I’ve Been Insecure About Not Loving ‘Insecure’, But I Realize It’s So Much More Than That
It’s all about Insecure — right now — as it should be. It’s a show about “black thirtysomethings who live and love recklessly in Los Angles”.
That is the exact quote by a writer for Wired and while I agree that these young women are on the hunt for the guy they can “kick it with” for awhile — I’m not sure that they are pursuing this goal “recklessly.”
Perhaps, it seems that way when two Black, attractive women attempt to blaze the landscape with the same determination that is applied to the other areas of their lives — that needs attention.
Nevertheless, the reviews for Insecure are all amazingly positive, and there is essentially a movement in place to keep heralding the masterminds behind something that gives so much joy and validation.
When the series made its much-anticipated premiere on HBO in 2016 — I was just as excited as you were to welcome Issa Rae and her brood to the distinguished block of must-see TV. But of course the obvious pull was the fact that this was an offering devised by a young Black woman who worked hard to secure — Insecure.
The best part for me was the pride of anticipating the leads and what it would mean to have Africans in the spotlight — in a way that was and still is — awe-inspiring.
When you’ve lived long enough to reflect back to the bad ole days — there is reverence in acknowledging that progress has finally caught up. What you assumed would probably never occur — suddenly faces you with sweet audacity and the comfort of others — who feel exactly the way you do.
I saw every episode of the first season, and through that process, I recall trying really hard to fall in love with the characters. I worked hard to discover the killer humor that my friends couldn’t resist — but to no avail.
I concluded that I was psyching myself up too much — and so I decided to take a breather and go back to the beginning.
Maybe, I was being unknowingly cynical, or was it jealousy at the fact that this younger more successful woman with a cool ass name — was doing exactly what I thought I would be doing at her age? Or perhaps, I wasn’t hip enough to get it. I mean, how could I not be charmed by a show, that shines the spotlight on women who resemble me perfectly on paper, even though they don’t innately gel with my tendencies.
It took me awhile to admit to myself that for whatever reason — I wasn’t smitten by the love bug that everyone is currently accommodating with glee. It was just easier to over-extend my excitement and endorsement. I figured, I was the one with the issue, because how else could my nonchalance be fully explained?
I had no setbacks at diving into the brilliance of Chewing Gum, and my latest obsession with Queen Sugar knows no bounds. I still can’t get over the demise of Girlfriends, and nothing will convince me that the TV version of Soul Food wasn’t a trailblazer.
I’m certainly not trying to make comparisons, or maybe I am. No. I’m not. I’m sketching the types that have moved me into fandom, while wishing that this could’ve happened with the one that seemed to matter the most.
I thought Lemonade was going to be the end all be all — but then here I am at the feet of another life-affirming delivery — and the thud keeps resounding through the neverending applause.
When the first episode of the second season of Insecure made landfall — not too long ago — I was ready to be wowed into submission. Unfortunately, the moment didn’t arrive — and I was left feeling dismayed and frustrated.
Why couldn’t I feel it! How could I still not be able to summon enough fuel to match those that were able to appreciate greatness in all it’s glory and timeliness. As I sat on the couch listening to the chatter around me — there was an emptiness — and desperate need to chime in and feel secure in the midst of celebration.
I briefly scoped my timeline on Twitter — and it was flooded with gold stars from the weekend blockbusters — Girls Trip and Insecure. It was a full on love fest involving Black women — who were out of their minds with the assurance of their relevance — and the reassurance that the future will only get — blacker and happily nappier.
And then I looked away from my phone — and I swear, I couldn’t hear a thing.
I was able to absorb the simple beauty of Black women — and the radiance of confidence that erupts from the basic task of watching something that reflects you in ways that diligently exalt the references of a sisterly bond — that won’t ever be ripped apart.
And then hit me. My insecurities had nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t love ‘Insecure,’ but everything to do with how I was direly missing the beauty of instinctual inclusion.
Whether or not Insecure is my cup of tea isn’t enough to make me ignore my reinstated privilege as a woman of color — and the realization of how impactful this show has been — just in terms of it’s ability to give young Black women permission to be alive without restrictions or the drowning rays of invisibility.
No patronage to non-Black viewers who are accustomed to a particular view — just purely minted fun that isn’t necessarily prophetic, but nevertheless deserves all the accolades — for the measure of its forthrightness and the majestic presence of the players at play.
I love how we give props to each other and elevate the goodness when it rolls in — without hesitation. It’s in our blood to be intertwined in our need to support each other though thick and thin — cornrows and edges — niggas and more niggas — feminism and Non-Blacks — shows that depict us and shows that falsely believe we’re being depicted accurately.
I no longer feel like a loser or hater for not loving Insecure like you do because I’m grateful that I’m the minority and furthermore — I accept that my taste buds have shifted to encourage a more complex palette.
I shouldn’t feel bad about it — as it is my right to be who I am without reservations or guilt. But, I still harbor the wish, that I could be as invested in Issa and Lawrence’s fuck up as you are — and even blog about it with effortless gusto.
That might just happen — anything is possible — and I’m more than open to the unexpected wave of delight of watching the credits roll — and feeling tingly all over.
For now, the sisterhood of gatherings, good food, flowing wine, and bodies in reaction to another dose of much-needed fare — will keep me secure in Insecure’s therapeutic properties.
And that’s really all that matters. Right?