Beauty Boone

Fight! Right here and right now!

• nikkibLAk | Liberation Coach Sometimes I just be trying to talk to ya’ll and then black out and write a poem.

Brands are often playing the role of provocateurs. Outrage can benefit a company by expanding reach, generating press, and keeping the brand at the center of public conversation.

That does not mean we should remain silent. Our rage can document what happened. It can educate people who did not immediately recognize the imagery. It can demand transparency about the approval process. It can help workers question what they are being asked to create. And it can help consumers decide which companies will receive their money, loyalty, attention, and data.

We cannot keep asking corporations that exploit our culture to respect us, include us, or finally give us a seat at their table.

We are the culture they study. We are the culture they mine for ideas. We are the culture they use to make their products relevant. We are the consumers whose attention, influence, creativity, and dollars help turn sneakers into cultural symbols. Yet these same industries have repeatedly gatekept Black people from the opportunities, leadership, ownership, investment, and profits our culture helped create.

It is way overdue for us to build. Some of us have already been doing this. Those who know me know that I aim to circulate my money within my community and with Black-owned brands. This needs to become our daily call to action.

We have to tell people where the alternatives are and intentionally redirect our dollars toward our communities.

Black consumers hold enormous economic and cultural power. Imagine what becomes possible when we stop pouring so much of that power into companies that continually exploit us and begin investing more of it in one another.

They will continue taking from our culture for as long as it remains profitable. So, let’s go back to the source. Back to Black creativity. Back to Black ownership. Back to Black businesses.

To help with that, I would like to introduce you, in case you do not already know them, to three Black-owned sneaker brands and one active wear brand you can support.

Retail is political, and so is where we choose to spend.

After grading papers, I checked my socials. The first thing on my feed stopped me in my tracks: a Converse ad featuring South Korean singer Karina. Converse has since removed it, but the cat is already out of the bag.

Let’s play a game of I Spy.

What do you see?

I see a hooded white silhouette.

I see black Converse dangling like “strange fruit.”

I see it all positioned above a single white star, imagery reminiscent of the Bonnie Blue flag, a symbol adopted by white supremacists.

Each element can be explained away individually. The star is part of the Converse logo. The shoes are simply being held. The white garment is just styling.

But creative direction is about what those elements communicate when placed together. And together, this image evokes white supremacy and racial terror.

Intentional, as I strongly suspect, or the result of profound cultural incompetence, the impact remains.

And what about the Black people who work for Converse & Nike? What is it like to see your employer publish imagery carrying this kind of historical weight, then be expected to return to work and represent that same brand?

Please spare me the “You’re reaching” and “What if Black people were at the table?” responses. The presence of Black employees does not absolve a company of institutional failure.

Fashion and retail are political. Imagery is political. “We didn’t mean it that way” is not enough.

So again, what did you see?

Being a Black woman in this world has shaped how I see work, leadership, and care.

I grew up in a family rooted in activism and community, where we were taught to treat people as whole people. We did not dismiss what was happening in the world or pretend it stopped at the front door.

I carried that with me from social work into retail. Underneath my way of working was always a system of kindness and care. Honestly, that system helped me build my career, and it is also part of why I no longer have a career in retail.

As I moved into leadership, I tried to create that same system of care for the people I managed and mentored. During interviews, I would ask candidates questions that often caught them by surprise:

How do you care for yourself during demanding seasons?
How do you communicate when you need support?
Do you speak up, take time when needed, or push through until you crash?

I asked because I knew the environments we worked in were not always kind or forgiving. I also learned that people who had a strong practice of caring for themselves were often better equipped to communicate, honor commitments, respect other people’s time, and ask for help before reaching a breaking point.

I did not always extend that same care to myself perfectly, but I worked hard to make space for it within my teams.

We spend eight, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day with the people we work alongside, often more time than we spend with our families. That deserves its own conversation. But until then, leaders must stop expecting people to check their humanity at the door.

Care is not separate from the work. It is part of how sustainable work gets done.

There is a loud level of silence when it comes to the abuse that happens in fashion and retail, especially when it comes from the people at the top.

We watched a man put both hands over a woman’s face and drape his leg over her to restrain her, and somehow people are already finding excuses for why that behavior was justified or just saying absolutely nothing. There is a disgusting level of comfort in this industry with turning your eyes away when people in power cause harm. I’ve seen that silence my entire career. Fashion loves rebellion as long as it doesn’t challenge power.

The incident involving Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) CEO Steven Kolb and PETA protesters raises a bigger question than what happened in that room: What does fashion do when disruption stops being aesthetic and starts demanding accountability?

Because for workers, activists and especially Black people who challenge institutional power, the consequences of speaking up often happen quietly.

This isn’t just about one incident. It’s about a culture that decides whose behavior is excused, whose voices are disposable, and what forms of violence it is willing to tolerate in order to protect power and an image.

And for those in this industry who continue to stay silent, I think it’s worth asking yourself what your silence is protecting. Because when you repeatedly watch harm happen and decide it’s easier, safer or more convenient to say nothing, eventually silence stops looking like neutrality and starts looking a lot like participation.

Check out our latest on Beauty Boone’s Happenings page.

Keep the conversation going, and let’s start addressing the culture of violence that has become so acceptable that it is deeply embedded in the culture of fashion and retail.

In a world that often feels overwhelming, it’s the small, intentional actions that have the power to create change.

The 30 Day Impact Journey was a testament to this principle, reminding us that even the simplest choices can ripple through our communities and empower those around us. From choosing to support a Black-owned business to creating a community calendar, each act was a stepping stone towards building a more equitable and connected society.

As we navigated through Black August, our participants dove deep into themes of study, fasting, training, and fighting, not just for themselves but for the collective good. Every week brought new opportunities for reflection and action, culminating in a movement fueled by passion and purpose. It’s inspiring to see how these ordinary moments can ignite change or a shift in ones mindset and practices.

We are excited to share that everything we studied during this transformative month is now available for everyone. This knowledge is a gift meant to be shared, and I encourage you to explore the resources on the Beauty Boone website. Let’s continue this journey together, supporting one another and striving for a brighter future.

Join us in making an impact!

I started this post well over a week ago and then I couldn’t bring myself to finish it, let alone to post it.
Grace felt like the wrong thing to be talking about. Gary has been dark for almost two weeks and that city is 76% Black. Jason Arday is gone and people are still reeling on both sides of the ocean. Our people keep turning up hanging from trees in the Carolinas and Mississippi, the rulings keep coming back the same, and the families keep saying nobody looked hard. Karmelo Anthony is 19 years old with 35 years in front of him, and today a judge denied him a new trial. Nolan Wells went out on the Fourth with a group and never came home, and seven weeks later his family still does not have an answer.
What those two events say about being Black in this country, is that we don’t get to defend ourselves, and when we don’t, we don’t come home.
I run a business, well most days. To keep it real, I am often not quite sure what it is am running. I also don’t post like none of this is happening. Either way, I couldn’t bring myself to post it.
After a calling a friend and reminding her to give herself some grace. I began to spend some of my days thinking about what grace actually does for us.
Grace is what kept us alive. It got practiced in the hush harbor, out past where an overseer could hear. Ring shouts, song, grief all held by the earth and the trees. It’s what let Harriet Jacobs keep her mind. It’s what Nat Turner meant when he threw out the parts of the Bible his enslavers used to demand his obedience.
Grace is what moves us through. It’s the strength you didn’t have to earn. It’s what keeps you whole when everything around you is set up to break you.
Grace can look like forgiving yourself when you mess up. Keeping your self-respect when you lose. Giving people room to grow. Taking care of people on purpose.
Grace doesn’t mean that we are supposed to sit still and just take it. It’s what lets you keep fighting, and it’s what gets you up the next day.
Grace reminds of not just our humanity, but of the humanity of others. I am because we are! We are all connected!

It is the pressure to overachieve, stay resilient, and remain flawless. Constantly and without pause.

Systemic bias treats us as representatives of an entire race, so a mistake is never only ours. When we make a mistake, it becomes all of ours. That is why the cost is disproportionate. What it ends up happening is that many of us get trapped in a cycle that ties our worth to a standard nobody can meet.

It denies and robs us is our humanity and our life. We don’t get the luxury of being tired, or making a mistake or given another chance. Black Folx don’t get to be regular ass people.

You should not have to be extraordinary to be treated as human. Rest, grace, and second chances are not rewards for exceptional performance. They belong to people, and we have always been deserving.

Adhering to these ever changing rules have never guaranteed our protection. We have shown up in our Sunday best, done everything right, followed every rule they wrote, and been lynched anyway. Denied the loan anyway. Passed over anyway. Performing our way into their good graces has never once been the thing that saved us.

The people we honor during Black August were denied their humanity outright. The tradition of Black August doesn’t ask us to be exceptional. It asks us to study, to fast, to train, and to fight. Rest and restraint are written into it, which tells you the people who built this practice already understood something about the cost.

I am not asking anybody to be less than they are. I am asking what it has cost us to have to be super just to be seen. Liberation is ours and you didn’t have to be a magical negro to get it!

Thema Bradford is holding a conversation here on Spill this Thursday.

At the Edge of Joy is about our relationship to joy, anger, and the power of our emotions. August 13, 6pm.

Thema is a licensed mental health counselor and the person behind Elevated Self Counseling, Coaching and Consulting. I have watched her hold rooms carefully for a long time.

Black August asks us to train, and training is not only physical. Sitting with somebody who knows how to talk about anger is its own kind of preparation.

Bring yourself. Bring somebody.

Not on Spill, join here: https://www.spill.com/

I remember growing up in Brooklyn, my mother’s shelves full of chapbooks and zines and other work I would pull down and take to my room. I remember my small hands running over the pages of Black Pride and Think Black, both by Don L. Lee, now known to us as Haki R. Madhubuti.

Last week one of my dear sisterfriends reminded me of his book From Plan to Planet. As usual, she was right on time.
We are at a precipice, and what made that reminder so timely is that so many of us are out here looking for the solution. The landscape has changed with the advancement of the tech. The patterns and the systems have not changed at their core.
Madhubuti writes that “people occupy space,” and whether you control the space you occupy depends in part on three things.

Consciousness. Commitment. Action.

We cannot commit to something we have not looked at clearly, and we cannot act on something we have not committed to.
Look at our opposition. They have built their agendas, published their manifestos, and they are implementing them with speed and to our detriment.

In the spirit of Sankofa, we have to go back and get it. Go back and get ours. Our parents and our ancestors already provided the foundation. It is on us to go back, get it, and adapt it.
Let the energy and the spirit of this month give you a starting point. The time has long passed for us to center our consciousness, commit, and be in action.

In order to have impact, you have to be clear about where your impact belongs.