Allyship Is Wack

It is. I'm just here to help.

There’s an unspoken rule when it comes to nicknames: You don’t get to pick them yourself.

So, since swan diving from my mom’s uterus, I’ve been called everything from “J-Roc” to “Jayfaree” to “Halle Berry’s husband” “Jaybird,” and countless other impromptu monikers imposed upon me by the adoring public. And was there ever any regard for my approval?

Nope.

You think I like being called “Sexy Ass Nigga” every time I leave the crib?

The audacity. Of course, not.

I’d love nothing more than for everyone to just call me Jay — another nickname I never asked for — and go on about their day, but such is life in Trump’s America. That’s just the way nicknames work.

This is exactly why I think calling yourself an “ally” is so wack.

If you were to ask me, “Are you Halle’s husband?” Without even blinking an eye, I’d flash my imaginary wedding band and be like, “We go together real bad! You fucking right I am!” But if you were to ask her, she’d be like, “Who?” and press charges or something.

That’s exactly what allyship is.

So instead of claiming a title you haven’t earned, just do the work and let the community you’re advocating for decide what to call you.

Because again: with nicknames, you don’t get to pick them yourself.