Just as we were all wrapping our doobies and twisting up our twist outs and trying to recover from Scandal, not quite a week ago, Yonce clicked a button, shattered our lives, and then probably ate a vegan cupcake, tickled Blue’s feet, and went to bed. In the days since there has been an avalanche of discussion about whether Beyonce and her surprise self-titled album are feminist (conclusion: Beyonce self-identifies as feminist and has specifically said that she has been reading up on feminism and intentionally incorporated what she learned into the album. So… yeah.), all of the dancing, and probably several babies conceived to the tune of the more sultry tracks.
There have also been what some consider to be curiously guttural emotional responses from many black women, some even Instagramming pictures of themselves literally in tears in reaction to listening to the album. Why? My addiction is Twitter, not Instagram, and I seem to only be capable of producing tears when I am extremely frustrated, so I can’t speak to that particular experience. But I can speak to my own, and try to communicate why the themes of this album mean something to me, and why- besides the bawse beats and tantalizing verses of Yonce the gully rapper- I’ve had it on repeat for six days and feel some type of way.