Last week I told you that I was an easy mark for two black girls in love, and that’s absolutely true. At the same time, I’ve had reservations about The Bold Type’s ability to appropriately grapple with the specific nuances of an authentic black relationship. This week went a long way to calm those fears.
Kat is completely head over heels for Tia. That tracks for Kat, who always leads with her heart first. So when going out canvassing for her election, it never occurs to her why Tia thinks they should split up. She just wants to spend more time with her girlfriend! It’s not until they encounter a racist white woman who accuses them of casing her apartment to steal (and also she’s going to call the police! A real BBQ Becky!) that things go awry.
Kat’s first reaction is to blow this woman up on her social media accounts, but Tia advocates for caution. Making the story public will only make it about the white woman, Kat’s messaging will get lost in the crossfire. The two end up in a pretty massive fight about the whole ordeal, but ultimately Tia’s right.
Kat apologizes. Thinking about race in these ways is still pretty new for her. Tia’s sympathetic; she’s been struggling with her own identity for years. She knowingly sighs, “Black and Gay?” Kat smiles, “It’s a one-two punch.”
That kind of understanding of double (or even triple) consciousness – what it means to see yourself as a black queer woman living in a country regulated by racism, sexism, and homophobia – is hard to pull off on something as lighthearted as The Bold Type, but the writers figured out how to thread the needle.
Then Tia and Kat have sex. They have full on, above the sheets, on camera sex. As always I give a lot of credit to Freeform for treating Kat’s sex life with the same seriousness that give her straight best friends. We’ve come a long way since Emily and Alison only got to rub ankles on Pretty Little Liars! But check this out – while Kat is busy making love to her new girlfriend for the first time, guess who just happens to text her? Oh that would none other than Adena El-Amin herself. She’s back in the country for a gallery opening, and she’d really love to meet up.
I actually have a lot of feelings about Kat’s third season arc! AND ADENA’S RETURN! So look forward to a standalone analysis piece about this very topic next week, right here on Autostraddle [dot] com!
Pop Culture Fix: Evan Rachel Wood and Lena Waithe are Together at Last in the New “Westworld” Trailer
Welcome to your weekly fix of queer pop culture, curated for you by the internet’s #1 Gentleman Jack stan.
+ The first trailer for Westworld‘s third season dropped before the Game of Thrones finale Sunday, feat. your girls Evan Rachel Wood and Lena Waithe (and way too much Aaron Paul, imo). ERWB looks extra murder-y, though, right?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=47&v=deSUQ7mZfWk
+ Also, hey, a new Tales of the City trailer!
https://twitter.com/TalesofTheCity/status/1130820538148876289
+ The trailer for Orange Is the New Black’s last season made our TV Team kinda emotional!
+ Sweetbitter‘s coming back to Starz on July 14th.
+ Time‘s profile of Tessa Thompson is one hundred percent a thing you need in your life today. (Bonus video interview with Valkyrie highlights.)
+ How Port Authority, the first Cannes Fest Film featuring a Black trans woman, was cast.
+ Humans isn’t coming back for a fourth season.
+ Homosexuality on the Small Screen: Television and Gay Identity in Britain.
+ Ellen has extended her talkshow deal through 2022.
+ Ruby Rose chatted with TVLine about Batwoman, etc. at the Upfronts. (Her hair is doing a perfect cartoon character butch swoop in this video; how?!)
+ Would you like a Captain Marvel deleted scene?
+ Hem hem. Killing Eve breaks bad beautifully, succeeding where Game of Thrones failed.
+ Alabama public TV won’t show Arthur’s gay wedding.
+ Sue Bird will probably miss most of the 2019 WNBA season due to a knee injury.
Queer Art of Failure: Notes on Camp and the 2019 Met Gala
Last night, the baddest bitches went to the Metropolitan art museum in their baddest bitch clothes. This year’s Met Gala was arranged by Anna Wintour and was hosted by Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, and Harry Styles. Lena Waithe also sat on the planning committee.
As a whole, people didn’t read the essay and had no clue what “camp” was. There were lots of earnest trials and failures, however, and I think that’s the embodiment of camp! Straight people failing at camp is campier than I could’ve hoped for, friends. So overall, I’d say it was a success. Here are my favorite looks paired with my favorite sentences from Susan Sontag’s 1964 essay, “Notes on Camp.”
Also, Ciara and Big Freedia did…this together. It’s so campy I could quote the whole essay under it, so instead, here it is without commentary:
Janelle Monáe
“The whole point of Camp is to dethrone the serious.”
Billy Porter
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxIxp8zBW7A/
“So, not all homosexuals have Camp taste. But homosexuals, by and large, constitute the vanguard — and the most articulate audience — of Camp.”
Lady Gaga
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJQjb_nHsU/
“For Camp art is often decorative art, emphasizing texture, sensuous surface, and style at the expense of content.”
Harry Styles
“To perceive Camp in objects and persons is to understand Being-as-Playing-a-Role.”
Céline Dion
“That way, the way of Camp, is not in terms of beauty, but in terms of the degree of artifice, of stylization.”
Katy Perry
“Camp is art that proposes itself seriously, but cannot be taken altogether seriously because it is ‘too much.'”
Gigi Hadid
“Camp is a woman walking around in a dress made of three million feathers.”
Miley Cyrus
“Without passion, one gets pseudo-Camp — what is merely decorative, safe, in a word, chic.”
Jared Leto
“The hallmark of Camp is the spirit of extravagance.”
Danai Gurira
“Camp is the answer to the problem: how to be a dandy in the age of mass culture.”
MJ Rodriguez
“One is drawn to Camp when one realizes that “sincerity” is not enough.”
Janet Mock
“Camp taste is, above all, a mode of enjoyment, of appreciation – not judgment.”
Robyn
“Camp is the triumph of the epicene style.”
Natasha Lyonne
“Camp responds particularly to the markedly attenuated and to the strongly exaggerated.”
Dominique Jackson
“To camp is a mode of seduction — one which employs flamboyant mannerisms susceptible of a double interpretation; gestures full of duplicity, with a witty meaning for cognoscenti and another, more impersonal, for outsiders.”
Yara Shahidi
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJBnd0gg7U/
“Camp involves a new, more complex relation to “the serious.” One can be serious about the frivolous, frivolous about the serious.”
Dee Hilfiger
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJEp9tB6rH/
“The Camp sensibility is disengaged, depoliticized — or at least apolitical.”
Tiffany Haddish
“Camp… makes no distinction between the unique object and the mass-produced object.”
Saoirse Ronan
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJAAqKHB4p/
“Camp is a solvent of morality. It neutralizes moral indignation, sponsors playfulness.”
Jordan Roth
“It seems unlikely that much of the traditional opera repertoire could be such satisfying Camp if the melodramatic absurdities of most opera plots had not been taken seriously by their composers. One doesn’t need to know the artist’s private intentions. The work tells all.”
Zoe Saldana
“What the Camp eye appreciates is the unity, the force of the person.”
Awkwafina
Shine bright like @awkwafina #MetGala2019 #MetGala pic.twitter.com/mJ2KLLCn0J
— NYLON (@NylonMag) May 6, 2019
“Camp is the glorification of ‘character.'”
Whembley Sewell
MY KWEEN @whembleysewell <3 <3 pic.twitter.com/DXhafzCFCY
— gabe bergado (@gabebergado) May 6, 2019
“What is most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine.”
Caroline Trentini
Caroline Trentini has amazing bone structure #metgala pic.twitter.com/EJ2tpDuyL1
— Margaret Cho (@margaretcho) May 6, 2019
“Only that which has the proper mixture of the exaggerated, the fantastic, the passionate, and the naïve.”
Hamish Bowles
“All Camp objects, and persons, contain a large element of artifice.”
Regina Hall
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxIz7GQnieP/
“Many examples of Camp are things which, from a “serious” point of view, are either bad art or kitsch.”
Serena Williams
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJA_O3DypY/
“…In their relative unpretentiousness and vulgarity, they are more extreme and irresponsible in their fantasy – and therefore touching and quite enjoyable.”
Kacey Musgraves
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJCjgUhhT5/
“Camp is as well a quality discoverable in objects and the behavior of persons.”
Tracee Ellis Ross
“Camp is either completely naive or else wholly conscious.”
Alicia Vikander
“Camp taste nourishes itself on the love that has gone into certain objects and personal style.”
Emma Stone
“It incarnates a victory of “style” over “content,” “aesthetics” over “morality,” of irony over tragedy.”
Zazie Beetz
“The androgyne is certainly one of the great images of Camp sensibility.”
Diane von Furstenberg
“Style is everything.”
Kerry Washington
“There is seriousness in Camp… But there is never, never tragedy.”
Sarah Paulson
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJXQJXjFEI/
“There is a sense in which it is correct to say: “It’s too good to be Camp.” Or “too important,” not marginal enough.”
Kristen Stewart
“Camp refuses both the harmonies of traditional seriousness, and the risks of fully identifying with extreme states of feeling.”
Lily Collins
https://twitter.com/ohmazerunner/status/1125561095207444480
“[Camp]…is not a natural mode of sensibility, if there be any such.”
Jennifer Lopez
“Some art which can be approached as Camp… merits the most serious admiration and study.”
Dua Lipa
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJYnOynFay/
“Camp asserts that good taste is not simply good taste; that there exists, indeed, a good taste of bad taste.”
Ciara
“Camp taste transcends the nausea of the replica.”
Hailee Steinfeld
“Camp introduces a new standard: artifice as an ideal, theatricality.”
Cardi B
“Pure Camp is always naive. Camp which knows itself to be Camp (“camping”) is usually less satisfying.”
Rupaul
“If tragedy is an experience of hyperinvolvement, comedy is an experience of underinvolvement, of detachment.”
Solange
“The new-style dandy, the lover of Camp, appreciates vulgarity.”
Cara Delevingne
“Camp proposes a comic vision of the world.”
Ezra Miller
“Camp taste identifies with what it is enjoying.”
Michael Urie
“[Camp] is the love of the exaggerated, the “off,” of things-being-what-they-are-not.”
Lena Waithe
“The relation of Camp taste to the past is extremely sentimental.”
Zendaya
“So many of the objects prized by Camp taste are old-fashioned, out-of-date, démodé.”
Tessa Thompson
“But since no authentic aristocrats in the old sense exist today to sponsor special tastes, who is the bearer of this taste? Answer: an improvised self-elected class, mainly homosexuals, who constitute themselves as aristocrats of taste.”
Lala Anthony
“Time liberates the work of art from moral relevance, delivering it over to the Camp sensibility.
Lizzo
“Camp is a tender feeling.”
Bette Midler
“Things are campy, not when they become old – but when we become less involved in them, and can enjoy, instead of be frustrated by, the failure of the attempt”
Lupita Nyong’o
“Successful Camp… even when it reveals self-parody, reeks of self-love.”
Indya Moore
INDYA MOORE.
thats it. thats the tweet. pic.twitter.com/g11XBBmauu— cuzzy (@cudegracah) May 7, 2019
“…The Camp sensibility is one that is alive to a double sense in which some things can be taken.”
Hari Nef
“And Camp is esoteric — something of a private code, a badge of identity even, among small urban cliques.”
Lena Waithe’s “Boomerang” Is Bringing a Gay Reckoning to BET
Last week on BET, Boomerang began its episode the same way it’s begun each episode that’s come before: With the title in simple, bold print over a blank screen. This time? The word went from black to rainbow, and just like that I already knew – we were off really to the races.
When the sitcom premiered in February, I detailed the black pop culture and TV field that it was joining – one where critics’ darling black trans and queer television productions like Pose were still not getting the awards recognition it deserved from organizations like the NAACP, where black LGBT millennial voices were still being erased en masse out of our own cultural productions. I hoped that, given Lena Waithe’s professional reputation and the fact that Boomerang came out the gate with two black queer characters (Tia, a lesbian, and Ari, one of the few black bisexual men on television) in its main cast, this show could help move the needle.
In the last few weeks my expectations have been more than exceeded. Not only has Boomerang proven itself to be one of the most cutting edge black voices on television, it’s also invested in showcasing a full spectrum of young blackness, including sexuality. The crew of 20something best friends at the sitcom’s core include upper middle class and wealthy black characters Simone and Bryson (whose parents are the central characters in the original Boomerang movie that the BET sitcom is spun-off of); there’s also working class characters like Tia and Ari, Tia works as a dancer at a strip club and Ari hustled odd jobs – including being a bouncer at a gay club – to support himself as the first in his family to go to college; David and Crystal, college sweethearts who are now divorced in their mid-20s, are people of faith; David is the pastor of his own storefront church.
Over the course of it’s first seven episodes Boomerang has taken its time with the history and development of each character, eschewing the typical frantic comic beats of a mainstream sitcom for a more subtle and lived-in humor that echoes Waithe’s signature writing style in her Emmy Award winning episode of Master of None. Joke payoffs come from intimately knowing the perspective of the person speaking, rather than anything madcap.
Not that I have something against eccentric, pushy, or over the top comedies! Television shows like 30 Rock, which always rushed to its next joke even at the sake of its own plot, or Brooklyn 99, where common catch phrases (“Noice!”) rule the day, have a well deserved place in sitcom platform of the last decade. The original film Boomerang based itself off the frenetic energy of its lead comedian, Eddie Murphy. Still, there is something refreshing about the writers’ room that Waithe has assembled for Boomerang; they don’t mind leaving room to ride the air of quiet humanity in between the show’s beats.
This approach works particularly well for Tia and Ari, both of whom have their sexuality dealt with upfront and with zero-to-no fanfare. When the audience learns of Ari’s bisexuality in the second episode, it’s dealt with in a funny text message conversation with Simone that involves Ari boasting over his most recent hookup. In the fourth episode (“Call A Spade”), Tia’s girlfriend, Rocky, a stud black lesbian, is introduced to the audience mid-hookup with Tia. Rocky’s clad in a grey undershirt, Tia’s making out on top of her in her t-shirt and panties, when Simone busts through the door. There’s nothing aghast about it, in fact Simone just rolls her eyes and continues to talk about the emergency of the day (a family friend has found herself in lock up after a drunk yelling match with her boyfriend). As the girls rush off to save their friend in need, Rocky agrees to be their ride – after Tia promises to finish where they left off later, of course.
It’s been weeks and I still can’t get that particular episode out of my head. BET has a common phrase they use in their advertising, “We Got You,” but the truth is that they haven’t always had the backs of their black LGBT audience. I’ve racked my brain and I cannot think of a single other time when I’ve seen two women share a bed on their network. Now here are Tia and Rocky, and they’re leaving nothing to the imagination. It’s treated as common as the time of day. There’s no less scandal to it than any of the numerous straight hookups shown on the show. Two episodes later in “Homecoming,” a flashback dedicated to the crew’s college years, we watch Ari’s first gay kiss. It’s framed as romantic and warm, perhaps even innocent. Once again, my jaw was on the floor.
I couldn’t believe this was BET that I was watching at all. Just within the last 10 years, this network was still bleeping the word “homosexual” off their syndicated reruns of CW sitcoms The Game and Girlfriends.
Then came last week. In its seventh episode, aptly titled “PRIDE,” the crew attends Atlanta’s Black Pride festival to film Tia’s newest music video (to the best of my knowledge Atlanta Pride happens in summer and this crew is 100% wearing winter coats, but you know what? Let’s give it a pass). It’s here that the unhurried pace of the show’s character development really pays off. As our writer Natalie put it:
https://twitter.com/natthedem/status/1108200966199885824
Most striking is that we not only see Tia and Ari comfortable in their own black queer skin, but that the director chooses to highlight – via portrait style close ups – a variety of festival goers. Black trans women and men, black studs and butches, black femmes of all genders, black drag performers, black masc gay men – the whole family is accounted for. And we’re happy, we’re smiling, we’re…. Proud. There is not a single second in the episodes 22 minute run time where black queer folks are asked to check any part of ourselves at the door. It’s unforgettable and, quite frankly, revolutionary.
Of all the representation, it was the inclusion of black trans people throughout the festival that left me choked up. In June 2013 – for those keeping track, that’s less than merely six years ago – B. Scott, a black non-binary trans femme performer and gossip columnist, was forced off of the BET Awards red carpet for their femme fashion. After being invited by the network to help with their awards show coverage, Scott was asked to remove their make up, change into more “masculine” clothes that they felt uncomfortable in, and pull back their long hair. Maybe this feels like a small moment for those who didn’t live through it, but I’ll never forget my outrage. The utter confirmation that, as a black queer person, my acceptance in black cultural spaces was always going to policed and reprimanded. That cultural gatekeepers like BET might never actually accept “all of us.” Scott settled their lawsuit against the network in 2015, but those scars take a long time to heal.
Last week, Lena Waithe took a hammer to that legacy. Tia starts her music video framed in the fans of two black femme gay men living every bit of their ballroom life. It’s cathartic and joyous and simultaneously the queerest, blackest piece of art I’ve seen since Pose went off the air last summer. It’s certainly the blackest and queerest thing I’ve seen on a black network EVER. David and Crystal are using the festival to recruit new partitioners to their church, proudly declaring that “being queer isn’t a choice; it’s a gift from God.” Maybe the line was directly squared at a portion of BET’s church going audience, I don’t know, but damn it was healing for me to hear.
When Ari runs into an ex-girlfriend at the festival – she’s supposedly attending to support her “gay ass” brother, but to be honest with you she’s the worst ally I’ve ever seen – she berates him for his bisexuality. She tells him that she’s gonna pray for him. Still, Ari stands strong. He won’t put himself into a box for anyone.
In fact it’s Ari’s pride in his sexuality that inspires him to change the format for Tia’s video altogether. Instead of just being about her, the new music video becomes about us. A black lesbian surrounded by her queer and trans family, brought together, celebrating our own skin and our own love and existing in our fully black world without any apologies.
If you weren’t paying close attention, if you didn’t know the history, you might have even almost missed it – but what Lena Waithe is producing on BET right now is nothing short of a reclamation.
Bump that, it’s a reckoning.
No Filter: Imagine Yourself on This Date with Lena Waithe
Instagram has been a whole thing this week. All of my friends went to SXSW and I stayed at home thinking about buying $26 organic cashews with Kristen Stewart. As for the queer celebrities, they’re all still out there doing whatever.
In other news:
We cute @TessaThompson_x https://t.co/7358yhTQlA
— Brie Larson (@brielarson) March 18, 2019
WHAT. we so cute @brielarson https://t.co/LGVXRoQbMy
— Tessa Thompson (@TessaThompson_x) March 18, 2019
Listen, they’re just… dating now. I don’t make the rules, I only enforce them.
Sarah Paulson is not a frequent Instagrammer, and I respect her for it, but I would quite literally watch her read the phone book for hours if I had the chance.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BvIWpCIBZ7C/
Ellen Page and her wife Emma Portner are tragically terrible at walking and kissing and I spent this whole video concerned that one of them was going to walk into a signpost or something. WATCH THE ROAD.
Just some cute dudes in a hammock.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BvLHtX9Aa_7/
This week, Teddy Geiger’s thirst traps go artistic.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BvHk1JflJCA/
This is Gaby Dunn, she’s gay.
Sometimes I look at the amazing stuff Jasika Nicole makes and think, wow, I wish I could take the time to learn how to make my own clothes and shoes. Much like Gaby Dunn’s financial advice, though, I generally end up just wishing she would do it for me. (PS: Gaby, let me know when you’re ready to do my taxes.)
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bu5PNmklw9c/
King Princess went to SXSW to do some really gay stuff and she also posted this really gay picture.
This is what it would look like if you went out for green beer with Lena Waithe, I mean just in case you ever happened to imagine yourself dating Lena Waithe. I don’t know your life.
Rita Moreno is a goddamn treasure and I shall not rest until One Day At A Time is revived, if only for more of Stephanie Beatriz’s charmingly surly character.
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bu5gg0onV-d/
Kehlani is just never having this fucking baby ever, I guess.
Lena Waithe’s “Boomerang” Has a Black Lesbian, Bisexual Representation and a Lot of Heart
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about black history. I’m sure that’s to be expected, since it’s February and all. I’m in the middle of editing Autostraddle’s Black History Month series. There’s also a lot of buzz surrounding the reboot of this little known show you may have heard of called The L Word (haha) that has left me, as a television critic, thinking about the long history of queer women’s and queer black women’s representation on screen. This month has found me looking back, questioning, trying to find those patterns and questions that were maybe once forgotten.
Which makes it probably the ideal time to start thinking about a Lena Waithe project. There’s a lot to love about Lena Waithe (whom we’ve more than once jokingly called everyone’s favorite imaginary celebrity girlfriend at this publication), but one of the things I’ve long respected most is that she’s a walking encyclopedia for black television and black pop culture. She studies our creative expression the way that an NYU film student pours over the AFI’s 100 Greatest Films list. She reveres it, references it in her work. She honors it. As someone who lives for black pop culture in the same way, it’s always drawn me to her productions. To paraphrase Waithe – I, too, see the God in us.
That’s why I was intrigued when her first green-lit sitcom, following her historic Emmy moment as the first black woman to win for Outstanding Writing in a Comedy Series, was for a reboot of the 1992 black cinematic classic Boomerang. We throw around words like “iconic” a lot these days in internet slang, but there simply is no other way to describe Boomerang’s 27-year-long legacy in black culture. I rewatched it recently and was floored by the cast alone: Eddie Murphy, Halle Berry, Robin Givens, Martin Lawrence, David Alan Grier, Tisha Campbell, Lela Rochon, and – I’ll still never believe this – EARTHA KITT AND GRACE FREAKIN’ JONES! That’s all before the first line is even uttered! I already want to lie down on a couch.
The cast of BET’s Boomerang
If you’ve never seen Boomerang, it’s a romantic comedy where Marcus Graham (Eddie Murphy), a womanizing advertising executive, finds himself in a love triangle between Jacqueline (Robin Givens) and Angela (Halle Berry). Many jokes, howling laughter, and more than a few spit-take worthy lines later, he ultimately ends up with Halle. Waithe’s new sitcom for BET (co-produced with none other than Ms. Halle Berry herself) follows Angela and Marcus’ daughter, Simone Graham (Tetona Jackson) as she and her crew of friends – including Jacqueline’s son Bryson (Tequan Richmond) – navigate life as black millennials conquering careers and romance.
I would have been invested in this project no matter what. It’s smartly written; some jokes held up even better upon re-watch – a rare calling card. It’s unapologetically draped in a love for blackness. But here’s when things get really interesting: BET’s Boomerang has not one, but two, queer black characters in it’s main cast — Angela’s lesbian close friend and client, Tia (Lala Milan), and Bryson’s bisexual best friend, Ari (Leland B. Martin). It’s painfully rare to see a bisexual male character on television, let alone one who’s black and also masc. That’s quite frankly unheard of. Ari is light and funny, he’s a talented filmmaker and one of the boys. His charisma leaps off the screen. None of his friends raise an eyebrow at his antics (well I mean, they do, but not because he’s bi). In many ways, he’s an early heartbeat of the show.
Tia’s a complete scene stealer. She’s defies so many boxes or tropes of what we’ve been programmed to expect from a black lesbian on TV. First, when most black queer women on television are being actively de-sexualized, Tia refreshingly owns her sexuality right out the gate (forewarning, the on-screen joke in the second episode that leads to the character revealing her sexuality to the audience is a little cissexist and gave me pause. The joke is very brief and I’m hoping that moving forward Boomerang finds ways to address Tia as a lesbian without throw away lines that focus on genitalia). She’s a dancer at a strip club who dreams of stardom and performs in day-glow body paint with phrases like “Black Lives Matter” and “#MeToo” adorning her thighs. When one of her friends suggests that she sell more of a male fantasy to make better income at the club, you know by making the men believe she’ll go home with them at the end of the night, she rolls her eyes and essentially responds, “Why? I won’t.”
Lala Milan as Tia.
Tia’s love interest has yet to make an appearance, but is slated for upcoming episodes. I did a little digging online and am ecstatic to report that she appears to be a stud butch, yet ANOTHER essential representation that we almost never get to see. Which is one of the many reasons that with less than two weeks on air, Boomerang is already proving itself to be vitally important.
As many of you know, Autostraddle maintains the largest independently operated database of lesbian and bisexual women on television. In preparation for this review, I consulted that database and found only two other reoccurring or regular black lesbian characters in American sitcom history. Both of those characters were on television shows that only lasted a single season. They also were isolated within majority white casts. Conversely, one of my longest standing gripes about the current black renaissance on television is the lack of black queer representation in majority black shows. I love Issa Rae’s Insecure, but I’ve never known a real life crew of black millennials in a big city like Los Angeles who had no gay friends. It’s more than “not representative” of the times we live in. Millennials of color make up the largest portion of LGBT folks in our age bracket. Against that backdrop, what we’re facing is erasure. Flat out.
In Boomerang’s cast of six regulars, we have two out queer characters who are loved and supported by their friends. Their sexuality is treated matter of fact and nonchalantly. My favorite moment? When Simone texts Ari to ask about the new male hookup he brought to game night, he writes back “Oh that’s all me.” She asks about ole girl from last week. His cocky response? “That was last week.” It’s the kind of playful boasting I’ve shared with friends in text messages that are definitely not meant for public consumption. There’s nothing more that’s needed to be said. Similarly, none of Tia’s friends bat an eye that she works at a strip club. There’s no judgement in this crew’s love for each other.
It can’t be overstated what a breakthrough moment this is for black television. I can personally attest that within the last decade, BET was still bleeping the word “homosexual” off its airwaves when it ran reruns of sitcoms from other channels. Let that sink in. Now imagine the same network running a new half hour comedy where one of the main characters is a black lesbian who works at a strip club with a butch girlfriend and the other is a bisexual guy who casually talks about his hook ups of multiple genders. Both existing in a world where they’re allowed to be free from a white gaze. That’s the power of Lena Waithe.
Last week we found out that F/X’s groundbreaking black and brown LGBT production Pose had been snubbed by the NAACP Image Awards. The Image Awards, celebrating their 50th anniversary this year, were designed to honor outstanding people of color in film, television, music and literature that are often forgotten or left behind by white critics and media. Pose’s omission, especially given its recent success in nominations at the Golden Globes and Critic’s Choice awards, was particularly glaring. The Image Awards have recently proved themselves progressive when it came to black and brown LGBT inclusion. This setback was a poignant reminder.
Those of us who fight for inclusion and a home in our communities must always remain vigilant. It’s not enough to be only partially accepted. We can’t just passively assume that our humanity will be seen when there are so many who would rather ignore that we’re here. As Pose producer, director, and screenwriter Janet Mock so elegantly stated in the wake of the show’s shutout: “Respectability politics will not save us.”
That’s the environment in which Boomerang is making its debut – one in which black visibility in pop culture is peaking at one of its greatest heights, but black queer and trans folks cannot give up our fight. We must continue seeing the humanity in ourselves, because so many others refuse to. I couldn’t be more excited to have Lena Waithe’s creativity out there pulling for us.
Boomerang is airing on BET, Tuesdays at 10pm EST. For those without cable, a season pass can also be purchased on Amazon Prime.
The Black Lesbian Movie Project
Welcome to Autostraddle’s 2019 Black History Month Series, a deliberate celebration of black queerness.
Hey, hello, what’s up!
As we know, I’m a huge fan of black culture. I also think that almost anything can be made better if it were gayer, so Autostraddle (bless their hearts) is giving me the chance to be the change that I want to see in the world. Allow me to butch up our favorite black movies, thereby even making them even MORE fantastic than they already are!
Coming to America
(L to R: Gina Yashere as Semmi, the best friend; Tessa Thompson as Imani, the love interest; and Lena Waithe as Akeem, the Crowned Prince of Zamunda)
Original Stars: Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall
Original Plot: Eddie Murphy stars as the Prince of Zamunda, who convinces his father, James Earl Jones, to allow him to leave home for the first time to look for his true love.
Now, Let’s Make it Gay: Lena Waithe, Tessa Thompson, Gina Yashere
THIS IS PRIME LESBIAN MATERIAL. I mean, everything is if you try hard enough, but imagine it: Lena Waithe – faced with the possibility of an unwanted arranged royal marriage in Zamunda – leaves her black ass country to come to black ass QUEENS, NEW YORK with her black ass best friend, Gina Yashere, to look for and fall in love with her black ass QUEEN, Tessa Thompson!
Bonus: John Amos, returning in his 1980s role as the love interest’s father, still suddenly turns nice and tries to kiss up once he finds out Lena is royalty, but James Earl Jones pulls a Mufasa on his ass and scares the shit out of him once he finds out John Amos DARED to treat his daughter as if she wasn’t good enough for Tessa Thompson. Because you see in Zamunda, where they are lightyears ahead of us, gay is not just good – that shit is fucking stellar!
Eve’s Bayou
(L to R: Lynn Whitfield as Roz Batiste and Viola Davis as the woman who will sweep her off her feet)
Original Stars: June Smollett-Bell, Lynn Whitfield, Samuel L. Jackson
Original Plot: Eve Batiste (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) is a young girl living in 1960s Louisiana when she finds out terrible secrets that can tear her family apart. Samuel L. Jackson plays the cheating husband, Louis. Lynn Whitfield is Roz, his wife, a black woman who has put up with a man’s bullshit for way too long. As Eve takes matters into her own hands, she learns that messing with spiritual magic affects more than just the one you cast your spell at.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Viola Davis
I AM HERE TO REPAIR ROZ BATISTE’S HEART AND I AM WILLING TO IMPOSE EVERY KIND OF MAGIC TO DO IT. Samuel L. Jackson is cheating on my girl and the whole Louisiana bayou knows it! I will not stand for it! So, when Roz and her sister-in-law Mozelle (Debbie Morgan) go out to the market and agree to get their fortunes told by a very-in-touch-with-her-easily-scares-children-side Voudou Priestess Diahann Caroll, imagine Roz’s surprise when Lady Diahann tells her that she’ll run into an answer that will solve all her problems later that very same day.
Who does my homie run into? NONE OTHER THAN VIOLA DAVIS, who smiles at Roz as they reach for the same vegetable. Roz is instantly smitten.
Friday
(L to R: Me as Craig and Nia Long as Debbie, my long time neighborhood crush and soon-to-be girlfriend)
Original Stars: Ice Cube, Chris Tucker, Nia Long
Original Plot: Ice Cube and Chris Tucker are best friends who are hanging out and getting high on a Friday. After losing his job, Craig (Ice Cube) spends the day sitting on his porch with Smokey (Tucker). They’re trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their day, when trouble comes along and decides for them.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Starring ME!
I’m not going to tell you that I pitched this post solely so all my favorite movies could have black lesbian leads and sidekicks.That is not why this came about at all. But, in this very movie, I will be the star because in my heart of hearts I believe that in some form of SOME UNIVERSE I’m destined to be with Nia Long.
You’ll see me in this movie shooting the shit with Smokey while we’re sitting on my porch, trying to figure out how not to get my shit wrecked by Big Worm and Deebo, and finally standing up to the neighborhood bullies instead of running away because HOW DARE DEEBO PUT HIS HANDS ON DEBBIE. Oh, and in the end? I get the girl.
Soul Food
(L to R: Wanda Sykes as Wanda Sykes, Irma P. Hall as Big Mama Joe, and CCH Pounder as Deborah, Big Mama’s oldest kept secret)
Original Stars: Irma P. Hall, Vivica A. Fox, Vanessa Williams, Nia Long
Original Plot: Every Sunday, a black family gets together for family dinner. The three sisters: Teri (Vanessa Williams), Maxine (Vivica A. Fox) and Bird (Nia Long) struggle with loving each other through the pain as they cope with the possible loss of the foundation of their family, Mama Joe otherwise known as Big Mama.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: CCH Pounder and Wanda Sykes for a special guest appearance
Maxine’s son, Ahmad, who looks up to Big Mama and is one of her closest confidants, is given an important truth one day. When he sneaks into Big Mama’s hospital room, he asks her why she always keeps an open chair at the table every Sunday. He’s expecting the same old story of how the chair is supposed to be a reminder that those they love are always welcome to join them even if they can’t always find their way back home. (Yo, sorry, not to hype myself up but that was a LINE! I got skills!) It’s the story that Mama’s girls have always recited with fondness as they think about their father.
This time, though, Mama Joe explains that it was for the woman she met at the grocery store fourteen years ago. Deborah (played by CCH Pounder). With a light in her eyes that Ahmad hasn’t seen before, Big Mama talks about the one who checked in on her nearly every day after she found her once tearing up in the vegetable department. The woman who came over when the rest of the family was busy at work or fighting or maybe even a mixture of both. The woman tried to get Mama Joe to worry a little less and laugh a little more. She saved the seat for the woman who pulled her from the kitchen to dance in the living room, all smiles, reminding Big Mama in that sing-song voice, “You weren’t born to stay in that kitchen all your life.” She saved the seat for the woman who knew after their dance was over, Big Ma would still go back and finish cooking. Because she knew cooking sprinkled itself into everything and everyone she loved.
At the end of the movie, Ahmad doesn’t just invite Faith – the cousin who only appears when she needs something and is misdirected as fuck, especially when she directs herself into her cousin-in-law’s pants – to the table. He invites Deborah, too. When everyone asks who she is, Deborah smiles and Ahmad says, “This is the woman that loved Big Mama in the way she deserved.”
(PS: Teri could have a girlfriend at a drop of a hat if she just chilled a bit. I’m imagining Bette Porter. Of course, because I still haven’t finished The L Word and I don’t know whatever possible true love Bette is supposed to have. But Jennifer Beals and Vanessa Williams ending up together as a badass hot lawyer dream team? It’s what we deserve.)
Also, Wanda Sykes NEVER comes to these family dinners and has no real role in the movie, but she happens to stop by for a quick second at the exact perfect time and everything is worth it ’cause she makes this face:
right when Vanessa Williams says the iconic line: “Faith fucked my husband!”
The Wood
(L to R: Danielle Brooks, Samira Wiley, and Janelle Monáe as three childhood best friends competing to lose their virginity in the gayest coming of age story yet to be told)
Original Stars: Taye Diggs, Richard T. Jones, Omar Epps
Original Plot: Two stories wrapped in one, a man gets pre-wedding nerves and his best friends have to get him back on track before the big ceremony. As they do so, they reminisce over their friendship and how they fell in lust and in love back when they were just three black boys in the late 80s making a bet to see who could lose their virginity first.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Janelle Monáe, Samira Wiley, Danielle Brooks
This is going to be the same tale of three black women that are trying to get to one of their gay weddings on time, but keep fucking shit up as the bride-to-be questions whether or not she can stay with one person forever. As they go through their day – running to exes for help, fucking up their outfits and generally just being self-imposing hurricanes of chaos – they reminisce about the bet they made as teenagers as to who could lose their virginity first.
Now, you may think, mmm okay, that’s cool whatever – but think about it: We’re talking about three black girls deciding to lose their virginity to other girls. In the 80s. In black ass Inglewood, California. This is the best movie you will ever see because who even has the range, the nuance, the depth, THE COURAGE to tell a funny ass story where three black girls are ON A MISSION TO LOSE THEIR VIRGINITY ON THEIR OWN TERMS AND THEY END UP HAPPY AS SHIT??? Get Ava DuVernay and Dee Rees in here, this needs to happen immediately.
Love & Basketball
(L to R: Sanaa Lathan as Monica and Gabrielle Union as Shawnee, high school enemies turned girlfriends)
Original Stars: Sanaa Lathan, Omar Epps, Gabrielle Union
Original Plot: Quincy (Omar Epps) and Monica (Sanaa Lathan) are two neighbors that love two things: basketball and each other. The movie follows them through childhood and early adulthood as they work through family troubles, relationships, and staying true to their greatest love: basketball.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Let’s keep Sanaa Lathan and Gabrielle Union and get rid of Omar Epps!
You and I both knew this was coming.
Let us remember the small, but important mean girl part played by Gabrielle Union. In the second quarter of the movie, Quincy and Monica have not gotten together yet and Quincy decides to date Shawnee (Gabrielle Union) since Monica can’t give him a straight answer about whether she likes him or not. Shawnee’s real pretty and loves to remind Monica that she’s not the kind of girl Quincy should be with. Because Monica is the type of girl that should be with Shawnee.
Instead of Quincy and Monica falling in love, Monica mistakes her feelings for Quincy as wanting to be with Quincy when she really wants to be like Quincy and date girls. This isn’t too much of a reach, Monica needs a treasure map and several compasses to acknowledge her feelings even though she’s always in them. Think about this, I really believe Monica usually forgets that emotions exist?? Like she can ball so hard motherfuckers wanna fine her, but does she know she’s also allowed to check in with her heart and be like “we doing okay in there, buddy?” Of course she doesn’t! And who better to remind Monica that she’s allowed to feel shit than the girl who gets a rise out of her the most?
Girl’s Trip
(L to R: Queen Latifah as Sasha and Regina Hall as Ryan Pierce, old college girlfriends reunited)
Original Stars: Regina Hall, Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith, Tiffany Haddish
Original Plot: Regina Hall stars as Ryan Pierce, a highly successful businesswoman, wife, and “next coming of Oprah” who decides to reunite with her college best friends at the Essence Music Festival. As she comes to terms with her failing marriage, she’ll need her friends now more than ever.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Still Regina Hall and Queen Latifah!
I have a 2,000+ word document on Girls’ Trip because THEY ALREADY COULD’VE MADE THIS GAY AND THEY ROBBED US. Ryan and Sasha (Queen Latifah) were most definitely together in college when Ryan got cold feet about coming out and instead started dating the football players because it was safer. She left Sasha and all her dreams in the dust. That’s already in the story, so all I’m asking for is the explicit declarations!!!
Show me where Ryan tries to talk to Sasha, but messes up all her words because she’s still supposed to be in love with her husband, except that’s not going well and Sasha is right here and she never thought she’d get to see her again. Has she gotten even prettier? Is that even possible? Is her smile even brighter? Ryan wonders to herself, “why have I been with that dude when I’ve only been reunited with Sasha for one day and already feel more at home than I have in years?”
I DEMAND to see Sasha pulling away from Ryan after Ryan refuses to open up to her out of fear of vulnerability. I want to hear Sasha tell her, “You hurt me. We were supposed to be IN LOVE together.” I want the heartache of watching Ryan recoil when she thinks one of those famous people at the festival can hear them. I need Ryan to tell Sasha how she really feels. In the closing scene of the movie, when Ryan gives that big motivational speech to all the black women in attendance that they deserve good love, the best love – I want for her to say she’s found that love in her best friend and for that cheating fuckface of her husband to walk on stage right when Ryan goes, “Like I’ve found in Sasha. Like I still do everyday.” CAUSE IM A CHEESEBALL AND I WANT IT.
Do The Right Thing
(L to R: Regina King as Mookie and Rosie Perez as Tina, girlfriends fighting on the hottest day of summer)
Original Stars: Spike Lee, Rosie Perez
Original Plot: It’s a hot summer day in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn as Mookie (Spike Lee) goes to work at Sal’s Pizzeria. As he makes deliveries, racism shows its face at just about every corner and the mostly black and brown neighborhood deals with subtle and overt violence.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Regina King
T H I S IS M Y S H I T. Regina King is taking over Spike Lee’s role as Mookie, the pizza delivery person who works at Sal’s and is the audience’s guide to the neighborhood. Sure, I want Regina King to be in this because I love her and I just think she and Rosie Perez would be good together, but there’s an even deeper reason I need this to happen. Aaron McGruder’s The Boondocks is one of my favorite comics and one of my favorite TV shows AND IN THE TELEVISION SHOW REGINA KING VOICES BOTH BROTHERS AND HAS NEVER BEEN PROPERLY RECOGNIZED FOR THAT. How will this movie change that? I don’t know, but what I’m saying is Regina King contains multitudes, her multitudes contain multitudes, and she’d be perfect in this. Then one of my favorite movies would be EVEN MORE PERFECT and we could add another classic to her already beyond amazing thirty year (and counting!) career.
The Best Man
(L to R: Regina Hall as Candace, the dancer; Sanaa Lathan as Robin, the fiancée; Nia Long and Gabrielle Union as Jordan and Murch, two college best friends)
Original Stars: Harold Perrineau, Morris Chestnut, Taye Diggs, Terrence Howard, Sanaa Lathan, Regina Hall, Nia Long
Original Plot: Harper (Taye Diggs) is a new writer that, thanks to being picked by the Oprah Book Club, is about to blow up. But as he joins his college friends for his best friend’s wedding weekend, his book digs up years old drama in the crew. Important for our needs is Murch (Harold Perrineau), the nerdy friend in the bunch who’s in a loveless long-term relationship with the gold digging Shelby.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Gabrielle Union, and still… Nia Long!
Literally everything in this movie stays exactly the same except for two things:
1. Murch is now played by Gabrielle Union. She gets Candice (Regina Hall) to fall for her after reciting an Audre Lorde quote to her at the bachelor party where Candi is dancing. Yes, that really is a plot point from the movie.
2. Jordan (Nia Long) has most definitely been trying to figure out her sexuality. As soon as she sees Robin (Sanaa Lathan) at the church, she’s like “Oh shit.” Is it my life’s goal to make Sanaa Lathan and Nia Long play more lesbian parts? Of fucking course! That would be magical, like imagine if we had a bunch of our favorite actresses decide to do more woman-loving parts? We deserve this.
House Party
(L to R: Teyana Taylor as Play, Nafessa Williams as Sharane, Karrueche Tran as Sydney, and Zazie Beetz as Kid)
Original Stars: Kid ‘N Play, AJ Johnson, Tisha Campbell
Original Plot: As Kid dodges bullies, cops, and gunshots to get to his friend’s house party, he tries to get the girl of his dreams and make a name for himself as one of the best rappers in his school – all before his dad figures out he snuck out. There’s lots of 90s dancing.
Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Zazie Beetz, Teyana Taylor, Nafessa Williams, Karrueche Tran
Zazie Beetz is Kid, a young, mostly dorky girl in that “everyone wants to date her sort of way.” She gets suspended from school and needs to keep her dad from finding out before her best friend’s party starts. After trying to stay ahead of a bunch of Mean Girl style bullies and outsmarting cops all night, the party officially begins when Kid walks in. Teyana Taylor is Play, who’s hosting the party and trying to keep the shenanigans to a minimum ’cause “ain’t nobody fucking up my mama’s house.” Kid ‘N Play both have their eyes set on Karreuche Tran and Nafessa Williams, Sydney and Sharane respectively, the prettiest and most popular girls in school.
Guys, I only know for sure for sure that Teyana Taylor can dance her ass off, but I’ve been laughing at this set up all night. Please watch Claws and tell me Karrueche wouldn’t be funny as SHIT in this movie. As soon as some shit pop off, imagine her calm distant demeanor VANISHING as she moves people out of her friends’ way with a deep ass “MOVE, BITCH!” (of course Ludacris’ instrumental version of the song plays in the background). Try to tell me that Zazie wouldn’t play it really cool for like .25 seconds before finding out Nafessa has a crush on her. You tell me that Teyana Taylor wouldn’t look amazing slow dancing with Karreuche. (I’ve GOT EVIDENCE YOU’RE WRONG)
And here’s further evidence Teyana would play a great lesbian.
Look me in my eyes and try to LIE TO MY FACE.
Sunday Funday Is Celebrating the Black Queer TV Takeover
Hello hello hello my friends! How are you doing this fine Sunday morning? I hope it’s great, but if not, that’s okay! It’s morning, you’ve still got time to make your day whatever you want it to be! I believe in you!
Here is some good news to get you moving and grooving and ready for a great day and an even better week! You got this pal.
+ New Jersey is the second state to require LGBT and disability inclusive materials in school!
+ Disneyland Paris is hosting its first official Pride day
Disneyland Paris recently announced that it will host the first official Magical Pride day on June 1, 2019. An advertisement on the park’s websiteinvites attendees to “Live your best life and shine with the joy of diversity” and to “Dress like a dream, feel fabulous and experience Walt Disney Studios Park like never before – loud, proud and alive with all the colours of the rainbow.”
+ Bollywood’s first depiction of a lesbian relationship is “charming.”
+ Happy Black History Month! TV is about to get black and queer and hell and I’m ready!
Speaking of…
+ King Princess dives into the secret history of lesbian culture.
“I love it when we play 1950,” KP whispers on the track. On first listen, it seems like she’s inverting the 1950s ideal of the American nuclear family, dreaming of a house and kids in suburbia with the woman she loves. The proposition she’s actually making is more radical – ‘I love it when we play in our own secret world’. It might seem shocking that King Princess is wistful for an era where concealment was the only thing that saved queer women from horrific violence. But of course she’s not wishing herself back to a time of oppression – she’s simply taking artistic license to evoke a sense of intense privacy, of exclusivity, a world of secret codes where queer love happens behind the closed doors of bedrooms and lives in the longing glances exchanged in public. She is using history to transmit the sense of absolute trust, of total intimacy, when lesbianism happened behind the closed doors of speakeasies, when butch-femme culture held sway among the working class women who populated lesbian bar culture.
+ Some news to say praise the lord and hallelujah to on this fine Sunday: Lesbian singer-songwriter Katey Brooks is rejecting Christian shame in her new single, “Never Gonna Let Her Go”.
+ Celebrate queer food culture with Jarry.
+ Over a third of generation Z knows someone nonbinary. Kids are so cool, wow!!!
+ Vanessa Martir on teaching her daughter that love is love.
The other day, my fiancee and I went to see our girl, now 14, in her acting debut at her new high school. Afterward, my daughter introduced us to her friends. “This is my family — my mom and her fiancee. They’re getting married in the spring!” she squealed happily.
“Ooh, can I come to the wedding?” one of her friends asked, his face bright with excitement. This is what love looks like, love is love. Period.
Friends, smile today just because you know you’re hot. Then maybe bake a cake for yourself, or take a walk, or a nap, or like whatever. Do something for you, though, because you deserve it! I love you! See you next week don’t work so hard that you cry!