Tracy Meredith Wallace

Women of color are somehow expected to bear the brunt of the anger, frustration and anxiety from all men and white women. We’re supposed to be resilient enough, strong enough to handle the abuse, the gaslighting, the emotional labor, the free labor and the under-paid labor. I wish we didn’t have to be resilient. I wish I had learned about more things through reading than I have through trauma.

High-end coffee has its head high up its own ass. Instead of making inroads to the masses of potential paying customers currently lining the coffers of Keurig and Nestle, too many coffee professionals pine for validation from celebrity chefs or anointment from famous food writers. We play dress up. We hold ridiculous barista competitions. We try to outdo each other with lofty purple prose. We elevate coffee to absurd heights where the oxygen quickly gets thin. We position our product as a rarified high-end luxury even while we struggle to charge prices that come anywhere close to the price of a typical pint of craft ale. We sneer at people who like to add cream and sugar. We frequently serve people a C+ and try and tell them it’s an A. We keep on fronting and we’re playing ourselves.

…s, aunts and their girlfriends…until the night drew near…and the tone of the music began to change. And it always began with one song, “Adore” by Prince.