Black Is King is an ode to belonging
Tags: Inclusion, Black Is King, Belonging, Black, In The Know

A Perspective from Maya Braunstein

Watching Black Is King for the first time I was astonished by the beauty of its visuals. But I also was confused by the references. Beyoncé and I are both descendants of the African Diaspora, yet I wondered how either of us could relate to, let alone understand, the African cultural references depicted throughout the film, given that we’re not from that culture. The truth is, I don’t know where my ancestors came from or anything about the world they belonged to before they were enslaved, forced to cross the Middle Passage and arrive in Trinidad. That feeling of not knowing one’s history was stated beautifully in the film through a voice-over:

When it’s all said and done, I don’t even know my own native tongue. And if I can’t speak myself, I can’t think myself, and if I can’t think myself, I can’t be myself. But if I can’t be myself, I will never know me. So, Uncle Sam, tell me this, if I will never know me, how can you?

The horrors of slavery have taken so much away from the Black community, including the feeling of belonging. After further viewing and investigation, it became apparent that through Black Is King I was able to see a world in which belonging is a reality — one where all Black people are connected to their vibrant lineage and history. Beyoncé’s depiction of a world in which Blackness is celebrated, associated with community, wealth and greatness, was a beauty I’d never seen before. It rocked me to my core. As a Black person, it’s painful to be constantly exposed to the portrayal of Blackness in popular culture as all pain and suffering. To see the opposite was a powerful experience.

Although the imagery of the film carried primarily African themes, the Pan-African flag appeared about 43 minutes in, alluding to Black American culture. Black dancers and performers were depicted as debutantes as well as gospel singers, a nod to prominent Black American customs. I appreciated those moments immensely because even though the film helped us imagine a world where Black people are connected to their ancestral lands it still brought importance to the culture we have created from what we inherited as part of the diaspora.

A Perspective from Shivani Gorle

When I first heard “BROWN SKIN GIRL” last summer I played it on repeat. Nothing else could set me up for a runner’s high or send me strutting down the street like Afrobeats and Beyoncé, her loving declaration to dark-skinned women and girls everywhere,

Singin’ brown skin girl

Your skin just like pearls

The best thing in the world

I never trade you for anybody else, singin’

So a year later, watching the song’s music video as part of Black Is King’s captivating new visual album, I couldn’t help but be moved to tears. I can’t quite explain the physical reaction. Maybe the singular shot of a Hindu bride included among other low-angle shots of Black women and girls dancing freely and fearlessly struck a chord. Maybe the scenes of hand-clapping games between girls and their grandmothers took me back to my own memories growing up in small-town central India.

Took everything in life, baby, know your worth

I love everything about you, from your nappy curls

To every single curve, your body natural

Same skin that was broken be the same skin takin’ over

In the music video, Beyoncé is joined by prominent cultural icons like Naomi Campbell, Lupita Nyongo and Kelly Rowland as they speak directly to young Black boys and girls who don’t typically see themselves reflected in the sweeping cinematic shots of big-budget films.

The song is self-affirming and conveys the kind of confidence that few other female artists inspire in me through their beats and lyrics (Missy Elliott excepted!). The way I see it, Beyoncé has taught South Asian women more about fearless self-expression than their own community has. Consider, for instance, that India is one of the world’s largest markets for skin-lightening products, ringing up roughly $500 million a year in sales. The biggest player, therefore offender, is Hindustan Unilever’s Fair & Lovely. First rolled out in 1975, this fairness cream contains melanin suppressors and nowadays is regularly endorsed by such international celebrities as Priyanka Chopra, who ironically was one of the first to pledge her support of the Black Lives Matter movement.

Not many people talk about India’s rampant colorism, which can be traced back to British colonial rule when dark-skinned Indians lost jobs to lighter-skinned Indians. Meanwhile, Unilever continues to coin millions from selling the narrative that white skin isn’t just a beauty standard but a ticket to success. Indeed, I spent years being taught my self-worth was determined by my skin tone.



Finally, this year Unilever decided to drop the word “fair” from the product name and rebrand it “Glow & Lovely”. Talk about a tone-deaf, cosmetic solution to an inherently problematic product! It’s far from fair, and it sure isn’t lovely.



Don’t change the name. Discontinue the product. Real action would mean taking the stuff off store shelves. Even if that meant kissing its share of $500 million goodbye, wouldn’t it be a small price to pay for dismantling white supremacy?



Racial attitudes are formed early. To change them, then, invest in education. Instead of expanding marketing budgets for skin-deep rebrands of racist products, Unilever’s Research & Development arm should be funding educational initiatives that teach a more accurate history of white supremacy and colonialism to Indian students as well as to students at schools in other Commonwealth nations.



So much of Black Is King is about legacy, ownership and how we see ourselves. With “BROWN SKIN GIRL”, Beyoncé sends a message that is at once an affront to colorism and an acclamation of self-love.

Your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story

Keep dancin’, they can’t control you

They watchin’, they all adore you

If ever you are in doubt, remember what mama told you

Listen to the rest of my summer playlist on Spotify. Save “BROWN SKIN GIRL” for the most vigorous lap of your morning run.

A Perspective from Jessie McGuire

It is an understatement to say I was excited when Black Is King debuted this summer. As anyone who knows me will tell you, I love Beyoncé!

When her visual album Lemonade dropped in 2016 I was pregnant with my second child. And while I wasn’t new to pregnancy, I was new to being pregnant in New York City. Lemonade got me through many a subway ride spent being completely ignored. If you want to be invisible, try being short, brown and 7-months pregnant during rush hour. Here’s a little tip: Avoiding eye contact with someone does not make them go away.

I no longer need Lemonade to help me navigate pregnancy. But as it turns out, in 2020 her latest visual album Black Is King is helping me navigate pretty much everything else.

If you feel insignificant, you better think again

Better wake up because you’re part of something way bigger

I joined a national sorority interest group during my freshman year at Pratt Institute. I don’t remember exactly why I joined, but I was excited to branch out beyond the three white women I was assigned to live with. My nine sorority sisters and I met weekdays and most weekends to discuss what a national sorority would bring to an art school. Which sorority would be fit for a group of diverse women who hated labels?

I loved every minute of this exploration because I became a part of something bigger than myself which could live beyond my four years of college. In its 17 years of serving and uplifting women since first initiated in 2003, the Gamma Eta chapter of Pratt has raised incredibly accomplished alumni. I’m lucky to know many of them, including Laurel DeWitt.

My first few glimpses of Black Is King were all custom Laurel DeWitt headpieces and accessories featured on and around Beyoncé — stunning visuals of a pearl headdress, a crystal-encrusted turban, a crystal rope hip piece and crowns galore. I sat down to watch the boundaries I knew Beyoncé would push, and to take in the gorgeous art pieces my sorority sister painstakingly created for this moment in history.

As the film started playing, I heard a little voice ask, why I was watching a movie about water and rocks? Would any sea creatures come out of the river? Why was I hogging the TV? Could I put on Captain Underpants? Eventually, my 7-year-old and I watched the entire album together, mostly in silence.

Life is your birthright, they hid that in the fine print

Take the pen and rewrite it

Seeing Laurel’s art took me back to the work that went into establishing a new chapter of a national sorority. As a group of diverse women, we struggled to find our own voices. We talked about our differences and challenged each other, reflecting on who we were and who we wanted to become.

Art shows us who we are — a reflection of our ideas as well as our ideals. Watching this celebration of black beauty, culture, art, family, traditions and self-expression has forced me to question what I thought I knew about belonging, community and representation.

As I think of my own design practice and the projects we are doing at ThoughtMatter, I recognize there is more work to be done to support, center and uplift Black voices.

Beyoncé created something that not only is bigger than each of us, but which also helps us examine what we put out into the world and reflect on the legacy we hope to leave.

Our children are watching.

I’ll be the roots, you be the tree

Pass on the fruit that was given to me

Legacy, ah, we’re part of something way bigger

Black Is King is on repeat at our house — a daily reminder that being part of something bigger takes work. Takes time. Takes commitment.