Issa Rae is a gem. It’s not hard to understand why. She took the blueprint from her 2001 inauguration — The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl and created a launchpad that is set to rearrange the dinner table of required offerings.
As the maddening concoction of the political landscape and a well-known film that was supposed to be the Hallelujah for the Black community and the Hosanna to greedy film distributors, grips our over-loaded senses — it’s only fair that we have a way out.
The landscape of television is visibly onboard with the mission of eradicating any of the doubts we have about people of color remaining under the radar and unfairly distributed. The current offerings are impressive enough and range from dramas to streetwise fantasies. As amazingly diverse as the platter seems to be — there isn’t the option of escape to a place that is soulfully familiar in all the right ways.
I was kind of insecure about Insecure — mainly because I was afraid it was going to be a more refined or edgy version of BET’s Being Mary Jane. No offense to Gabrielle Union and her crew but that show is feeble at best. An African-American woman with a dope pad that is funneled by her equally dope job is living the life most of us can only dream of — if we can summon the energy to do so. The only problem is that her love life is in shambles and her family has issues.
Nothing new here.
All we have to do is turn to the heroines of How to Get Way with Murder and Scandal to get our fill of Black women who are too perfect to be relatable — and to weak to hold our attention long enough to be inspired. Yet, we support those efforts because they are dutifully less abhorrent than the stapled alternative. I’m all for decked out power women who have poised agendas that rule the world or the hub of their assigned activity.
But, for me, those storylines only serve as the expensive entree that you explore only when it’s delectably ripe enough for scheduled binging.
And then it’s over.
As a Black girl in the nineties, I was able to escape into the crockpot of urban comedy that presented the likes of Living Single and Girlfriends. Those shows serve as the precursor of what is about to go down.
Issa Rae and her anointed teamsters that include Yvonne Orji and Jay Ellis — is more than ready and qualified to erect the home run in a stadium filled with well-wishers and enthusiasts like me — who can’t believe our luck.
There is no denying the immense wealth that is accrued when you’re able to see a cast reflect your disposition with the astuteness that is usually reserved for audiences — that are used to seeing themselves repopulated each time they click through the book of channels.
So, far, I am certain that HBO didn’t buy into a fad that was decorated to lead us astray. This is the real deal. This is what we’ve been pining for as we watched Girls — and imagined what it would be like to have a wunderkind with skin color to match — that also has the audacity to present us in the light that we bathe in without thought prior permission.
I wanted to give it to you, but, maybe later. In the meantime there is Issa and she isn’t fucking around.
She did the damn thing. She made your dreams come true — so you could make yours shine without hindrance or the tape of silence that has kept us hidden for way too long.
The show is good. Actually, its awesome.
You get to see yourself in the elements that you recognize, doing the things that you understand with laughter and midnight caresses that allow the air to make you what you really are — without the filters that society demands from you.
Black women are women. We are female. We are lonely feminists with the support of the code that was encrypted when we were in a deep sleep. We don’t ask for much even though our reputation supersedes us. We forgive and forget. We demand very little and carry a load that overwhelms but rarely causes us to stumble.
We are superwomen.
It sounds good to admit this. But, what is even better is the realization that we are liars. We are not super. We are not women. We are human. We hurt. We cry. We fuck with innocence. We seek the eyes of the companion and when he darts them elsewhere, it affects us. We try and we fail. We inhale and exhale with careful manipulation.
We are Insecure most of the time.
And if you want to find out why — stay tuned. It’s going to get good.
This shit is for us.