The Beyonce of It All— My Last Contribution To TikTok Discourse

To the Beyhive: Please don't jump me!

It is Christmas Day. Beyoncé performs for the NFL halftime show for the Baltimore Ravens versus the Houston Texans. The performance is awe-inducing. From the horses, the pickup trucks, the Texan Southern University Marching Band—and there goes Blue Ivy—wow, she is just as tall as her mother. How time flies! The field transforms into a microcosm of Black Southern pride. As someone who grew up in the South but was deprived of Black Southern culture, I felt a mix of sentimentality and FOMO.

It is December 26, 2024, just past midnight. TikToker Han (@Hannah.is.over.this) posts a TikTok:

“Beyoncé is this country’s best propagandist right now. No one is doing it like her, and I say this as someone who really enjoys her music and really enjoyed her performance tonight. And yet, at the same time, a football halftime show on Christmas Day infused with that much Americana… yeah, that is propaganda, my friends.”

I disagreed with Han’s statement but agreed with the sentiment. To label this performance in particular as Patriotic Americana propaganda was reductive. Beyoncé’s performance was an ode to Black Southern culture—Han’s critique ignores the complex history Black people, Black Southerners specifically, have with American history. The lyrics of Cowboy Carter explore the contradictions and nuances of that dynamic.

As sung in YAYA, “Whole lotta red in that white and blue.”

Conversely, there is still much to be said about the timing of Cowboy Carter. The album was released during a contentious election year, the Olympics, and even more protests around America’s involvement in genocide. Meanwhile, we see Beyoncé in front of an American flag, wearing a blonde wig that reminds us of how light-skinned she is, as she rides around on a white horse. While it could be argued that Cowboy Carter perfectly aligns with the times—2024, a year mixed with twisted patriotism and staunch rebellion from the American public—it also represents the veneration Black Americans have toward their culture while carrying the grief of why they are American in the first place.

This conversation has many complicated angles, all of which have at least some validity and are worthy of a real discussion.

“If the first person you suckled on was your oppressor 'cause your mother is white, you do not get to spearhead the conversation about Black Southern patriotism.” —@imdavendrew

I audibly gasped when this video came up on my For You Page. It was a read that cut deep. It made me grateful I had two Black parents, so no one could ever come for me like this. Most of all, it made me think, “Is this what we’re doing?” Wasn’t Sophia Richie the face of Blackness mere weeks ago on TikTok?

While I agree that Han’s criticism lacked cultural understanding, I didn’t think it was completely out of touch with conversations around Beyoncé. I also did not think Han’s statement was that hot of a take. Yet the level of backlash she received was overwhelming. It wasn’t just Han. After DavenDrew’s TikTok, discourse ignited all over Black TikTok: Why is it so easy to tell when a biracial person has a white mom? Why do Black women receive so much hate? And was @xiandivyne really in the wrong for talking shit about @torigrier23 on his Friends Only?

The discourse spun so out of control I almost forgot it was about Beyoncé in the first place. I have witnessed before how heated Beyoncé discourse can get, but at this point, it is getting tiring—especially when these conversations have little to do with Beyoncé herself and more so with what she represents.

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Beyoncé has released a new piece of work. It’s, of course, extraordinary. She once again reminds us that she is one of the most talented artists of this generation. The music is dynamic, the lyrics are cutting, and the visual aesthetics to match is breathtaking. She is undeniable.

To us.

The white woman at your job disagrees.

She rolls her eyes, slightly grimaces, and heavily sighs at the mention of Beyoncé’s new work.

Unprompted, she says, “Beyoncé is so overrated.” She glances at you, passive-aggressively yet silently waiting for you to challenge her.

She knows what she’s doing, so you shrug her off.

But she continues, “She really isn’t that great. She sings about the same stuff. I don’t understand the obsession.”

You know what she’s doing. Instead of going back and forth, you simply ask her who she thinks a better artist is.

“Taylor Swift.”

Later, you’re at a bar, and they’re playing the new Beyoncé release. A stranger, some white guy drunk off a few beers, decides to strike up a random conversation with you.

“Beyoncé or Lady Gaga?”

He has a smirk on his face, and his eyes narrow slightly as he awaits your answer. Like a cat who got the cream, he thinks he knows your answer.

You ask, “Why those two?”

“Just curious. Beyoncé or Lady Gaga?”

You both know what he’s doing.

“I don’t like pitting two talented women against each other,” you respond.

He blinks, taken aback and disappointed that you didn’t indulge him.

They’re both doing the same thing, playing the same game. The goal of this game, this challenge, this argument is for you to defend Beyoncé like they expect. Then they can roll their eyes and say something along the lines of, “Of course.”

That, of course, you, a simple-minded, easily impressed Negro, just loooooves Beyoncé. They are waiting for you to get excited, defensive, and/or proud about her. In their own ways, they are waiting to belittle you. You have the choice to either not play this game at all or to indulge them.

If you choose to go back and forth about it, you will simply talk about Beyoncé’s music—her raw talent as a singer and performer. But you’re not actually arguing about Beyoncé. This is really about defending Blackness and the respect it deserves. While you could break the fourth wall and call out the racial undertones of the conversation, the white person still has the same reaction.

The white woman scoffs and rolls her eyes; the white man’s smirk spreads into a smug grin. You lose. Of course, you would make it about race.

So you keep talking about this from an artistic and musical standpoint. Until eventually, the white person’s argument as to why insert random white female artist here is better than Beyoncé starts to sound racist. Then they must concede. You win.

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As Black people, we are rightfully protective of Beyoncé. Criticisms of her from non-Black people often carry this racially pretentious tone. From the proud non-Black leftists who are quick to remind you that you’re listening to a billionaire’s music, to the pompous music heads who smugly remark, “Solange is so much better.” Non-Black people everywhere jump on the slightest opportunity to tell us that we, as Black people, should not be giving Beyoncé her flowers.

This protectiveness has led us to be defensive of almost any Beyoncé criticism, even when it’s coming from other Black people. The conversation gets nasty quickly, as though critiquing Beyoncé is an affront to your Blackness. Beyoncé has a justified hold on us given what she has grown to represent, but we must also recognize the ways she does not serve us.

Amongst all the hate comments Han received from her video, this is the reply that stood out to me the most:

“Was she born a billionaire? Are we pretending that class is not complicated by race? Does she not, as a Black woman, have the right to use her own family's story in her art? This is getting weird.”—@Forest.Eugene

I find this comment to be a perfect representation of the argument we are having amongst ourselves as Black people about Beyoncé. How much does Beyoncé’s bourgeois status shift her messaging?

Many Beyoncé fans, like the commenter, say that Beyoncé’s Blackness complicates her positionality and, therefore, critiquing her from a class standpoint is simplistic. I would agree with that, if Beyoncé gave us more. That woman does not talk to us. Aside from her music, Beyoncé rarely speaks up about political matters. Yes, she spoke at the Harris rally, but that is because the Harris’ campaign safely aligns with her image: liberalism, girlboss feminism, Black excellence. Aside from that, Beyoncé is a quiet figure—a silence that’s a strange juxtaposition to her music.

She can make a visual album with Black Panther imagery, but aside from a general pride in her Blackness, we don’t know much about her political take on Blackness. Even as she utilizes Black Panther imagery, it is on an album about her husband cheating on her...

She sings about quitting her 9-5 and not letting her job get her down in Break My Soul. When was the last time this woman worked a 9-5? Has she ever critically talked about class?

The entirety of Renaissance is a tribute to Black Queer culture, but we only know so much about how Beyoncé feels about queerness. It’s obvious that she isn’t an overt homophobe, but in a time when queerphobia, particularly transphobia, is on the rise, Beyoncé is silent.

It is this silence that complicates Cowboy Carter. While Cowboy Carter is about her real experiences as a Black Southern woman, her positionality as a billionaire, along with the timing of the album and her general silence on political issues, opens up a very valid critique. Why this, and why now?

I do agree that generally Beyoncé feeds Black capitalist propaganda. Many see her billionaire status as aspirational and assume that this status is harmless given her upbringing. (And before y’all say it, I realize that Beyoncé on her own is not a billionaire—it is Jay-Z. But let’s be serious. They are married, and that is their money.) Willfully ignoring and forgetting that to be a billionaire means exploitation has taken place in some way. This status must shift how we see her art. Even though she has the cultural backing to speak on these topics, it doesn’t mean she isn’t co-opting them into a harmful structure.

It is not that she is co-opting these messages into white supremacy directly. Instead, she enforces a toxic sense of inclusion—that we too, as Black people, are capable of being wealthy, high class, and prestigious. That with our art and culture, we can also create an empire of greatness and power. Beyoncé and Jay-Z represent this desire that we as Black people have in wanting to be revered and respected.

This desire is not superficial. After centuries of oppression, this desire is only natural and, to a certain extent, needed. But it gets to a point where we must ask ourselves: Are we simply trying to prove this to ourselves, or is it about recreating a system where we are on top this time? Is it about being able to look at the white lady at our job or the white man at the bar, and it is you who has the smug look in your eye?

We do a lot of speaking for Beyoncé—constantly interpreting, defending, and overall projecting onto her. So much so, that there exist three Beyoncés. The Beyoncé, the talented artist who we defend to no end to non-Black people. Then there’s the Beyoncé that exists within our community: an inspiration to Black womanhood and Black excellence—the Beyoncé many aspire to be. Then there’s the real Beyoncé, whom we know only so much about. We know where she’s from, how she rose to fame, and the little peaks of personality we get. But we do not truly know her. How the fame has affected her soul, how she makes sense of the life she is in. We don’t know what thoughts plague her the most or what she thinks of the state of the world.

I find myself enjoying Beyoncé’s music with a double consciousness. I find her music gripping and important to the culture. But then I think of the future. When the generations after us, who are living in flooded cities and burnt towns, try to make sense of their future through learning about our past. I think about how flat the past will be to them, all laid out for them to read or watch in a documentary. While we can let our admiration for her allow us to over-explain and excuse her status, will they be able to do the same?

Beyoncé may not burn forests or enforce child labor, but the parasocial attachment we have to her and other celebrities diffuses class consciousness. I am not saying Beyoncé and other celebrities should be the first ones guillotined during a class war—I think that is misguided. Instead, we must take her off the pedestal we have placed her on. We can enjoy her music while not letting her distract us from the dystopia we find ourselves in. She can represent Black pride and greatness, while also being a cog in an oppressive machine— another citizen of the The Capital. Now, as our outlets for speech and communication are being banned and suppressed, we must have conversations like this from a more macro perspective.