I was introduced to Destiny’s Child as a pre-teen, in 1999, when my sole focus in life was consuming endless music through my anti-shock CD discman — as well as creating endless dance routines to my favorite songs. I had never been to a club, nor paid a bill, but the lyrics to “Jumpin’, Jumpin’” and “Bills, Bills, Bills” defined me. Beyoncé Knowles, the lead singer of the group, was the it girl everyone fought to be during choreography sessions. By the time Beyoncé left the group in 2003, to launch her solo career, I was infatuated with her. I studied her every move from the “Baby Boy” video, and I memorized the lyrics to “Me, Myself and I” like I personally knew what it was like to have a grown man cheat on me. “Ring The Alarm” allowed me to tap into my own female rage for the first time. Then Lemonade hit, and most everyone I knew considered themselves to be her biggest fan. I’ll never forget listening to (and watching) the Lemonade visual album for the very first time, back in 2016 at a hotel during Coachella. I was astounded, in complete awe really, of her talent and her vision. She suddenly reached new heights, of fame, of success, and of artistry. She was no longer Beyoncé Knowles — she was a first-name-only idol and reigned as Queen.
It wasn’t until the chaos of 2020, in what can only be described as a pandemic-induced spiritual awakening, that I could no longer partake in putting celebrities on a pedestal. I never considered any kind of moral obligation to stop listening to an artist as a response to their actions until I watched the R. Kelly documentary. Even when I heard loud whispers of his abuse, prior to the release of the doc, I had no problem blasting “Ignition” as a nostalgic throwback. But then the documentary hit, and in the height of this new reality — one where celebrities suddenly felt “off” to me — the music stopped sounding the same, and I stopped listening.
At some point, Beyoncé’s new music stopped sounding the same to me too. Not because she’s not insanely talented, or because she’s arguably the best artist of our time, but because I was starting to distinguish the allure of her music from the reality of who she is. When you think of women working in sweatshops, your brain isn’t conditioned to think of Beyoncé. When you think of the horror of blood diamonds, your mind does not picture Beyoncé wearing them. When you think of the ultra wealthy exploiting working class people to get a larger piece of the pie, one does not consider Beyoncé. But that is the reality, and us not making these connections is by design. When we say Eat The Rich, we mean it — unless, of course, it’s our favorite artist. Fuck the one percent — unless, of course, it’s Beyoncé. Or Taylor Swift. Or Rihanna. And that is the part I can no longer turn a blind eye to. The glitz and glam, the showmanship, the artistry, distract us from the details that are murky and the details that are unjust.
Now more than ever, we want music, we want to escape, we want to believe in a world where artists aren’t sucking on the capitalist teet. Beyoncé is an artist, yes. Arguably the best. No one can take that away from her. But she is also a capitalist. Her music, which once represented female empowerment — songs that helped us find a sense of independence and rebellion from “the man” — suddenly switched to an intense glorification of wealth. The anthems that we sang in the shower, club, and car suddenly sounded like hymns promoting and idolizing a system of oppression. It wasn’t girls who run the world, like she had previously taught me — it was money. More specifically, exuberant amounts of wealth.
To many, Beyoncé is a symbol of feminism. Many of her songs are considered feminist anthems. And for many, she represents Black female empowerment. And while I don’t feel it’s my place to discuss the latter for obvious reasons as a white woman, there are plenty of Black activists and writers who have spoken out against her. In one article about her collaboration with Tiffany’s, journalist Karen Attiah writes the campaign “does not celebrate Black liberation — it elevates a painful symbol of colonialism. It presents an ostentatious display of wealth as a sign of progress in an age when Black Americans possess just 4 percent of the United States’s total household wealth. If Black success is defined by being paid to wear White people’s large colonial diamonds, then we are truly still in the sunken place.”
In a recent TikTok on the topic, Substack writer
shares: “I am not compelled by art that is weaponized against me to sympathize with billionaires who are cosplaying class consciousness.” And that sentence deserves pause. Seriously, read it again. I once cheered Beyoncé on for claiming to be “a Black Bill Gates in the making” — she felt like “one of us,” aspiring for something more. When she sang “working 9 to 5 to stay alive,” I felt like we were in this human struggle together. But in this new world, one where too many people can’t afford their grocery bills, people are starting to become aware of their own exploitation and the injustices employers and artists are causing and profiting off of. While her work ethic is a force to be reckoned with, becoming a billionaire always — let me repeat, always — requires the oppression of others, particularly underpaying or taking advantage of those with less. Can a self-proclaimed feminist be a billionaire? I’m not entirely sure. It’s hard to view Beyoncé as a malicious mogul, one who takes advantage of her fans and her workers, but in our capitalist society, that is the reality.Art plays a central part in the creation of culture, and without a doubt, Beyoncé has created a large part of our current culture. Art helps us make sense of the world, of our lives — it helps us grasp the world. But make no mistake: billionaires cannot comprehend the real world we live in, and neither can your favorite billionaire artist. Eighty percent of Americans are struggling financially post pandemic, and our hard earned money, according to Forbes, is the reason behind her substantial boost in earnings (through 2023 ticket sales). If Bey is glorifying wealth, and creating our culture, and we’re eating it up — what does that say about our culture, about us? Why are we okay spending $500-$5000 on a single concert ticket? Societal values are always changing, which means our perception of art changes with it. Beyoncé’s music once felt like church to me, but music that worships this level of wealth, and therefore exploitation, doesn’t sit right with me.
While Beyoncé’s “great-great-grandchildren are already rich,” most of us don’t even have a house to leave behind for our own children — and for me, it’s changed the sound of the music. It makes me feel like I’m rereading the same story line, over and over, perpetuating old beliefs of an old model that no longer serves our world. And I’m over it. The war isn’t between the BeyHive and non-BeyHive members — the war is between the ultra wealthy and everyone else. And while nostalgia is a powerful thing, one I feel whenever I hear “Check On It,” the truth is, some of our most beloved artists aren’t just like us. Sometimes, they are the problem. Even when the music slaps.
I had to give my bestie a trigger warning for today’s newsletter lol. I have no idea how this will land so I’m genuinely curious what your opinions are re this topic. Click the comment button if you have thoughts.
MARK YOUR CALENDARS: FULL MOON CIRCLE APRIL 21ST!
I’ll be hosting a few more events before I go on mat leave, and I really want to get a moon circle in before then. So join me! Sunday, April 21st! We’ll discuss self-doubt and imposter syndrome. I’ve had some major breakthroughs regarding this topic over the last couple of months, and I’m excited to share and explore together — and hopefully, you’ll experience a break through the nonsense too.
I normally charge $30 per full moon circle, but in this new format, as a paid subscriber, for $10/month you get access to monthly events. You can cancel anytime, and I’ll comp anyone who asks!
Hope to see you there :)
i have so many thoughts. wouldn’t it be amazing if these feminist billionaires started sharing their wealth in RADICAL ways? equalizing the playing field? creating limits for their re-sold tickets so that WE the working class AREN’T exploited? To allow all people fair access to these concerts rather than allowing SCUM FOLKS to control the market? also just like, the part about their grand children already being RICH rich & struggling over here to save money for retirement so my kids don’t feel responsible for me LET ALONE saving money to pass wealth (that i do not have) onto them. no house to my name at 32, and a savings account that is rapidly decreasing in value due to inflation, our rental home increasing rent $200, canceling our health insurance because it more than doubled and would have cost us the money that is our “cushion” and our “savings” each month to keep it, going to free food markets every week to help the rising cost of feeding our family, and then being upside down in a car loan from a vehicle that no longer serves us which we were forced to purchase when the market was INSANE. It’s all so fucked. I count myself pretty privileged in my life & yet - I am farrrrr from financially secure. Then there’s these billionaires making music that we use to escape from our realities - getting wealthier as the gap between us and them continues to grow wider.
Very well written. You have a great way of putting into words what many are thinking 🤍