Small Doses

by Amanda Seales

  Hey man, get it how you can get it but if you can get it with greatness why not give it a shot? Prestige is what I aspire to because I don’t want to add to nothingness. I want you to know my name because of what I bring into this world. I don’t want to continue to create the void. I want to fill the void.

  I want you to know why I’m this kind of person, why I’m contributing things, and what I’m contributing, not just that I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all here and everybody deserves to be acknowledged for their existence on this planet. Both fame and prestige can trick people into thinking that because more people know that you exist, you’re better, or you’re of more value. Guess what? We’re all valuable. We all belong here. No matter how many likes or followers you have, it doesn’t make you any more valuable. You may have more influence, which gives you more responsibility and means that your message needs to be clearer. But it doesn’t by any means make you more important. I encourage young people to strive for prestige, not fame, because I want them to consider a greater output and a longer path. I want them to think in terms of how they will be known, understood, and remembered. With the “just add water” fame of today, people seem to forget that there is a whole life to live and the stronger the foundation upon which you build your dreams the more solid that platform will be to help you reach for them. When you build from a place of wanting respect vs. just wanting attention, your goal may take longer to realize but your outcome is more likely to have a lasting effect.

  Black Famous

  THAT ONE TIME

  I know I wrote a whole essay on the difference between fame and prestige, but Black Famous is a whole other kind of famous and a whole other level of prestige. You see, Black Famous is when you reach a level in your career where you permeate all realms of Blackness. From the hood to the HBCUs, the church to the group chats, the club to Capitol Hill, the ratchets to the righteous, the niggas to the negros, and everywhere in between, folks know who you are and are down to show love. It’s a seminal moment in any notable black person’s career when they realize they’ve attained this seemingly impossible prize. It’s like you’re Avatar Ang and you can bend all the elements!

  I remember the night I realized I was Black Famous. I was in DC speaking at the Brave Summit at Georgetown University, a day of lectures and panels by women of all different backgrounds providing empowerment and information. I was the keynote speaker, and I had an incredible time sharing stories about my experiences coming up as an artist and coming into my own. Jeanise, one of my oldest home-girls, had come to town to hang with me for the weekend. After the event we were headed to Anacostia to go see my boy, DC-native-to-the-bone-bristle Tabi Bonney, perform at the Black Love Experience, an annual gathering of vendors, music, art, and just beautiful black errythang in Southeast DC. On the way there, we linked up with two of my day 1.5 homies, Thomas and Lameen, and went through squaded up. Rolling in to the event with Tabi, who was rockin’ a gratuitous poncho and giving pounds out, the vibe was conscious but not hotep, classy but not stuffy. I was immediately struck by how many folks went from dapping Tabs “the mayor” up, to saying familiar hellos and what’s ups to me! So many smiles and such genuine reverence. For years I had gotten “Ain’t you from that one show?” or “You look mad familiar,” but here people not only knew my name, they knew my work, and knew my point of view! They commented on specific IG posts I’d made, bigged me up for my performance as Tiffany on Insecure, and showed love for my “Black Girl Magic” poem on the BET Social Awards that year. It was surreal. We stayed at the event for a few hours, we danced, we laughed, and I took more pics with folks than I ever had outside of an actual booked appearance.

  Three hours later, after closing down the spot, we hopped in the whip, bumped Migos’s “Stir Fry,” and made our way back into the city to The W hotel. We stepped into the rooftop bar and immediately recognized that it was a totally different flava. Folks here were fancy, sipping champagne while dancing to classic ’90s hip-hop and R&B while overlooking the Washington Monument. We got our two-step on like no one was looking, only to eventually realize HELLA people were looking. When a young woman approached me and asked timidly if I was Amanda Seales I said yes, and when she gave her table of girls a confirming conspicuously covert eye nod they erupted with glee! I couldn’t believe that just my being there had brought them a moment of joy. She told me the crew loved me and she loved my IG stories and she said, “Keep going! We’re listening!” I was about to sit down when the manager of the club began to approach. My authority-bucking ass got my mouth all ready to respond to whatever BS he was gonna say about my friends when he leaned down and said, “If I would have known you were coming we would have taken care of you and your friends.” SAY WHAT!? He went on to say, “This is our security guard, and you’re his Woman Crush Wednesday.” Hilaaaaaarious. I took a picture with him, me and the homies had a couple more laughs, reenacted the choreography from the New Edition “If It Isn’t Love” video, and then it was on to the next joint.

  We pulled up to a spot called Park. From the curb you could already peep that it was pure ratchetry at its finest. I hadn’t been to a joint like this since niggas was rockin’ throwback jerseys in the club. We rolled up and money at the door was giving us the business saying that we had to drop $20 even though the club was closing in an hour. The homies were flummoxed. They tried to reason with him, saying, “My mans, this makes no sense tho!” Mid-negotiation that was going nowhere, a young woman steps out of the club giving you a full stiletto, with a head of laid edges to inches, dawning a black, skintight, long sleeve, sheer onesie, adorned in pearls of various sizes. I was enraptured by the look when she exclaimed, “IS THAT AMANDA MUTHA FUCKIN SEALES?! IT’S MY MUTHA FUCKIN BIRFDAY! AND I WANT A MUTHAFUCKIN PICTURE!” Everyone craned their necks my way and I sheepishly obliged. Who did she give the camera to, to take the photo? Money who was giving us the business at the door! After that, the homies gave him the, “Now what!?” look and we were in. Once inside, folks was getting it in and we were sliding our way through the people like a plumber using a snake to clear the shower drain of a woman with a natural. This room was a totally different flow than our first stop with the afrocentric turn up, and our second stop with the R&B grown and sexies. With O.T. Genasis urging us to “Push It” and Future mumbling something indiscernible, we joined in waving our hands in the air like we just didn’t care! Even in this ShadeRoom–esque environment, without skipping a beat, the love continued with folks crossing the room to snap a pic, even stepping away from the dub they were diligently providing to come say was-sup. It was surreal.

  I’ve had a life of people telling me, “People don’t like you,” “You’re too much,” “You’re extra,” and at a certain point I began to believe them and not like myself. Then I went to therapy and worked through that and it made my truth clearer, which made my voice stronger, which made my style sharper, which made my work tighter, and the next thing I know my energy is on flow and the fake ones is coming and going and the real ones is recognizing real and I’m moving and grooving to the beat of my own drum but instead of folks screwing up their face, sayin’, “What’s she doing???” more and more they’re rocking with the rhythm I’m bringing and joining in step with my movement. That night I saw it live and in full effect in the Chocolate City. Everyone from the brothas and sistas up in Southeast in ankh necklaces and naturals, rocking everyday Wakanda wear and kickin’ underground raps, to the squad in the rooftop spot sippin’ my drink of St. Germain and prosecco, with their Chanel and Gucci bags, hard bottoms, and fedoras singing out Jodeci and Mary, as well as the fam in the turnt-up hot box, in snorkels and Timbs, tube tops and miniskirts, fresh wraps still smellin’ like the flat iron and door knockers from the beauty supply, not only gave greetings, but showed genuine heartfelt love and appreciation for my work, my wisdom, and my spirit, and it felt INCREDIBLE. I pride myself on being a person who speaks fearlessly on behalf of justice for everyone but from a place of pride as a black woma
n. That night I felt the connection I had made to the present in order to hopefully change the future. I felt the highest honor of prestige one can garner: to be lauded by your community.

  At one point in the epic evening, as the music played and bodies waved and whined around us, Thomas, who’d seen the full extent of my journey from Purchase College spoken word poet to now, turned to me, and in a moment straight out of a feel-good black movie about struggle and triumph, where the protagonist finally makes the team, or gets out of jail, or scores a date with the flyest chick in the school, he said, “You did it, kid. You did it.” It’s been a long time comin’, but we here and it feels good.

  SIDE EFFECTS OF

  The Fall Off

  It ain’t over ’til it’s over

  Know when to walk away

  Then get back to the middle

  There’s another dragon to slay.

  NO.

  Someone else’s “no” does not have to shut down your yes. Let it motivate you to find a better option.

  MORPHING MISTAKES

  When you attempt and fail it can be jarring. You question yourself, your instincts, your ideas, and it can stop you in your tracks. Give yourself the same consideration you’d want someone else to give you. Go over the steps that were taken and examine where the mistakes were made. Commit them to memory and morph them into lessons learned.

  KNOW YOUR LIMITS

  In the quest to succeed we can be our biggest obstacle when we take on not only more than we can handle, but more than we can handle well. You don’t have to be good at everything. You have to be good at knowing who is good at what you’re not good at. Let others be experts at their specialty, and it will give you the space to execute your own.

  THE FAIL FUNK

  When you take an L, it knocks the wind out of you. It’s real. Thing is, what you gonna do? Stay down? Nah, we don’t stay down. We’ve got work to do. Allow yourself twenty-four hours to cry, panic, beat yourself up, whatever you gotta do to get the emotion out. ONLY twenty-four hours. Then you get up the next day, get focused, and start working on the new plan.

  BROKE BUT NOT BROKEN

  Living below the poverty line is a financial state that is incredibly difficult to ascend from due to capitalism, class structure, inflation, taxes, racism, etc. The cards are stacked against the poor in a deliberate way that forces a “lower class,” in order to be able to define an “upper class.” In the context of this chapter, “the fall off” speaks specifically to those who are not poor but have seen financial success only to lose it.

  Here, being “broke” means there has been a break in money momentum. At the time it’s hell. It’s uncomfortable. It’s stressful. Anyone who said, “money can’t buy happiness” has never not had money. The wackness of life is way easier to deal with when you have money to throw at it. That said, if you’re reading this right now, and you’re broke, remind yourself, “This is just a phase.” It does not have to be your destiny. You may have to put your pride aside for the moment, and do what you gotta do, but as cliché as it sounds, it is all a part of the journey!

  If you’re poor and you’re reading this, I hope you are the exception.I hope you are the sword that finds a way to cut down the limbs shading your path to financial security. I would say I hope that policy makers make the necessary changes to break the cycle of poverty that exists in this country, but I know better than to rely on politicians for principles.

  GEM DROPPIN’

  Selling Out vs. Buying In

  SUCCESS IS VERY TEMPTING. You’ve put in work. You’ve seen struggle. You’ve painted the bottom of your shoes red to look like Louboutins. It’s understandable to consider taking an easier trek to triumph than the one you’re on. From presidents to pointless “personalities,” there are many examples of people who have taken a shortcut to the top. What’s the big deal, right? Everyone else is doing it. Why should you be the only one bustin’ ya ass and working hard? You know why? Because you have some damn ethics and you’re not easily bought. Especially if you are a black person in this country, letting a price be put on your identity and integrity is an irony I simply can’t stomach. For the most part, I remain objective in this book, but when it comes to this topic there is only one right side. We ain’t ’bout sellouts.

  But Why, Amanda?!, you might ask.

  1. Because it’s weak. It demonstrates brittle backbone and callow character. If you’re not strong enough to fight for your integrity you can’t be relied on to withstand being tested to protect anything else.

  2. Because it’s shady. It exemplifies a lack of moral compass. You know what they say, “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

  3. Because it screws up the curve! It is hard enough to win without folks being willing to stoop beneath a standard of basic hard work and dedication to get a leg up. It makes it harder for everyone else and drives the quality value down.

  Sellouts come in all shapes, sizes, genders, races, ages, you name it! A sellout is someone who trades in their integrity for personal gain, often getting the gift of advancement from someone who doesn’t have their best interests at heart, but instead sees a way to benefit off them. In contrast, when you buy in, you retain your integrity to create further opportunities despite those not having your best interests at heart.

  You can be considered a sellout for a number of reasons. Perhaps you’ve flipped the script and are going against former principles you steady stood by and hashtagged all day in exchange for money, power, or status. Perhaps you have turned your back on your squad or individuals you share commonalities with in exchange for money, power, or status. Or perhaps you’ve given your interests to a person/company/system that is known to be www.shadyboots.com and problematic for positivity in exchange for money, power, or status.

  When it comes down to it, being a sellout may get you some paper, some pull, or some likes, but it also earns you a legacy of wackness. In addition, you inadvertently, and sometimes advertently, empower the oppressor. You may tell yourself that boldface lie of “it’s just business!” However, your actions trickle down to hurt others and continue, and sometimes embolden, problematic behaviors. For example, if a company notoriously lacking in diversity finally hires a person of color as an executive and that person then carries on the same tradition of not increasing the diversity in hiring, and still has the conference room looking like that season of Friends when Aisha Tyler was dating Ross, they are, in fact, a sellout. Another example is if you create a TV show that brings you fame and fortune yet at the same damn time it knowingly perpetuates a stereotype that continues to negatively permeate the social landscape and cause real consequences, you are absofrickinlutely a sellout.

  The term “sellout” is a signifier for selling your soul and/or, as I was once told, “selling your folks down river,” a euphemism born out of the act of trading slaves on the Mississippi River. It was known that the farther south you went, the worse the conditions of slavery were. It’s not to say that selling out is solely related to black people. By no means. People regularly consider music artists who change their sound when they get a record deal or visual artists who change their style in order to gain popular acclaim to be sellouts to capitalism. I consider women who support the shaming of other women for their sexual confidence to be sellouts to the patriarchy. The bottom line of a sellout is that their actions advance the foulness of others, more often than not for the preservation of one’s own personal gain. Is that something you want on your conscience? Is that the shade you want cast on your karma?

  Buying in is when you double down on the fact that you know not only your product, but also your path. You understand that if the terms of selling your product prevent you from your path then you must seek out other options. In the interim, you have to have the resolution to stand your ground, like Okoye next to that rhinoceros in Wakanda, and know that even though folks may not recognize your path right now, by sticking to your guns you’re going to create opportunities for
them to recognize it, and eventually they will bow to you, like her husband, W’Kabi, did to her. When you buy in, it’s you knowing not only the market’s landscape but also your worth. It’s you declaring, “I am not going to involve myself in this unless I’m being offered something of equal or greater value than what I’m bringing to the table and which allows me to use my earned money, power, and status to influence actions in a positive direction.” You are investing in you. You are investing in a message, and you’re investing in having a seat at the table for change. You are creating stock. When you’re at that table, integrity intact, people cannot buy you out. They know that you are not the one. They know that they have to approach with a DJ Khaled–personality-size level of deference because the best way to demand respect is to demonstrate having respect for yourself. Don’t nobody respect anybody they can put a dollar amount on.

  TRIED AND TRUE SELLOUTS:

  • Stacey Dash: Went from Dionne in Clueless to getting a check for being clueless on Fox News.

  • Omarosa: Up in the White House talking ’bout she had a list of black people that are enemies to the Trump administration, then wanna be up in the Big Brother house talking ’bout she had such a terrible time there.

  • Ben Carson: Former genius surgeon turned Trump administration member who said, and I quote, “Slaves were immigrants.” Look it up y’all, he said that on a microphone in front of people, and it was not Def Comedy Jam.