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As common as death by gun in America is, the hand that holds the gun often defines how those deaths are depicted. So it was not surprising to see the kind of reaction generated by one man being killed and three people being wounded at a T.I. concert in New York City recently. It concerned black people and, thus, was seemingly more frightening and dastardly to select people.

That would include New York City Police Commissioner Bill Bratton, who used the incident to depict rappers as “basically thugs” in a subsequent radio interview. Bratton went on to say, “The crazy world of these so-called rap artists, who are basically thugs that basically celebrate violence they did all their lives, and unfortunately that violence oftentimes manifests itself during their performances, and that’s exactly what happened last evening.”

It is hilariously ironic that the person in charge of the New York City Police Department wants to talk about purported bad culture that manifests into unnecessary violence. Bratton is right to remain blindly ignorant and drowning in his own pool of hypocrisy, but it’s unfortunate that others who ought to know better failed to show up. In response to that shooting, the behemoth concert company Live Nation announced that it was postponing or canceling multiple rap concerts.

In a statement, Jim Yeager, a spokesman for Live Nation, explained: “In light of last week’s tragic events, we are acting with an overabundance of caution and coordinating a going-forward strategy with the New York Police Department that may also include a curfew. Because these discussions with the NYPD are ongoing, we will be postponing a few of our upcoming shows at Irving Plaza and the Gramercy.”

The NYPD denied this, with a spokeswoman for the department declaring, “The organization’s decision to cancel the event was in no way influenced by the NYPD.”

Whom shall we believe? The concert company that has to rely on the assistance of local police departments for their events, or the Police Department with a commissioner depicting entertainers—majorly black, by the way—of being “basically thugs” and into the “gangster lifestyle”? Spoiler alert: The Fader reported that a source with knowledge of the situation confirmed that the NYPD issued a “strong advisory” to one New York-area venue to can its hip-hop shows.

As one promoter, Shabazz Varnie, explained to the magazine, “Police give the venues problems,” noting that the NYPD can also “push for promoters to get extra security in order for the show to go on, which isn’t cheap.”

Their vigilance to “protect and serve” would be acceptable if it weren’t reeking of duplicity.

You can get shot anywhere in America. You can get shot in a neighborhood ravaged by a level of violence only immense poverty and a failure to address it can produce. You can get shot at a college or university, a high school, a middle school, or an elementary school. You can get shot at a movie theater at the hands of a soulless person with easy access to firearms. You can get shot at a Wal-Mart or on a sidewalk for no other reason than being black and breathing. Ask Bill Bratton about that last one.

Read the rest at The Root.

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It happened when Michael Jackson died. It happened shortly after Whitney Houston’s death. It happened to Prince after he died suddenly. It has since happened to Muhammad Ali. I fear it will be a fate met one day by the likes of Beyoncé, Steph Curry, Rihanna, and LeBron James.

“It” is when white media exalts fallen Black public figures for “transcending race” in an attempt to honor them.

“It” will never not be disingenuous. It will always be another superficial attempt to address racism. It will always be a glib statement earning the rightful eyeroll of Black people everywhere.

One problem with the notion of “transcending race” is that it immediately connotes that being Black is some sort of barrier. Why does one need to transcend who they are? This turn of phrase is meant as a compliment, but it is anything but. It is a well-meaning—but no less dishonest—way of describing Black men and women who have accomplished so much in the face of adversity.

Why does one need to “transcend” their Blackness for mainstream a.k.a. white consumption? When I hear well-meaning white folks write or utter this phrase, I can’t help but chuckle at how self-absorbed they’re being. Instead, they should say ,“I got over my own biases” and embraced X Black celebrity.

Be real, beloved, and spare us the bullshit.

All of the aforementioned Black celebrities were unapologetically Black. Moreover, none of them ever escaped the systemically unfair battle against any living, breathing, and especially thriving Black person.

Read the rest at Complex.

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When it comes to the subgenre of punditry best described as “crotchety, delusional conservative white man,” Pat Buchanan has long been its shining star. To Buchanan’s credit, he’s been consistently curmudgeonly about America’s shifting demographics for decades. In 1992 Buchanan infamously spoke of a “culture war” plaguing the United States during a speech at that year’s Republican convention. In Buchanan’s mind, the Democratic Party represented a bunch of abortion-loving, feminism-peddling, “homosexual rights”-advocating deviants. His answer to the crowd was that “we must take back our cities and take back our culture and take back our country.”

And unlike Ms. Lauryn Hill, Buchanan does not need new arrangements to perform his act. No, his political rhetoric is basically Mary J. Blige’s onstage dancing. To wit, Buchanan recently wrote an unintentionally hilarious essay about “the social disaster of white Middle America.” In the essay, entitled “The Great White Hope,” Buchanan laments a purported crisis among “middle-aged white folks” that, he says, consists of growing numbers of cases of “alcoholic liver disease, overdoses of heroin and opioids, and suicides.”

Buchanan’s explanation for this is twofold. In one instance he discusses white working-class voters being victims of depreciating wages and a lack of available jobs because of globalization. Typically, if Buchanan told me the sky was blue, I’d go outside with my phone to take a shot of the blood-orange moon that’s clearly more than likely to be present, but hey, there is some level of truth there.

Unfortunately, “Project Pat” then attributes the drug use, alcoholism and suicide rates to shrinking numbers of married white men. To Project Pat, “single white men are not only being left behind by the new economy, they are becoming alienated from society.” Moreover, the “world has been turned upside-down for white children.”

In this man’s mind, this is evidenced by select history books saying that America was “‘discovered’ by genocidal white racists, who murdered the native peoples of color, enslaved Africans to do the labor they refused to do, then went out and brutalized and colonized indigenous peoples all over the world.”

So, the crux of his complaints about education policy is that American children are being told the truth about the history of this nation. Whatever will these poor white kids do (well, besides continue to enjoy the perks of being white in a society that caters to white people)? Project Pat proceeds to argue that a call for diversity is meant to marginalize white people. If you really want to laugh, he also complains that “angry white male” is now “an acceptable slur in culture and politics.”

“N–ger” is a slur; “angry white male” is a pretty solid descriptor for the conservative-media-industrial complex that’s made Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, Sean Hannity and others millions of dollars.

In any event, Buchanan leaves us with this: “So it is that people of that derided ethnicity, race, and gender see in Donald Trump someone who unapologetically berates and mocks the elites who have dispossessed them, and who despise them. Is it any surprise that militant anti-government groups attract white males? Is it so surprising that the Donald today, like Jess Willard a century ago, is seen by millions as ‘The Great White Hope?’”

Read the rest at The Root.

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Very seldom will you ever find me speaking ill of the legendary Bobby Brown. You’re now reading words from someone who will regularly inform you that if not for the Don’t Be Cruel album, it’s highly unlikely you will have artists like Usher, Trey Songz and Chris Brown. A person, who after finding out “The Kang of R&B” was selling BBQ sauce and fried chicken seasoning, immediately went online to place an order. So, my love of Bobby Brown is pure and everlasting.

However, there is news pouring out from a recent interview that’s troubled me. There are a few things in life I can look past. I pass no judgment on Bobby Brown for recently telling ABC’s Robin Roberts that he once had sex with a ghost is a fine example. Brown’s purported private ghost busting aside, I’m more frustrated that he felt compelled to discuss a long rumored part of his late ex wife’s life.

Speaking with Us Weekly, Brown addressed the outstanding rumor that Whitney Houston had a same-sex relationship with Robyn Crawford. Houston met Crawford as a teen before she ultimately hired Crawford to be her assistant and creative director. Rumors of a romance started in the late 1980s and traveled with the late iconic singer for years. The rumor reached its peak of speculation once Houston went on to join Michael Jackson in the afterlife choir and Crawford spoke with Esquire about their relationship.

In response to stories that Houston was pressured by family members not to see her, Crawford noted, “Nobody kept Whitney from doing anything.” Beyond that, though, there is a subtle gorgeousness to how Crawford speaks of Houston. It is quite clear that whatever their relationship was, it was rooted in love.

Crawford explained: “I have never spoken about her until now. And she knew I wouldn’t. She was a loyal friend and she knew I was never going to be disloyal to her. I was never going to betray her. Now I can’t believe that I’m never going to hug her or hear her laughter again. I loved her laughter and that’s what I miss most, that’s what I miss already.”

And: “I just hope that she wasn’t in pain and that she hadn’t lost hope. She gave so much to so many people; I hope that she felt loved in return. She was the action, for such a long time. She’s out of the action now. I hope she can finally rest.”

This should have been the end of that. No one who was not privy to the intel to confirm the specifics of their relationship deserved nothing more than what Crawford offered. Sadly, Brown has now chimed in, telling Us Weekly that when it comes to Houston and Crawford, “I know. We were married for 14 years. There are some things we talked about that were personal to us.”

Brown, who recently released a memoir, “Every Little Step,” alleges that Houston was bisexual. He told Us, “I’m a man and she was attracted to me!”

Read the rest at VH1.

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Recently, for The Guardian, Naomi Campbell shared an excerpt from a limited edition, two-volume book that chronicles her life as a groundbreaking and highly successful supermodel and all of the opportunities stemming from that. Yet, for all that is shared in the excerpt—her as a supermodel, her speaking with world leaders as a contributing editor to various publications—the article’s title homes in on what I’ve come to see as a well-meaning but no less flawed line of thinking. The title in question is, “Naomi Campbell: ‘At an early age, I understood what it meant to be black. You had to be twice as good.’”

Campbell writes: “When I started out, I wasn’t being booked for certain shows because of the color of my skin. I didn’t let it rattle me. From attending auditions and performing at an early age, I understood what it meant to be black. You had to put in the extra effort. You had to be twice as good.”

Picture it: Me, yawning at both the headline and the sentiment that inspired it. Of course, Campbell is not the only person who echoes this statement. However, I’ve only heard the “twice as good to get half as much” mantra by the mediums of pop culture or the bougie Black folks I encountered later in life after attending Howard University. As a child, not a single person ever told me this. I thank my Lord and Gyrator Beyoncé every single day for this.

Growing up, I was told to be great, but not from the perspective of doing so in order to attain an imbalanced portion of what some white person was getting for half the effort. When I think a lot about my childhood—well, besides the chaotic portions that often consumed it—I now have a greater respect for many of the values my mom instilled in me.

I did not grow up with a lot of money at all, but I was never raised to believe that there wasn’t anything I could not do. My first doctor was Black. My first dentist was Black. I had a Black priest when I was still a practicing Catholic. I went to Black schools, and when my mother aspired for me to go to a better school, it was not some white-populated institution; it was a private Black school. She couldn’t afford it, but the school of her choosing denotes that something simply being white did not constitute as better.

Was racism explained to and experienced by me? Certainly. However, I never thought that to be Black, I had to be twice as good as a white person. Likewise, I never operated under the impression that in order to see myself, I had to see it through the lens of whiteness or the prejudices forced upon me by white supremacy.

White people were just not the factor.Being Black was always enough. To be fair to Naomi Campbell, she has always advocated for the inclusion of more Black models. And Campbell takes great pride in being Black. Still, when I hear people—good intentions or not—play into this kind of folklore, I find it troubling and saddening. No one should ever define themselves in that way. None of us should put that kind of unnecessary pressure on any nonwhite person.

Read the rest at The Root.

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I have never heard a black person speak about O.J. Simpson with any reverence outside of J.J. Evans on an episode of Good Times. And while that show was populated by black faces, what came out of their mouths stemmed from the minds of the white writers in the room. Simpson was not Muhammad Ali, or Michael Jordan, Jim Brown, or hell, Warren Moon, if you’re from Houston.

Even before Simpson’s infamous and zeitgeist-shifting murder trial, he proved to be a polarizing figure among Black people because he didn’t ever seem to associate himself with black people and blackness. Simpson was loved by white people in a way not shared by blacks—not unlike Jason Derulo’s catalog. The term “transcending race” is a myth, but one can seek to distance themselves from their identity should they secure a certain amount of fame and wealth that might appear to remove some barriers largely attributed to racism.

Simpson got his wake up call during his murder trial, and like a long-lost relative that only comes around when they need money and a good meal, his defense strategy was largely rooted in noting his race and how racism permeates our justice system. For many blacks who know this and are victims of it, it was the best way to win back our support and kinship, even if temporarily. So, while I may not have understood the gravity of the Simpson trial in its totality as a child, I did understand that feelings on Simpson’s trial and its verdict were likely shaped by your race and experiences with racism.

Similarly, your interest in the trial verdict 20 years later is, too, likely fueled by your race and how experiences associated with it shift your worldview. That’s why whenever I am asked as a writer and cultural critic why we are so obsessed with the O.J. Simpson trial two decades later, my first inclination is to ask who’s we?

During that time and perhaps a few years after, I’ve witnessed black people discussing the trial in the context majorly of “He either did it or knows who did.” And after he found himself arrested for and convicted of stealing sports memorabilia, with the sentiment, “This stupid motherfucker got off the first time and look at him.” In terms of black pop culture, there was a line about Simpson’s guilt in the first Barbershop, but beyond that, Simpson more or less faded with time with us.

He served as a symbol of a black man getting away with things we typically only see white folks getting away with. But the idea of him getting away with something he did greatly irritated white people, and it is why white people have primarily led the charge in revisiting the trial some 20 years later.

In a recent roundtable with The Hollywood Reporter, Nina Jacobson, a producer on FX’s The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story had this to say about depicting the trial on TV: “I was scared of taking on O.J. overall, as a white person, knowing this was a polarizing case. We made every effort to have an inclusive team, but ultimately, the people who began the project, it started with a bunch of white people. And we know that the case means different things to different people.”

Read the rest at Complex.

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Earlier this month, Page Six reported that Beyoncé and Jay Z’s long-rumored duets album will arrive in earbuds around the world “very soon.” The news was met with mixed emotions: It seems some fans were less than thrilled about the idea of an album-length session of post-Lemonade couples counseling.

But why are we assuming that’s what this album will be? For all we know, it’s a bunch of up-tempo party tracks. Given that it’s been 10 years since Beyoncé’s fantastic B’Day, I’d be all for that. Failing that, I’m happy to entertain an album on which Jay Z explains in detail why Becky with the good hair ain’t worth a court-mandated visitation schedule for him and Blue Ivy. I don’t know what’s on this album, and neither do you. But I’m open to finding out, considering the pair’s well-established musical chemistry. Besides, any member of the Beyhive should know by now that there is no such thing as too much Beyoncé in the world.

The real reason I love the idea of a Jay Z and Beyoncé joint project, though, is that it could help usher in a new era for the duets album — a format that has tragically fallen by the wayside in our culture. Yes, duets still exist. No one dares disrespect the magic Ja Rule and Ashanti once made, or what Ciara and Ludacris did further down the country. However, none of those duos created a stand-alone project. Two of the aforementioned are hosting awards shows instead of performing at them.

More recently, we’ve enjoyed duets from Nick Jonas and TinasheAriana Grande and The Weeknd, and Justin Bieber and Halsey. But none of them have given us anything close to the magic Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell produced in the 1960s. In 2013, Maxwell announced plans to go there with Alicia Keys, telling Billboard, “We’re definitely working on an EP that’s sort of Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell.” Three years later, we haven’t heard a peep from either about the project.

So, yes, I would love to hear a duets album from Beyoncé and her husband. While we’re at it, isn’t it about time that Drake and Rihanna quit playing and offered us their own duets album?

Apologies in advance to all those who bow before Aubrey Graham — I’d rather pretend Views never happened.

Read the rest at MTV News.

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“Thots & Thoughts” is a column in which musings on dating, sex, race, religion, and politics all come together—from a bird’s-eye view.

In terms of artistic license, Drake has every right to continue making music about emotional immaturity. He has every right to a whiny outlook on his failed relationships (fictional and otherwise). Likewise, his most ardent fans have every right to keep quoting his songs on social media and pretending that Aubrey Graham is more emotionally intelligent than he actually is. But wouldn’t it be nice if we could all grow up a little?

I am not a Drake hater. Of course, I do question how a Canadian developed a Houston accent as an adult. I also question how said Canadian became West Indian on his latest album. But petty concerns like that haven’t convinced me that he isn’t good at what he does. (I have the receipts of monetary support to prove it.) Still, time has made me wonder how anyone that close to 30 can continue thinking the way he does.

How many more songs can this man make about how he had a “good girl,” went off to do his own thing (and fuck other people freely), and found himself steaming like a hot toddy because that “good girl” lost interest? Even worse, this motherfucker has the audacity to feel a way about someone getting over him. What kind of middle school man-child tripping-over-his-hormones shit is he on? Excuse me, still on.

Gather ‘round, beloveds. I have many examples: 

“All of my ‘let’s just be friends’ are friends I don’t have anymore/Guess that’s why they say you need family for”

Listen, when you do not meet people under platonic circumstances, do not expect them to want to be your platonic friend. I have told many a man to get the hell away from me talking about “let’s just be friends.” Bitch, I got friends. Move around.

“I tried with you/There’s more to life than sleeping in and getting high with you/I had to let go of us to show myself what I could do”

Okay, great. So when they move on, don’t get all pissy about it, newly beardless wonder (more wonderful with a beard, though, tbh).

“Why do I settle for women that force me to pick up the pieces?/Why do I want an independent woman to feel like she needs me?”

Because you’re emotionally manipulative.

“I gave your nickname to someone else.”

You’re also a mean-spirited child at times.

“Chasing women a distraction/They want to be on TV next to me/You cannot be here next to me/Don’t you see Riri here next to me?”

God, shut up.

“I’m way too good to you… You take my love for granted/I just don’t understand it.”

Yo, this man routinely raps about screwing over women, virtually driving them away. Wait, I have another example.

“You hit me like, ‘I know you’re there with someone else’/That pussy knows me better than I know myself”

See that?

Get the hell on somewhere yapping about being too good for anyone. Okay, you are handsome, famous, and rich. There are a bunch of folks like that on Unsung and old episodes of Behind the Music, though. Don’t get too cocky.

And we cannot forget “Hotline Bling,” which is great as a song to bop to in the club, in the car, at the gym, on a sidewalk, or wherever else it’s playing. But as a statement, the song is a prime example that 2016 is the year of our Lemonade.

Read the rest at Complex.

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This is another piece that ended up orphaned. Look, I got paid so we Gucci, but I still felt it should live somewhere. The song is garbage, by the way. Jennifer Lopez could’ve easily just re-released the original version of “Good Hit” instead.

When I read on various sites and across social media that Jennifer Lopez’s new single, “Ain’t Your Mama,” was a “women’s empowerment” or “feminist anthem,” I chuckled like a cartoon villain in the earlier moments of the movie. Like, I don’t know much about algebra, but I know a single produced by a man being sued for sexual assault and battery doesn’t add up to either of those things. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the online clapback to come.

Since then, Meghan Trainor, one of the song’s co-writers, has spoken in defense of J.Lo, telling Digital Spy of the criticism:

“[It was] not fair on her, not at all. I texted her the song and she had no idea — she thought I did it alone by myself at my house, which a lot of people think because I do do that. I sent it to her and said, ‘Do you like the song?’ and she said, ‘I love the song, my kid loves the song — he’s made me play it five times already so I know it’s a hit — when can I cut it?’, so I said immediately, ‘Whenever you want!’”

I have a hard time believing this, but I’ll refrain from hitting Scooby Doo and The Mystery Machine on the hip to further investigate. Even if Lopez had no initial idea that Dr. Luke played a hand in the song’s formation, there’s quite the process that happens between the recording of a song and its distribution. Therefore, somewhere along the way, it should have dawned on the artist in question who all had a hand in its creation. So let’s be clear that Jennifer Lopez and her label made a choice to release the single anyway.

As a fan of Jennifer Lopez’s music, it’s a choice I wish she hadn’t made. For one, the song itself isn’t especially great. It’s definitely no “If You Had My Love,” or hell, “Good Hit.” Couple that with the controversy and one wonders if the song was worth it the noise it has created.

While individuals are certainly innocent until proven guilty, there’s a notable contrast in the many artists who have expressed support for Kesha – Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, Adele, Kelly Clarkson – and the virtual crickets over on Dr. Luke’s side. “Ain’t Your Mama” feels like a slap in the face to Kesha. It’s easy to understand why many are angered by the track’s release.

Yet, there’s also something to be said about when people pick and choose to speak out.

Kesha’s lawsuit against Dr. Luke was filed in October 2014. Less than a month later, teenage singer-rapper Becky G released “Can’t Stop Dancin’,” produced by Dr. Luke – whose label she signed to after meeting him at age 14. In April 2015, Becky G released “Lovin’ So Hard,” also produced by Dr. Luke. Months later came two additional singles in “Break A Sweat” and “You Love It,” again each produced by Dr. Luke.

Where was the outcry? If we are concerned about proximity to Dr. Luke, should there not have been more noise made about a teenage girl recording with him virtually non-stop? This is not to negate the efforts of people airing their disappointments with Jennifer Lopez to release a Dr. Luke produce single in the wake of his ongoing legal fight with Kesha. My point is that there should be consistency.

Nonetheless, we do have to hold our artists accountable for their actions.

Last fall, while hosting the Soul Train Awards, Erykah Badu referred to R. Kelly as a “brother” and argued that he “has done more for Black people than anyone.” In terms of his contribution to R&B, R. Kelly has certainly changed the genre and moved it forward it ways very few can ever claim similar rights to. Still, though he might have not been convicted in his child pornography case, he has a long history of accusations of sexual assault against underaged girls — one that he continues to struggle to explain.   

Though Badu doesn’t call herself a feminist, she has described herself as a humanist, telling The Guardian, “I consider myself a spiritual being first, a human being second, a woman third, and fourth is pretty … or ugly!” Perhaps we have different ideas of humanity, but I’m not especially fond of championing a man who has married teenagers and “allegedly” urinated on minors.

The same way I expect someone like Jennifer Lopez, who was recently named the first-ever Global Advocate for Girls and Women at the UN Foundation, to not release songs produced by Dr. Luke while he’s being sued for sexual battery.

That’s why no matter whatever explanation Meghan Trainor offers, it does not excuse certain realities. Jennifer Lopez made a choice. Somewhere along the way, someone had to have known about Dr. Luke’s involvement in the song. By now, Jennifer Lopez has to have been informed of the feedback, and yet, it remains unaddressed.

Those who position themselves as pro women or pro humanity rightfully deserved to be questioned if someone feels they are not holding up to that standard. It’s not about being perfect, it’s just about holding people accountable. Fans have a right to do that, only when it comes to the likes of Dr. Luke, it’s best to do so with consistency.

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Bless her heart: It’s been mighty rough for Tamar Braxton within the last year.

Not only was she forced to leave Dancing With the Stars because of a life-threatening health crisis, but her very good album, Calling All Lovers, caught the fade from consumers. Now one of the biggest breaks in her post-Braxton Family Values career—a slot on the hit daytime talk show The Real—has come to an abrupt end. While the official announcement claims that it was a mutual decision, the first outlet to report the news notes that Braxton was fired—something Braxton’s own fiery Instagram post suggests, since it claims “backstabbing.” Braxton didn’t name names, but she did unfollow everyone on the show except for her now-former-co-host-closest-to-the-ideals-of-Jesus, Tamera Mowry-Housley.

Quoting what it describes as a “very reliable source” (Wendy Williams suggested that it was Loni Love on Monday’s edition of The Wendy Williams Show), Love B. Scott reported: “Tamar Braxton just got fired from The Real. She wasn’t reading too well with the audience and sales people didn’t find her to be a good fit with advertisers. Also, production found her too difficult to deal with.”

Of course, when one reads phrasing like “didn’t find her to be a good fit with advertisers,” certain sensitivities are triggered. One of those includes the notion that maybe, just maybe, Tamar was too loud, and her rolling neck too active, to shill, oh, I don’t know, diet products, kale chips, Cheetos or whatever else daytime TV typically advertises. My people, my people. I feel you, but not in this instance.

Let’s be clear about The Real: Everyone on this show is loud minus Tamera, so while Tamar may be the real-life version of BET’s old cartoon character Cita, Loni Love has a volume set just as high (Jesus’ alarm clock).

As a longtime fan of Tamar Braxton’s (I listen regularly to the first album she pretends never happened), I think this is a teachable moment because I can totally see why Tamar might have gotten the boot. For one, she wasn’t always the most pleasant person on the panel. Her eyes rolled as hard as my body does after my sixth tequila drink (save the judgment) and the DJ turns on Beyoncé’s “Sorry.” She tended to talk over her fellow panelists. She could be dismissive here and there of their feelings, too.

In sum, she treated her co-workers the way Towanda Braxton claims she treats her sisters. The problem, though, is that there is no Mama Braxton to come and save her from their criticism. Moreover, these are co-workers, not kinfolk. Production doesn’t have to put up with you, especially once they realize that they don’t need you to survive. So as special as Tamar Braxton is and as magnetic a personality many find her, we’re all dispensable.

Shoutout to Star Jones and Rosie Perez.

I’m not Iyanla Vanzant, but I have a few suggestions for the littlest Braxton.

Read the rest at The Root.

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