"Over 15 years ago, I had Beyoncé’s husband. Yes, I was one of Jay Z’s Beckys back in the year 2000 for about three minutes, which is about as long it takes me to satisfy a man in the back of a Maybach while overlooking the beaches of Malibu...This was pre-Yoncé, of course, but the fact is that a Becky is a Becky, and I was the Becky for many men, and they were all my salvation and my destitution. They were my reason and my rationale, my life and my death, and eventually, my fame and my infamy. Eventually, I would soon become the wife of several men — three to be exact — each one more disappointing than the last. One I married for convenience, one I married out of fear, and the last I married for love.
As I watched Lemonade, I heard a wife, a Beyoncé, cry about a Becky. I listened to her wail on songs like "I Pray You Catch Me" and "Sandcastles," and I resonated with how she felt as a woman who was promised forever and faithfulness only to have these notions dashed by a woman, or women — by “Becky with the good hair.” I saw my role. I saw hers. I saw an endless march of Beckys who can never be stopped no matter the rage, no matter the brilliance of the lyrical vein cutting. And I listened to a woman who seemingly has it all but is riddled with the same insecurities of a woman who has not nearly as much. I witnessed as she went through the same stages I’ve gone through and am still traversing through as a wife, and the stages I have contributed to as a Becky. Until Lemonade, I thought these two women were mutually exclusive but quickly realized they are not and are, in fact, often the same woman. Because a woman is all things."
Read the full essay at XOJane.
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