Hey y’all,
I saw this thread earlier that smacked me in the face.
This past week I’ve been hearing a little brain alarm that just won’t turn off: I’m sharing my business too much. Not online, but in real life, with friends, family, and acquaintances. I have a subconscious tendency to share my excitement for things that are half-baked or still in process with those I care about, but I’ve noticed that after I share, all I’ll hear about is said half-baked thing, to the point where people are telling me how to fully bake it. I’m honestly grateful that my people care so much about what I have going on, but I’ve now realized that I really do enjoy working on things in private and sharing when I’m ready to. I don’t necessarily always need to bring people into the process, especially with things that are sacred to me. Instead, I need to talk to God and my journal more, chile.
This Week’s Story
Who among us wasn’t obsessed with Destiny’s Child? I have not admitted this to many, but I was so obsessed that I had floor-to-ceiling posters of them all over my childhood bedroom, and my AOL username was dcwb85 (Destiny’s Child wannabe). Yikes. Enough about me—this week’s essay is about Beyoncé. Saijah Williams reminisces on her time in the Beyhive and how, over time, she’s realized she needs to take a step back from her former idol.
P.S. - Did anyone watch Swarm?
Take Care,
Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Mag
Growing Up With, And Apart From, Beyoncé
by Saijah Williams
On the night of February 2, 2025, after almost thirty years in the music industry, Beyoncé finally won the accolade that has evaded her grasp: the Grammy’s Album of the Year. In the same timespan, Beyoncé has gone from lead singer of renowned girl group Destiny’s Child to dynamic international superstar. Seeing Beyoncé finally win the top prize after several albums that have shifted the culture and initiated both conversation and criticism fell short, was a historical moment and reminded me of how long Beyoncé’s influence has stamped my life. Every album and project of Beyoncé has soundtracked my own achievements, phases, and struggles since I was a toddler. I would be lying if I said I’m not day one “Beyhive,” but I would also be lying if I didn’t admit that my admiration, and at times idolization, for the singer hasn’t wavered.
I do not know life without Beyoncé. As someone born in 1996, Destiny’s Child songs define my childhood memories. From the time I was reprimanded for calling a classmate a “bug-a-boo,” an expression I learned from the song of the same name, or on the playground, where we sang and danced, pretending to be one of the three members.
Kelly, Michelle, and Beyoncé embodied the type of women we all aspired to be one day. We all wanted to be Beyoncé, which sometimes caused fights and tears from those who never got to be her during our games. They walked a seemingly perfect line between being desirable, yet God-loving young women who knew their worth. As a self-proclaimed 'good girl,' who aspired to be seen as pretty and successful by my peers, Beyoncé embodied a confidence and beauty I longed to claim for myself.
By the time I was a teenager, Beyoncé had undergone several evolutions. Despite the dissenters at the time, she proved that she had both staying power and cultural impact as a solo artist. As her star power grew, she began to make intentional decisions to reclaim her musical identity, like parting ways with her manager/father, Matthew Knowles. Her songs began to reflect her womanhood, with more sexual, assertive, and socially conscious lyrics. This became obvious when Beyoncé released her album 4, with songs like the empowering “Run the World (Girls)” and the sensual “Dance for You.” The grown themes spoke to me as much as they could at the time—my friends and I were crushing on boys, and I was excelling in school, with dreams of getting into college on scholarship. I was bitten by the #girlboss bug that proliferated the media of the early 2010s that even Beyoncé played into. Thanks to her embrace of the word, feminism as an ideology entered my lexicon by December 2013.
Beyonce continued pushing the envelope. On her self-titled album, she sang of unfair beauty standards and enjoying sex, an education for me. I was one month shy of turning eighteen and finishing college applications. I was planning my future and figuring out who I wanted to be as an adult, but most importantly as a woman. I had no idea what an orgasm or masturbation was until I heard “Rocket” and “Blow,” leading me down Google and Tumblr rabbit holes I’m still too embarrassed to talk about.
Her projects since then have served as not just albums but intentional education in the Black experience—most notably with Lemonade in 2016, where the lead single “Formation” debuted with a music video that referenced Hurricane Katrina, Trayvon Martin, and police brutality. The single was performed a week later at the Super Bowl, where Beyoncé and her dance team were outfitted in costumes that referenced both the Black Panther Party and Michael Jackson. At the same time, I was in college, becoming more politically conscious as a result of my major and the 2016 U.S. presidential election.
I began reading the work of Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, and even bell hooks (who I had rolled my eyes at just two years earlier when her “Beyoncé is a terrorist” statement circulated online). I was finding my way to a political thought that provided answers to issues that impacted me as someone who grew up in a working class community in Brooklyn. The more I learned, the more I started to realize my beliefs contradicted some of the sentiments featured in Beyoncé and her husband’s music. Namely, the consistent messaging of “Black capitalism as liberation” while using the imagery of Black American revolutionaries who were critical of capitalism. This idea dominated a good portion of her work during this era, a la one of her most quotable lyrics at the time, “Always stay gracious, best revenge is your paper.” But the juxtaposition of Beyoncé the billionaire, preaching that capitalism is the answer to her fans who can barely afford tickets to her shows is not lost on me.
I still streamed the music, bought the merch, and even affixed those final words of “Formation” onto my graduation cap. However, while I loved her work ethic and music, she was no longer above criticism.
When Beyoncé screened her concert film, Renaissance: A Film by Beyoncé, in Israel, it drew massive backlash. A video went viral of Israeli moviegoers singing along to “Break My Soul,” waving their flags and reenvisioning the song from its Black queer roots to a celebration of imperialist violence and the slaughtering of thousands of Palestinians. While many expressed their rage with the video, Beyoncé remained silent. This was an egregious decision.
The release of Cowboy Carter has also elicited controversy due to its embrace of the American flag and flirtation with patriotism in the name of reclamation of Black American history. To double down on this, during her tour, she posted a photo of herself wearing a Buffalo Soldiers t-shirt, seemingly with pride, which left many confused as she didn’t share any context.
With the current political climate in the states, I’m aware of how the entertainment I engage with can be seen as a co-sign of what it’s promoting. While I’m not a perfect person with perfect politics, I do know multiple truths can exist. Beyoncé’s music and artistry have been instrumental in my coming of age as a Black girl, but in that journey, I’ve found myself straying away from some of the central messages conveyed through her work. Now at age 29, I’m still a fan who attended the Cowboy Carter tour this summer, but I didn’t blindly buy into any and everything like I would have attempted to in my early twenties. I still love Beyoncé’s artistry and how she uses her work to educate. She’s the greatest living entertainer and truly is “one of one.”
In the visuals for “Don’t Hurt Yourself” from her album Lemonade, a screen appears with the words “I AM NOT GOD. GOD IS GOD.” For me, Beyoncé is Beyoncé, I am not. I have my own agency. That might disappoint the little girl I once was, the one who hoped to be chosen to be Beyoncé on the playground, or teenage me, who wanted to be sexy and successful like her. However, on the verge of thirty, I’m proud to have my own thoughts, ideas, and simply be me.
Saijah Williams is a history and pop culture enthusiast with a focus on Black feminist thought, Black history, American visual culture, and digital spaces. During her 9 to 5, she works in preserving local Black history around her hometown of Brooklyn, NY. In her free time, she runs the collective Bed-Stuy Girls' Club which focuses on reclaiming space and creating community for Black women in Brooklyn. Saijah also loves cats, independent movie theaters, and all things related to Beyoncé, Björk, and Solange.
Really enjoyed this read. It's definitely given me a bad taste that the Carters align their/our liberation with peak capitalism. Her messaging has seemed to follow the same tropes as most hip hop, empower the masses with shiny goals, braggy lyrics, and come-up culture. However, it misses on relevance when most of us will live in survival mode longer than we'll revel in our thriving periods. It's tone deaf and disappointing because there's so much opportunity for her to platform nuance and intersectionality here. But I get it, she's PR made and opts out after planting unwatered seeds.
My best friend and I have had many discussions over the past few years about her use of imagery and quotes from black revolutionaries while living a life that completely contradicts what they actually stood for. Like you, I have been a super fan since I was a toddler. And while she is still the artist of my life, I have to remember that she is a capitalist first. Cowboy Carter is the first tour I’ve missed, but I’ve been turned off by the wastefulness and display of wealth through hundreds of expensive outfit changes, especially in this political and economic climate. I’m also turned off by the constant release of material things for people to buy. It’s just too much for me.