revisiting solange's "a seat at the table" after you've found your spot

 

 

unfortunately, i was one of the tragic few people that did not listen to solange's 2016 album, a seat at the table when it initially came out. i'll admit it. i was a bit of a hater. however, upon revisiting itconsistently over the last few months, it really does stands as one of the best records released in the last decade. period.

 

if i had to describe the album in a few words, they would be "growth","manifestations," "grief" and "healing". while these are things that may have needed at the time the album came out, much like i lament in my musings on sza's ctrl, i think that for the longest time, i avoided this album because it addressed the very things that i hated about myself. and moreover, instead of confronting them as solange suggests, i decided to take the mental high road and dip out instead.

a seat at the table has often been hailed as a "call and response" to the Black community and seeks to dissect both the misery and joys that comes from being Black. its power not only derives from its quiet discussions on the politics of hair, Black womanhood and the all the other things that have been taken from Black people to keep them quiet and complacent within a society does not welcome them. however, its a call to arms for those who have lifted the metaphysical veil on internalized racism and are looking for somewhere to articulate these frustrations and more. here, solange offers a "space" at the aforementioned table among her ancestors and other fellow Black people for this discussion and simply proposes this question along the way: "where do we go from here?"

 

this is something that i am still working to figure out as i become more comfortable with with my own sense of Blackness. i constantly find myself thinking about my Blackness' role in my friendships, relationships, the music i listened to, the places i visit and just about everything i do. sometimes i feel like i am driving myself crazy thinking about my own Blackness. (wow, this really sounds like an ibram x. kendi book) it feels really extra and unnecessary to have to do that all the time and most of the time it is often just that, extra and unnecessary. but i went so long without thinking about it at all, that its kind of just been burnt into my brain to have to consider certain things anytime i make any decision.

 

let's be frank for a minute: growing up, i was a Black person with very few Black friends. i'd burnt off my hair from years of relaxers and had literal chemical burns on the top of my head from too many trips to "the shop." the shop, for all of you (e.g: white people) unfamiliar with this phrase, is a beauty salon. however, not just any beauty salon, but one that exists in the basement or lower-level of someone's home that they've somehow converted into a beauty salon. more than often, you'll see the standard wash stations, hair dyers and African art that server to disguise the fact that you're getting your hair done in someone's friend-of-a-friend's or aunt's basement. however, after you've sat in the waiting chair for more than 45 minutes from the start of your appointment, been asked to reschedule several times after waiting for more than an hour and had to take many breaks forperson doing your hair to eat or have a conversation on their phone while you still have a head full of conditioner, you'll remember where you are. this was also often a reminder that i was Black and no blowout could distract from that.

 

i would start to cry when my mom pulled up to this person's house because i didn't understand why i couldn't just go to "a real hair salon" like my white friends who went to great clips (yeah, i don't know what crack i was smoking when i was a kid, but great clips is not a hair salon). i would cry even more after my mom beat my ass for trying to undo the bumped end situation that i had going on in my hair (seriously, it just did not hit). however, through all the tears, i sucked up the chemical burns atop my skull and my crunchy dorito ends because, in the end, my hair looked like all my white friends' hair and that made me happy. however, many years later, upon hearing "don't touch my hair" for the first time, instead of feeling empowered about my mane and its connection to my identity as a Black person, i felt slightly attacked.

 

the song weaponizes its lyrics against the people trying to take away the of bodily autonomy of Black people. namely regarding the issues that Black women face when trying to preserve some form of individuality through their hair. the song reclaims the Black body and sets boundaries in place for those trying to disrupt that connection. 

"don't touch my hair / when it's the feelings i wear/ don't touch my soul / when it's the rhythm I know / don't touch my crown / they say the vision I've found / don't touch what's there / when it's the feelings I wear"

however, i couldn't the same for my body and my hair because i didn't feel that connection. my identity was built around trying to emulate the white people. i straightened my hair. i dressed in only aeropostale and forever 21. i was loud enough to stand out, and cartoonishly so, but not aggressively so as to, again, fit in with the white people me. because if they let me into their space, i won. i knew it wasn't right, but it made me comfortable. moreover, listening to solange confidently address her body and hair as her own made me jealous and uncomfortable about the ways in which i had so desperately changed myself to fit into a crowd i never belonged to in the first place.  

 

but acceptance is the hardest part and once i fully began to see myself for who i was (a thick-lipped, big nosed, kinky curly haired Black person) and who i wasn't (skinny, tall, white, etc), i was free.

or at least i thought i was until the murder of George Floyd on May 25, 2020. i don't want to say that the murder of this unarmed Black man awoken something in me, but it incited something me that i didn't quite recognize and moreover, a feeling that made even more uncomfortable than my first run-in with the album. 

 

and that's anger.

 

now i've been angry my whole life and i have a plethora of things that never fail to grind my gears on sight. the dan ryan between the hours of 12 pm - 3pm. fast food salads that cost more than $4. white women wearing box braids or durags. white women who just stand in the way when the can clearly hear you saying "excuse me." however, upon listening to one of the best tracks of the album, "mad", i recognize now that some of that anger is kind of justified. Black people are dying at the hands of the police. our culture is constantly being jacked from us and we're being told that we're not enough. we don't have a place at the table and more than often, we're made to feel as if we don't deserve one. and as a result, we're scared. we're angry. and more importantly, we're tired and there's this constant state of paranoia surrounding these feelings. why am i so mad? should i feel that way? no one else feels this why so why am i so pressed? do i keep pushing or should i just push it all down before "it gets all up in the way" like lil' wayne laments in the song. before i heard the song, i really did think that this was all in my head. for most of my life, i only hung around white people who never had to consider these things. no one was having these kinds of conversations with me, so, ultimately, i felt crazy thinking about these things all the time, but i wasn't crazy, i just wasn't ready.

it is in this album that solange welcomes me, and other like-minded individuals, to a table and i, even as reluctant was i was at first, eventually took my seat. it was a process and an experience, and one that i am still working on, but one that i have finally acknowledged as valid. in a world where racism still runs rampant and is destroying lives and communities of Black individuals, its really important to be able to fight back. its something that has to be done when Black people are dying at the rate in which they are. whether it be by the police, policies keeping them from fresh food and proper housing, or even if it is just the mental destruction of the Black mind and its individuality, Black people are under attack and i no longer have the privilege of shying away from that. its time to get uncomfortable and time to do something about it. 

why does everyone in chicago hate ketchup so much?

someone recently came over to my apartment and we ate food. it was good food, but at some point, they asked me i had some ketchup they could use. i, being the lovely host that i am, got up and searched my fridge, cabinets and just about all over my kitchen for ketchup. but, unfortunately, i did not have any.

 

and while they were truly astonished that i did not own any ketchup because of the mere principle of the situation, it confused me as well. not just because i deliberately remember buying ketchup a few weeks ago because my roommate asked me to, but because i couldn't quite remember the last time i actively put ketchup on anything or moreover, even enjoyed it as a condiment.

 

then i remembered: oh, i'm from chicago. 

so before we continue, i would like to say that: i am actually from chicago. i was born in the city of chicago. i will not be providing my birth certificate for legal reasons, but just know: i am not from rosemont or schaumberg, or elmhurst or naperville (god, fuck naperville) or whatever chicagoland suburb that most people like to pretend they're not from when people want to know about chicago.  

i know this is such a simple dichotomy, but its an important one. riding the green/blue line into the city every weekend from the suburbs does not mean you are "from chicago." knowing where maxwell's is does not mean you are "from chicago." however, if you have  survived a trip to the harold's on 87th street and also, at some point, had someone expose themselves on the cta, i will consider your case. personally, i have not lived in chicago for some time, but i will forever be indebted to my birthplace for the things that are associated with it and thus, me as a result.

i never really knew that wherever you are from really crafted your identity and the way that people see you. that is,  however until, i moved away from my birthplace and had to tell other people about it.when people hear that i am "from chicago", they begin to associate various things with me. whether it be the food, da bears, lori lightfood or moreover, the crime, it either makes people very curious or very concerned for me. this is not the same for who live in the "chicagoland" area, or moreover, the suburbs, because don't have to deal with these sorts of things where they're from. they can simply take the metra or the cta and just get safely back home until they want to come back into the city once things have died down.

 

however, regardless of where you are from, everyone in or around the chicagoland knows this: never, ever, ever put ketchup on your hot dog. 

 

moreover, when you google the words "chicago", "hot dog" and "ketchup", one of the questions that appear under the "people also frequently ask" section  of google includes "is ketchup illegal in chicago?

 

of course, it is not illegal to eat ketchup in chicago. refusing to wear a mask during a deadly pandemic is not illegal in chicago. wearing those disgusting foot shoes in public is also not illegal in chicago.

 

but should they be?  

absolutely. 

 

but will people do whatever they want as long as they won't get arrested for it?

 

they sure will. 

 

therefore, you can go ahead and eat ketchup on a hot dog, but does that make it okay?

well, that depends on who you ask. i don't actually know because i truly have never given it that much thought, but, let's take a walk to figure out what the hell is going on together.

so, there could be a number of reasons why a city is just across-the-board against a simple condiment, like ketchup. it could be just mere taste. is could also be pride because there is such thing as the "chicago style hot dog." it could also be fear from the kind of citywide gate-keeping that keeps people from wheaton from going around and telling people that they're "from chicago."

  

so i decided to do the thing i know best and... ask the internet. 

 

i put up a poll on instagram and many people from the city had things to say about their feelings on ketchup. these responses ranged from "it's just not right" to "it's childish. grow up" to various "scientific" explanations on its properties as a condiment and how it affects the other things on the hot dog itself. while i didn't ask for all of this, it is interesting to think about if we consider all that comes on the aforementioned "chicago style hot dog." so, if we break down the chicago dog, it consists of the following:

• yellow mustard
• white onion
• sliced tomatoes
  
•  dill pickles
  
• green relish
  
• celery salt 
• the dog itself
  

from the responses in my inbox, the reason that ketchup is not on this list is because it is far too sweet and messes up the sort of acidic combination that chicago dog has going on with mustard, pickles, relish and so forth. 

 

someone also mentioned the redundancy of adding ketchup to a chicago dog because there is "a whole damn tomato" already on the hot dog, which i get, but i also don't get it because ketchup and tomatoes taste hella different, but i digress. 

 

the last point that i will bring up is that some people truly believe that it is childish to put ketchup on a hot dog. see, while i find it to be childish to believe that ketchup and tomatoes are the same thing, (just because they really aren't. i really don't know how else to explain this) i personally do not fully believe that ketchup itself is childish. do children consume it? yes. do full grown adults also consume it? yes, absolutely. but again, does that make it right? again, depends on who you ask.

 

for the most part, ketchup is considered childish because kids put it on everything. for the life of me, i will never understand why kids put ketchup on chicken nuggets. they cover their food in the mess and it's weird, but, again, i digress. the point i am trying to make here is that kids cover their foods in condiments so that they can't really taste what they're supposed to be eating and with this in mind, if you decide that this is what you want to do, you are essentially just being a big ass kid.

now, with all this in mind, i will say to say that everyone from chicago hates ketchup because that would be a lie. do a majority of people from chicago actively hate ketchup? yes, they do. do i personally walk around chicago fearful that someone will snatch my food out of my hands if they see me with ketchup on my hot dog? absolutely, because they will. will you piss some people off if you, too, walk around with ketchup on your own hot dog? yes, you will. 

 

and if you think that i am wrong, please visit exihbit a:

 

but at the end of the day. just do whatever you want. a place is just a place. a hot dog is simply a hot dog. if you want to take the extra precautions and eat a hot dog secretly in an alleyway because you're afraid of being chastised, go ahead. if you want open have people scowl at you while you eat a mess of a hot dog in public, be my guest. if you want to a 35 minute conversation with a stranger and explain to them that you don't actually live in chicago, but rather, 20 miles away in a town no one has ever heard of, that is fine as well.

 

 i don't even eat hot dogs of any kind. i personally think that all kinds of hot dogs are actually just kind of gross anyways. they're literally mashed up parts of random animals and moreover, the shape of a hot dog is just weird. that's the real problem if you ask me, but, then again, you probably didn't.