Yes. This is about Amanda Seales but this isn’t only about Amanda Seales. I hesitate to even type her name here because sis has already been dealing with think pieces about her tweets, think pieces about those think pieces, and more tweets about those think pieces and I am by no means attempting to add to the discourse, which has become toxic and terrible.
I watched what started out as a short video of Amanda thanking the people who rock with her, which included a short mention of Black spaces where Amanda had not been invited and where she didn’t feel welcome, spiral into a very heated and layered conversation. This further spiraled into op-eds, video, and written responses about what it means to be an outspoken Black woman and definitions of likeability. The conversation went further, delving into what it means to use your voice to rage against a machine, whether institution, government, or other political force. And as I type this, so many of our institutions, governments, and other political forces are currently and dangerously participating in ongoing injustice, discrimination, and genocide. Amanda is one of those voices who speaks up about injustice. As can happen to a voice like hers, being misunderstood unfortunately comes with the territory.
Like Marie Kondo, I love mess. Internet mess. Social media mess. Particularly partial to other people’s mess because it can be a great distraction from my own mess. Each time I went to check my Instagram, I’d see more updates on what this moment with Amanda Seales was saying about us as voyeurs on social media, about society, about community, about Black media, about how Black women are perceived, about how much Black women should be concerned with likeability.
I went so deep down this rabbit role, I arrived at Shannon Sharpe’s YouTube series and podcast, Club Shay Shay. This show has gone viral before but I have never felt compelled to watch its sometimes ridiculously long interviews until he interviewed Amanda. I wanted to hear from her. In a surface way, I was interested in her point of view, in what she had to say about all this. In a deeper way, I wanted to know how she was doing, how she was processing all of this. I couldn’t imagine how I would process all of this public criticism and commentary.
And yeah, I watched the whole thing. Frustrated at the way Shannon questioned Amanda, fascinated by how brilliant she is, heartbroken to hear how the past few weeks had affected her mental health. Amanda is bold and unflinchingly honest about her experiences, education, and expertise. Amanda is also a human, who hurts, feels vulnerable, and remains on the journey to accept all of who she is and love herself, like many of us.
One of the things I marveled about was Amanda’s strength of voice. Her ability to say what she means and mean what she says. I haven’t always been that girl and still feel in a lot of ways I am not that girl. For most of my twenties and thirties I struggled to find my voice without feeling the need to please others. Even now, it’s still a journey for me to speak my mind and keep a Nene Leakes kind of “I said what I said” energy.
After I’d finished the entire interview, all I could think is this is why the idea of Black Girl is a Verb and Never Tell a Black Girl are so important to me, because Black women have been told so many conflicting things. Be strong but be quiet. Speak up but in a way that makes other people feel comfortable. Be palatable. Be nice. Don’t be a bitch or be perceived as one. Be smart, but not too smart. Be confident but beware that your confidence can be read as aggression.
There’s a whole lot more to say about the interview, about neurodivergence and the dynamics of race and politics, than can be covered here. But one of the things I walked away thinking is that I have a lot of gratitude for people who present like Amanda does. For Black women who refuse to take other people’s bullshit. For Black women who are brilliant and refuse to be dumbed down to make anyone else comfortable. For Black women who weren’t allowed the space and room to be awkward, neurodivergent, different from the status quo. For Black women who are agitators, who speak up for freedom, for justice, for liberation, and who subsequently take the hits for it.
My hope for any one of us as Black women is that we can be all of who we are, with myriad experiences and points of view. That there is room for Black women to be shy, to be bold, to be tender, to be hilarious, to be no-nonsense. To be exactly who we are, as we are, where we are. I hope Amanda, and every Black woman who takes the hits for speaking their truth, continues to have people in their life who ride for them, who love them, who truly see them, who care for them, who protect them. Every Black woman deserves that.
I’m watching…the new season of Catfish! This is also my type of MESS! Shoutout to Kamie and Nev!
I’m reading…Naming Our Destiny: New and Selected Poems by June Jordan
Feeling inspired by…Carla Hall’s newest show Chasing Flavor
Things I’m working on…first essay for my new book
"That there is room for Black women to be shy, to be bold, to be tender, to be hilarious, to be no-nonsense."
Absolutely! yesss there is room for all of us to take up space
Praying for words and flow on your first essay Amena.