You know how I know Rachel Dolezal ain’t black?
Rachel Dolezal is now selling “protest” hoodies to counter H&M’s “Coolest Monkey in the Jungle” hoodie that went viral for all the wrong reasons. And it’s because her own son was called a monkey in school. Or because she wants to make a fast buck.
Time magazine shocked us all when it named several women and men who spoke out against sexual assault as its Person of the Year. The editors labeled the brave souls “the Silence Breakers.” But in addition to noticing Taylor Swift on the cover, I couldn’t help seeing that the cover lacked Tarana Burke, the founder of…
I think we need to just prepare ourselves for the fact that Rachel Dolezal is really about to be out here as the gift that keeps on giving.
For the better part of most of the time I’ve known he’s existed, Don Lemon has been a fuckboy. Or at least that’s how he’s presented. From telling black folks to stop littering and stop using the n-word as part of a sort of five-point plan for getting niggas together to even being lazy in his discussion about Black…
Requirements: A “full beard with no mustache” mask. Patchouli-marinated dashiki over some joggers and Polo boots. A white blow-up doll (your date). Absolutely, positively, no lotion.
Move over, Rachel Dolezal; there’s someone else out there with even more issues. German “model” Martina Adam, also known as Martina Big (because of her insanely huge breast implants and appearances on Botched), has completed her transition into a “black” woman.
The author formerly known as Rachel Dolezal, who now goes by the name Nkechi Amare Diallo, had her invitation to speak at a Baltimore book festival rescinded after the organizers received backlash.
I feel rich and I like being seen as rich. So am I rich? Is that how this works?
Maybe Dr. Phil can get Rachel Dolezal to finally admit that she has blatantly lied about being black. But something tells me she’s not about to change her story.
I remember, with painful clarity, the time I ached to be white. I mean that literally, by the way. I stuck a clothespin on my nose when I was about 6 years old, hoping to shape that flat, Filipino knob of flesh into a more aquiline point. That shit hurt and, even worse, it didn’t work.
In a stunning twist of events that can only be described as kismet, it seems as if some savvy Nigerian scammers are now masquerading as Rachel Dolezal in some of their emails designed to extort money from hapless people.
Rachel Dolezal’s memoir was released last week, and in it, she discusses not only how she knew about blackness at an early age because of her grandmother’s National Geographic magazines, but also that she was treated like an indentured servant by her parents and was too black for her black husband.
Whenever Patti LaDanielle (aka The Root’s social-content producer, and our podcast co-host, Danielle Young) and I talk hip-hop—like, real hip-hop—I have a tendency to throw on my hip-hop voice, which includes a faux New York accent and a whole lot of “yos” and “sons” and “gods.”
Every time you think the story of the Fake Felicia is over, Black Jesus drops another hilariously sad bomb on us. A few days ago, the Imposter Formerly Known as Rachel Dolezal informed the world that she had officially changed her name to Nkechi Amare Diallo because—desperation. Because crazy. Because underneath the…
Rachel Dolezal. Do I even need to remind you who she is? You know, the white Spokane, Wash., NAACP chapter leader who was passing as black, got outed by her lily-white parents and declared herself “transracial”; then said she’s really black, not white; and then went on to score a book deal but is now also on the verge…
Racial perpetrator Rachel Dolezal is reportedly unable to find work and lives off public assistance these days. Perhaps she’s now getting the downside of being black in America.*
Apparently people seem to have a hard time grasping the concept of race when it comes to being black. That was clearly seen in the comments section of my Paris Jackson post about how she had declared herself a black woman. I left the ending vague and with a question on purpose because I wanted to see how people would…
Let’s be honest with each other. There’s way too much hateration in this dance soiree (yes, that is what Mary J. Blige was trying to sing to us). This land of the free and home of the brave that we’ve found ourselves living in is taking a turn for the worse. Like, Jennifer Holliday, who would obviously do anything for…