I am rooting for everybody Black—mostly. Why just mostly? Because everybody Black ain’t rooting for me. As some may know, I recently had a xweet go viral about a certain rap Kang of the Southern Region’s café being subpar and I dared to make a public declaration about how it was TRASH.
Let’s face it: Black people are amazing. We are creative, innovative, smart, and well, known for our cuisine. So why is it that someone with the means of presenting the best can bring mediocrity, and we will all line up to accept it just because we f*ck with their art? Was their art mediocre, too? I actually don’t think so, so it’s that much more disheartening that the presentation is not met with what that person claims to represent.
In some of the half-cocked responses to my complaint, it was asserted that I have no complaints about white businesses but have only reserved those complaints for Black businesses.
In the words of Mr. Harris, “You don’t know me.”
I literally talk about racism for a living, so it’s an odd thing to suppose that my critique would not have been any more scathing were it not a white establishment trying to fleece me.
This establishment not only charged a woman for the same item, TWICE, but charged her two different prices. She also ordered the shrimp tacos but made out worse than I did. She was charged $15 for three tacos, and then an ADDITIONAL $18 FOR THE SAME TACOS.
— Kyla Jenée Lacey (@Kyla_Lacey) December 14, 2024
THAT IS WILD AS THE… https://t.co/LuPuEfyY2A
I don’t even know where the f*ck they got that from. Check my Google reviews; my mother’s name isn’t Karen on accident, b*tch. I’m finna tell everybody how you had me all the way f*cked up—white, Black, and anywhere in between because my money is the same color when it goes to anyone’s hands. Also, the cooking part should be the easiest f*cking thing; WHEN F*CK DID BLACK PEOPLE NOT KNOW HOW TO BURN?!
Oh. My. God. WE REALLY ARE LOSING THE RECIPES.
I get it. Black people have fewer resources at our disposal, which sometimes lends itself to fewer opportunities for improvement, but that does not mean we don’t have any and that definitely does not mean that we are above reproach or critique, especially within our own community. And again, why f*ck up the thing we are actually good at? I am an artist for a living. When my close loved ones critique me, I may not always agree, but I at least consider what they have to say because if I cannot be bad, then I cannot be better. And yet, I make this consideration with even fewer resources to draw from.
In Atlanta, the rappers are touchable Gods.
Everybody knows somebody who knows a famous rapper. Hell, my best friend had a small barbecue, and Andre 3000 was there just introducing himself as if people didn’t know his name. Her son went to 2Chainz’s wife’s daycare. Rick Ross lives up the street. I’ve seen Lil Boosie several times. RAPPERS ARE UBIQUITIOUS IN ATLANTA and they all love a good side hustle. Even with that ubiquity, they are still heavily revered, just without much critique. I mean, you can even be sued for rape and people will still think you are a community leader, even after making a career off songs about exploiting women.
Listen, this isn’t going to devolve into an “I hate rappers” debate because they are human and nuanced and I still like some of their sh*t. Still, I do dare to ask, why is only their art subject to the necessity of greatness? Even more so, why, as a whole, must we ignore the glaring mistakes that were made just to not be called out for not calling someone out?
Case in point: I went to another rapper’s restaurant a few months back. He was part of a famous trio of friends, but the group has since been permanently disbanded. Anywho, the location of the restaurant is shared with a gas station, and you better believe there is also a parking charge. I do not remember exactly how much it was but I do remember it was f*cking ridiculously priced. Now, the inside of the spot is GORGEOUS and the serving staff was really accommodating. When we went, it was really early, so no one was there yet. The manager asked us how our food was, and everybody said it was fine—until they got to me. After speaking up, several people agreed with my complaints, and you know what? They did their best, but they didn’t even have the right pasta or sauce they served me, as pictured, not to mention the high salt content. That was by far not even one of the worst things I’ve encountered here. The ambiance and mocktails were so nice I almost forgot. However, have you ever gone to a restaurant on New Year’s with a price-fixed menu and half the items are unavailable, but there is hookah and somebody taking pictures of your table, a flooded bathroom and $60 plates? Because I have. Yet, somehow, I’m supposed to shut my mouth and/or continue supporting these businesses who only give a little f*ck about their customers.
How is Black excellence achieved without the ascension to it?
Not all my experiences with Black businesses have been great, am I not allowed to give constructive critique in my own experiences, especially when I know the business owner has the means to be better? Or even worse, knows the business owner should and probably does know better but chooses the opposite course of action?
I do not support all Black people; some of you don’t support anyone else.
