I needed a distraction from the overgrown, yellow-haired oaf in The White House and thanks to Tyrese Gibson — I found exactly where to re-direct my anger and frustration.
I generally like Tyrese.
I have nostalgic tendencies that factor into my decision to remain loyal to the end. The adulation began back in the nineties when a gorgeous young Black teenager hopped on the bus and sang is ass off to the tune of a Coca Cola commercial.
That expectedly kicked off his modeling and singing career as I found myself glued to the video of his 2002 hit — How You Gonna Act Like That.
His acting chops weren’t tested in 2 Fast 2 Furious — and the film is probably the worst of the gold-dipped franchise (Tokyo Drift is also in contention) — but with the late Paul Walker by his side — none of the words falling out of their well-shaped lips and god-like physique mattered.
There is no doubt that Tyrese has a way of forcing people to join him in the quest of hearing himself speak. His ability to maximize his hierarchy and the mechanics of social media has garnered him legions of fans who love that sort of thing. They eat up everything he dishes out at rapid speed. Very few tend to disagree with his motives.
I began following him on Instagram because he popped up on my feed and after scanning some of his words of wisdom — I concluded that I had nothing to lose. Plus, like I mentioned before — I was a fan from back in the day — why not keep that bond intact.
But, lately, The Fast and the Furious star has been grating on my nerves.
Weeks ago, he announced that he had secretly gotten married on Valentine’s Day to his #BlackQueen — and he needed the whole world to know about it. So much so, that his assistant sent out an email to media contacts that included me — asking that we spread the word about his bride and newly minted status.
Naturally I declined. The only reason why I was still in his Rolodex was because I had signed up for a phone interview — that included other like-minded folk who wanted the scoop associated with the most anticipated movie of 2015— Furious 7.
That session ended up being a bit of a disaster, which was no shock to me, and I concluded that unless it was a one-on-one meeting — I would never lend my skills to such an event.
Aside from all that — I will admit that I have found comfort in some of the stuff Tyrese releases to the universe when he contains himself and doesn’t get too cocky or boastful.
But, there are times when the actor/singer misses the mark.
I notice when it occurs and most of the time I’m unbothered and slightly entertained.
There is a very good reason why Tyrese Gibson and Rev Run’s talk show on OWN — It’s Not You, It’s Men was cancelled.
From start to finish it was a complete catastrophe helmed by two high-profile men who sadly had no idea what the fuck they were talking about. I like to believe that Oprah felt the pressure to provide that platform — hoping to God that it would fail. And she won that battle.
That brings to me the present. Tyrese fucked up again. And this time all bets are off because he targeted a demographic that I care deeply about.
This time it’s personal.
Gibson took to Instagram recently to bitch about why women who talk shit about men — really have no business being all in their feelings — especially when they are too busy altering their bodies and hairstyles in ways that make them look FAKE instead of REAL.
The entertainer’s rant was long-winded and filled with sexist jargon as he persecuted the value of Black women who try too hard to look like anything other than what they really are.
Yes, the post was directed to Black women — he later tried to front that it was for all women by editing certain parts, but he played himself from the start by making it clear that he really meant us.
Tyrese is the worst kind of Black man to Black women.
He’s the type of Black man that gives White men a good look based on the way White men treat their own without prejudice.
He’s the type of Black man who calls out Black women for doing what White woman do in abundance and with disdain as they trap our men by stealing our features and classifying them as “new and improved.”
Black athletes and Black men of higher standing are obsessed with women that sport the prototype of The Kardashian Klan and losers like Iggy Azalea — and yet the obvious is never brought to their attention and ridiculed with public potency.
Tyrese is the worst kind of Black man because he’s a coward and a little boy who can’t handle the truth — so instead of taking his own advice and reflecting on his short-comings he dumps his shit on the ones who are always targeted and menaced for being too WOKE for their own good.
He is the worst kind of Black man because of his bewildering sexism that allows him to dare venture into the territory of explaining why the grooming habits of Black women make them less desirable compared to White women or the exotic kind — which automatically requires labels such as “Hoes, sluts and tramps.”
We are pressured into donning fake hair, narrowing our noses, bloating our titties, and expanding our asses.
His addition “of ladies of all races” was a slap in the face, it would have been wiser to channel his hatred to just Black women because that’s exactly what Black men do best.
They punish us for not measuring up to their standards. They blatantly celebrate other women who they deem more worthy. They refuse to Get Out of the vortex of deceit that almost always overwhelms their senses.
Dear Tyrese, Stop using your disdain for Black women to get attention.
Black women are not here for you. We do what we do because that’s how we do.
It’s not about competition or slutting our way through the slime of trying to convince our men that we are worthy of respect and honor. The women that you claim with pride for the camera lights — paid millions to look like us — so we know what’s up.
#TeamNatural is a hashtag with no merit. The woman you married doesn’t obey that rule — neither do the blow up dolls that Black men with money and clout — diligently cling to.
Being the worst kind of man to your woman is a disposition that is sad and popular in our world — but like sirens of the past, present and future — we rise.
Because we know the best kind will come from us.