I don’t know about you, but calling me a b*tch will do little but get me upset.
Much like the n-word, I never understood how some women “reclaimed” this word and now use it as a term of endearment for their closest friends. Or worse, how a man could fix his lips to call his significant other his b*tch (*cue Jay-Z*). Parsing out the inflection in someone’s voice when they use the b-word takes too much effort, so I don’t use it as anything but a dagger, and even then, I reserve it for only the vilest folks—both male and female alike.
You see, I come from the Latifah School of Queendom, and back in ’94 when I was coming into my own her in-your-face song, U.N.I.T.Y., which challenged any man (or woman) who dared to step to her wrong, became my anthem. Years later it inspired my first foray onto the web. And even today, now that I’m on the other side of 30, it is still is my go-to joint when I need a bit of a pick-me-up.
As an avid hip-hop head it sometimes feels like we’re in an abuse relationship. I love the music that doesn’t quite love me the way I want it to, and too often seems like it is on a mission to break me down. But sometimes artists shine through and remind me why I fell in love with hip-hop in the first place.
This time Lupe Fiasco takes the reins and explains why being the baddest b*tch on the block is a hollow victory.