Jaylen Tatum
Superstar
to Seat non-VIP Light-Skinned Women
When the Red Band Didn't Matter: The Story of a Wale Fan
June 11, 2017
By: Shaquille Sunflower
PLASTIC MISSILES
I hope every single person I come across today will ask me what I did last night, so that I can tell my story. But alas, nobody cares, except the few folks who knew that my homegirl and I were privileged to be among some of the select few to witness the very first unplugged concert of DC’s finest, Wale. My homegirl was literally the first to arrive, hence the first in line. Despite the fact that the instructions said the doors would open at 6 and close at 7:15, they didn’t start the entry process until about 7. I use the word process very loosely. However, we were listed as associates of Wale which meant we were given red wrist bands while the majority were given blue, were told we were VIP, and personally escorted to our seat which was the best seat in the house in my opinion; an elevated plush brown leather love seat that said “reserved”, with an ideal view of the stage. We were ecstatic. Excited fans trickled in and sat in the seats all around us. The intimate setting which looked like someone’s living room was bubbling over with noisy chatter and laughter. It was the ultimate vibe until about 30 minutes later. Over the course of about an hour, the same young lady who sat us told us a total of three times that we had to move, without an explanation. Each time though, she would get distracted and the move never happened. Finally, we noticed the security guard whom we befriended while standing outside, approach two young ladies sitting about 10 feet away, closer to the stage, to tell them they had to switch seats with us. The young ladies appeared to be just as confused as we were as they told him they didn’t want to move and they were fine where they were seated. The security guard basically forced them to move, after which we had to give up our plush brown leather sofa to sit in seats that barely accommodated one butt cheek. As we crossed paths with the two young ladies we looked at each other like “what is this about?” Then, my homegirl made a statement that set the tone for the rest of the night, “It’s because I’m not light-skinned”. At first I thought she was trippin. But then I thought to myself, why in the world would they force people to move out of their seat when everyone involved made it clear they didn’t WANT to move?
At this point we were frustrated but the show was starting with Angie Ange on the mic from 93.9, so we chilled. No more than 3 minutes later, the same security guard whispered in our ear “I’m sorry but yall have to move”. He could see in our faces that our cooperative spirit was quickly vanishing. We turned to our right and saw two light-skinned girls standing there waiting to take our seats; two girls who waltzed into the venue late, with blue wrist bands which meant they weren’t VIP, which meant they weren’t “associates of Wale”, but they had the “look” that clearly Wale’s team wanted for the cameras. After an intense and passionate exchange of words with the security guard who claimed to understand our emotion but was just “doing his job”, we got up, humiliated, frustrated, confused, and disrespected. Not only did we have to give up our seats a second time, but we didn’t get seats at all.Yes people, we had to stand the rest of the night. They didn’t inconvenience anybody else and ask them to give up their seats for us. After all, we were first in line, with a red wrist band, associates of Wale, and VIP. Naw. All those blue band wearers were seated, enjoying the show, with the look that Wale’s camp needed for the camera.
It was at this moment I realized that the artist who did a song with Chrisette Michelle called Shades where he chronicles his life as a dark skin brotha where black Americans didn’t accept him, where he resented light skinned people, where Chrisette so poetically says “Shades doesn’t matter heart makes the lover”, is clearly notsurrounded by people who feel the same way. Or perhaps, his own life and way of thinking does not truly reflect the words in his songs. Whatever the case, our cries for justice and fairness fell on deaf ears. Nobody in his camp EVER offered an explanation although we asked for one.Nobody owned their responsibility for what happened; they simply said “we’re doing what we’re told”. And did I mention some of those who were in his camp were young black women? I wonder if they’d follow such instructions if it were their Mother, sister or daughter being treated this way.To offer us a measure of compensation, or in other words to shut us up, the young ladies offered us seating for the second show. Are you kidding me? I almost had to laugh.Is this all a part of some sick experiment? Then the security guard offered to buy us drinks. Gee, thanks. At this point we stood by the bar and made the best of the situation, hoping the Tito's and Jameson would kick in and take all of our problems away. We sipped, and sang, and sipped, and danced, and sipped, and sang some more. But like with all distractions, the problems don't go away. Eventually the owner of the venue approached us and told us to walk with him to the back. He heard about what happened, and wanted to hear our side of the story. I will say, out of everyone, he was the most sympathetic and empathetic, however he was limited in what he could do since he wasn't technically part of Wale's camp. He did however offer us some more rounds on the house and said he would make sure we didn't leave there without a meet and greet with Wale after his show. Oh so is this where our red wrist bands matter?
The show ended after about an hour performance. Wale’s camp swang into action, forcing everyone to leave the venue. We were told by one of the young ladies that if we were asked to leave, to tell them “we’re staying for the bio”. Ohhhhhh, I guess this is another attempt to make us feel special and exclusive. Once again we made the best of our situation; hung around a while with the camera crew and bartenders, chatted with them about some pictures on the wall and black history.
The clock ticked. Time passed. The folks who told us to stick around walked past us as if we weren’t even there. We were once again forgotten. During this wait, we did observe a tall gentleman with dreads who appeared to be in charge of the seating situation. He would take the young ladies who sat us, and point out different seating areas. Then as folks started to trickle in for the second show, he would stop them at a certain point, and then point out to them where they should sit. Could this be the ring leader, the guy who everyone was taking orders from, the person who made the two girls with the red wrist bands give up their seats twice, leaving us seatless? Could he be the one who checked out every female who walked in, sizing them up and determining if they had the look, if they were worthy of a seat in front of the cameras? BINGO! That’s the guy. It was our “ah ha” moment. Our observation was interrupted by the owner who finally grabbed us and led us to the back to an outdoor area where Wale and some more of his team were. Smoke filled the air. A guy asked me for my phone. Wale came from the corner like a thief in the night, not uttering a word. We were positioned on each side of him. His boy took two pics, and just like that, it was over. The “meet and greet” was over. Wale made his way through the venue, back up on stage for the second show, which might I mention, we didn’t have seats for either.We decided it was time to make our exit, and we did. We were ambushed in a good way outside by folks who saw our ordeal, who listened to our story, but couldn’t empathize because they had the look, therefore they had seats, in front of the cameras, and a blue wrist band.
I’m writing this blog to not only tell a story, but to be the voice for a dear friend who has one of the purest hearts I have ever been introduced to. You see, I am light-skinned, but I am also human. I was created with the ability to feel someone else’s pain in my spirit. She has expressed to me the struggle of a dark-skinned girl growing up in a family where she and her Mother were the only ones with a similar complexion. She could feel the difference in treatment between her and her light-skinned sister. She was fully aware of the challenges she would face and the stereotypes that would be placed upon her before she could even open her mouth. My dear friend is also a plus-sized woman. Perhaps this is also something that made our red wrist band obsolete. She says she makes it a point to be pleasant, cool, down-to-earth and engaging so that she is not perceived as the big bitter black woman. She carries herself with style, class and poise. She’s a single Mother, a daughter, a sister and a friend to many fortunate souls. And yet, despite all that she went through that night, she woke up the next day with the same positive spirit I’ve always known her to have. The last song on Wale’s album tells us that we all need a reason to smile. He said black lives matter, black love is the dopest ever and that it’s time that we show it better forever. It’s an awesome song and an inspiring message. I just hope at his next show that unlike us, every single person who gets to witness his talent, leave with a reason to smile.
IF YOU SEE HER ON THE STREET, SAY HELLO. SHE SPEAKS BACK...
ETA: Wale's Response
When the Red Band Didn't Matter: The Story of a Wale Fan
June 11, 2017
By: Shaquille Sunflower
PLASTIC MISSILES
I hope every single person I come across today will ask me what I did last night, so that I can tell my story. But alas, nobody cares, except the few folks who knew that my homegirl and I were privileged to be among some of the select few to witness the very first unplugged concert of DC’s finest, Wale. My homegirl was literally the first to arrive, hence the first in line. Despite the fact that the instructions said the doors would open at 6 and close at 7:15, they didn’t start the entry process until about 7. I use the word process very loosely. However, we were listed as associates of Wale which meant we were given red wrist bands while the majority were given blue, were told we were VIP, and personally escorted to our seat which was the best seat in the house in my opinion; an elevated plush brown leather love seat that said “reserved”, with an ideal view of the stage. We were ecstatic. Excited fans trickled in and sat in the seats all around us. The intimate setting which looked like someone’s living room was bubbling over with noisy chatter and laughter. It was the ultimate vibe until about 30 minutes later. Over the course of about an hour, the same young lady who sat us told us a total of three times that we had to move, without an explanation. Each time though, she would get distracted and the move never happened. Finally, we noticed the security guard whom we befriended while standing outside, approach two young ladies sitting about 10 feet away, closer to the stage, to tell them they had to switch seats with us. The young ladies appeared to be just as confused as we were as they told him they didn’t want to move and they were fine where they were seated. The security guard basically forced them to move, after which we had to give up our plush brown leather sofa to sit in seats that barely accommodated one butt cheek. As we crossed paths with the two young ladies we looked at each other like “what is this about?” Then, my homegirl made a statement that set the tone for the rest of the night, “It’s because I’m not light-skinned”. At first I thought she was trippin. But then I thought to myself, why in the world would they force people to move out of their seat when everyone involved made it clear they didn’t WANT to move?
At this point we were frustrated but the show was starting with Angie Ange on the mic from 93.9, so we chilled. No more than 3 minutes later, the same security guard whispered in our ear “I’m sorry but yall have to move”. He could see in our faces that our cooperative spirit was quickly vanishing. We turned to our right and saw two light-skinned girls standing there waiting to take our seats; two girls who waltzed into the venue late, with blue wrist bands which meant they weren’t VIP, which meant they weren’t “associates of Wale”, but they had the “look” that clearly Wale’s team wanted for the cameras. After an intense and passionate exchange of words with the security guard who claimed to understand our emotion but was just “doing his job”, we got up, humiliated, frustrated, confused, and disrespected. Not only did we have to give up our seats a second time, but we didn’t get seats at all.Yes people, we had to stand the rest of the night. They didn’t inconvenience anybody else and ask them to give up their seats for us. After all, we were first in line, with a red wrist band, associates of Wale, and VIP. Naw. All those blue band wearers were seated, enjoying the show, with the look that Wale’s camp needed for the camera.
It was at this moment I realized that the artist who did a song with Chrisette Michelle called Shades where he chronicles his life as a dark skin brotha where black Americans didn’t accept him, where he resented light skinned people, where Chrisette so poetically says “Shades doesn’t matter heart makes the lover”, is clearly notsurrounded by people who feel the same way. Or perhaps, his own life and way of thinking does not truly reflect the words in his songs. Whatever the case, our cries for justice and fairness fell on deaf ears. Nobody in his camp EVER offered an explanation although we asked for one.Nobody owned their responsibility for what happened; they simply said “we’re doing what we’re told”. And did I mention some of those who were in his camp were young black women? I wonder if they’d follow such instructions if it were their Mother, sister or daughter being treated this way.To offer us a measure of compensation, or in other words to shut us up, the young ladies offered us seating for the second show. Are you kidding me? I almost had to laugh.Is this all a part of some sick experiment? Then the security guard offered to buy us drinks. Gee, thanks. At this point we stood by the bar and made the best of the situation, hoping the Tito's and Jameson would kick in and take all of our problems away. We sipped, and sang, and sipped, and danced, and sipped, and sang some more. But like with all distractions, the problems don't go away. Eventually the owner of the venue approached us and told us to walk with him to the back. He heard about what happened, and wanted to hear our side of the story. I will say, out of everyone, he was the most sympathetic and empathetic, however he was limited in what he could do since he wasn't technically part of Wale's camp. He did however offer us some more rounds on the house and said he would make sure we didn't leave there without a meet and greet with Wale after his show. Oh so is this where our red wrist bands matter?
The show ended after about an hour performance. Wale’s camp swang into action, forcing everyone to leave the venue. We were told by one of the young ladies that if we were asked to leave, to tell them “we’re staying for the bio”. Ohhhhhh, I guess this is another attempt to make us feel special and exclusive. Once again we made the best of our situation; hung around a while with the camera crew and bartenders, chatted with them about some pictures on the wall and black history.
The clock ticked. Time passed. The folks who told us to stick around walked past us as if we weren’t even there. We were once again forgotten. During this wait, we did observe a tall gentleman with dreads who appeared to be in charge of the seating situation. He would take the young ladies who sat us, and point out different seating areas. Then as folks started to trickle in for the second show, he would stop them at a certain point, and then point out to them where they should sit. Could this be the ring leader, the guy who everyone was taking orders from, the person who made the two girls with the red wrist bands give up their seats twice, leaving us seatless? Could he be the one who checked out every female who walked in, sizing them up and determining if they had the look, if they were worthy of a seat in front of the cameras? BINGO! That’s the guy. It was our “ah ha” moment. Our observation was interrupted by the owner who finally grabbed us and led us to the back to an outdoor area where Wale and some more of his team were. Smoke filled the air. A guy asked me for my phone. Wale came from the corner like a thief in the night, not uttering a word. We were positioned on each side of him. His boy took two pics, and just like that, it was over. The “meet and greet” was over. Wale made his way through the venue, back up on stage for the second show, which might I mention, we didn’t have seats for either.We decided it was time to make our exit, and we did. We were ambushed in a good way outside by folks who saw our ordeal, who listened to our story, but couldn’t empathize because they had the look, therefore they had seats, in front of the cameras, and a blue wrist band.
I’m writing this blog to not only tell a story, but to be the voice for a dear friend who has one of the purest hearts I have ever been introduced to. You see, I am light-skinned, but I am also human. I was created with the ability to feel someone else’s pain in my spirit. She has expressed to me the struggle of a dark-skinned girl growing up in a family where she and her Mother were the only ones with a similar complexion. She could feel the difference in treatment between her and her light-skinned sister. She was fully aware of the challenges she would face and the stereotypes that would be placed upon her before she could even open her mouth. My dear friend is also a plus-sized woman. Perhaps this is also something that made our red wrist band obsolete. She says she makes it a point to be pleasant, cool, down-to-earth and engaging so that she is not perceived as the big bitter black woman. She carries herself with style, class and poise. She’s a single Mother, a daughter, a sister and a friend to many fortunate souls. And yet, despite all that she went through that night, she woke up the next day with the same positive spirit I’ve always known her to have. The last song on Wale’s album tells us that we all need a reason to smile. He said black lives matter, black love is the dopest ever and that it’s time that we show it better forever. It’s an awesome song and an inspiring message. I just hope at his next show that unlike us, every single person who gets to witness his talent, leave with a reason to smile.
IF YOU SEE HER ON THE STREET, SAY HELLO. SHE SPEAKS BACK...
ETA: Wale's Response
