I love Beyoncé. I really do. My entire upbringing consisted of transforming myself into some version of Beyoncé or a knock off. At 12-years-old, I wasn’t allowed to have the flowy blonde locks. And my little chore money didn’t permit me to prance around in high couture. But damnit, flaws and all, I was her.
So 12 years later, when I find out my favorite childhood artist/doppelganger dropped a secret album I was shocked I didn’t care. I was semi emotionless and just wasn’t that hype. The feeling was gone. I’ve been absolutely stripped away from the childlike enthusiasm I once had around being a Beyoncé fan which now has become a cult.
Pop culture discussions and conversations around her seem to feel trite, extensive and exhausting now. Everyone’s opinion is the same, and perhaps I’ve become disinterested in the world constantly falling to their knees. The umbrage of it all, finally made me close the door on this innocent musical relationship I had. I mean, “Me, Myself and I” got me through breakups. “Hey Ladies” extended my first feminist power fist. Beyoncé was my first example of what a young woman with beauty, power and grace really looked liked.
For the past two albums, I’ve quietly felt nothing and SAID nothing. Because to voice a public opinion against anything that is not pro #queenbey is a danger zone. Am I really the only that thought her “intimate” HBO documentary was another failed attempt to get personal? Or that maybe her 4 album fell a little short of “decent?”
I miss my old relationship with Beyoncé. It used to feel real. Almost as if I could call her and declare “oh girl, this is NOT good,” or “thank you for giving me strength through this track.”