Salvador Dali // "I cannot understand why human beings should be so little individualized, why they should behave with such great collective uniformity."

Because I can never stay off of the Internet and am a nosy bastard who loves reading critique, I will admit it - recent entertainment industry antics resulted in my falling down a rabbit hole of thinkpieces, tweets and blog posts. I spent the last day and a half ingesting the commentary of those who adhere to very strange identity politics and identity policing aimed - of course - at Black people. I say of course because...I am Black. Specifically a Black, Cameroonian-American woman mildly engaged with and by pop culture, so it's kind of a given I would pay attention to this.

To start, I have felt for a while now that, per the language of certain sects of the Internet, there are only two poles in which you are allowed to exist in as a Black person. From what I have gathered, you're either a 'Brunchin' Blavity Black' whose so-called recent discovery of the existence of other Black people outside of your supposed predominately white, prep school-lite life has resulted in performative, cringey, stereotypical blackness. That, or you're an 'All we do is keep it real Black' whose greatest enemy is Respectability Politics, Coons and The Blavity Black.

Two, frankly, eerily similar existences of being. They both center and prioritize Whiteness (whether it be extreme proximity or aversion) over any legitimate expression of individuality. A blackness which we are told has been removed from the colonial gaze and narrative, and yet overcompensates by performing for it.

Both sides also look down on one another for their presentation of what each side deems 'illegitimate expression of Blackness'. A narrative which is typically amplified (often negatively) in said instances of caricatured performance.

And that is what it always looks like to me - simple, sad, over the top performance.

Blackness as a personality trait. Blackness as a commodity.
*Sighs*

Sometimes I wonder how I got to this point in life. How I managed to extricate myself from the grips of feeling the need to live up to what others expected or wanted of me. How I managed to just stop caring so much about what other people thought about me while watching others struggle to do the same. How I managed to prioritize my own gaze over anyone else.

As such - if you did not get this before - I would like to make it clear I do not identify nor even oscillate between either poles of the existences in which I am wryly critiquing.

I am at a happy medium being just...regular ass Simone.

Any expression of myself is simply that. I am not overcompensating for the watching eyes of...anyone. I see no need in doing so because if you don't like me for me, then...I legitimately do not give a f[redacted in case my mother ever stumbles onto this blog].
Much like Celine Dion, my heart will go on.

I also don't feel the need to prove my existence to anyone or paint it as exceptional or some other polysyllabic verb or phrase which has been steam printed onto a Hanes t-shirt.

I'm not out here for anyone but myself and myself only.
In the best manner and way in which I see fit.

My Blackness is, obviously, a crucial part of my identity and that shared culture across the diaspora has shaped who I am, but it is not ALL I AM.

And I certainly do not plan to start picking and choosing just which facets of that identity I deem worthy of praise.
We fight to acknowledge the multiplicity of identity, and yet shoehorn just what that identity must look like into boxes because there are those more concerned with being seen rather than simply being.

Find a cure for your PPD, and stop worrying about others.

Hypervisibility has proved to be both a gift and curse. It has manifested an affliction within all who have been too blinded to see the proverbial plot.

The most important gaze is your own, performing for others will take you nowhere and bring you nothing. Now I can't stop it, but I can critique it.