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In my most recent video, I laid out a case that some may have found controversial. I highlighted how Beyoncé’s joint venture with luxury conglomerate LVMH wasn’t the cultural win it’s being portrayed as. Let me say it louder for those in the back: not every bag is a victory for the culture.
Beyoncé, with her unparalleled platform and influence, had every opportunity to partner with a Black-owned business that aligns with the values and legacy of our people. Uncle Nearest Premium Whiskey, for example, is a brand rooted in Black history and excellence. It honors the legacy of Nathan "Nearest" Green, the Black man who taught Jack Daniel how to distill whiskey. What better partnership could exemplify empowerment, equity, and pride in our contributions to industry and culture? But instead of choosing to uplift her own, Beyoncé opted to align with a European powerhouse that neither needs nor prioritizes us in their legacy.
This isn’t just about Beyoncé—it’s about a recurring pattern in celebrity culture. Too often, the allure of luxury and the validation that comes from mainstream (read: white) institutions supersede the opportunity to invest in our own. Let’s be real: this isn’t just business; it’s a choice. A choice that tells us exactly where some of these celebrities stand when it comes to building generational wealth within our communities versus merely collecting checks.
What’s frustrating is that Beyoncé, of all people, doesn’t need LVMH to solidify her empire. She could’ve set a precedent by partnering with Uncle Nearest or any number of Black-owned brands that reflect the richness of our heritage. Imagine what that could’ve done—not just for the brand but for the broader message it sends to Black entrepreneurs striving for seats at tables we built.
Yet, some celebrities remain comfortable playing the part of wealthy tokens within systems that exploit and appropriate our culture. The term is harsh, but we must call it what it is. Having money doesn’t absolve someone from being a coon. The more money and influence they have, the greater their responsibility to be intentional about how they use it.
The point of this isn’t to tear down Beyoncé; it’s to spark accountability. If we can hold corporations and politicians accountable for their actions, we should do the same for our cultural icons. Representation without reparations—or in this case, intentional reinvestment—is a hollow victory.
So yes, I told you so. Wealth and fame don’t always equate to progress in the culture. As long as our stars continue to prioritize individual gain over collective empowerment, we will remain pawns in a game we should be running.
It’s time we demand better—not just from Beyoncé, but from all those who claim to represent us while leaving our communities behind.
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