This is one of my favorite pieces. It was inspired by an art exhibit I visited in Chicago earlier this year—an exhibit centered on LGBTQ history, specifically queer men and the parks they frequented thorughout Chicago. How they sought refuge and safety there, how they found friendship and love with each other. And honestly, it reminded me of the Juice News: how we feel safer as a group, with our shared interests, jokes, great music and art taste, and the way we celebrate an unexpected guest or feature.

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The exhibit was bold, daring, demanding—yet loving, colorful, vibrant. It showed the evolution of the queer man’s journey: welcoming judgment but refusing to hide. It sat in direct contrast to Yoko Ono’s showcase across the way, which was more contemporary, subjective, filled with neutral or dark tones—except for this one bright blue wall you could write on, color on, do anything with. It invited the audience to explore the art for themselves.

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As an artist, I often feel caught between those two worlds—one mood loud, colorful, flamboyant; the other quiet, reflective, simple… yet still chaotic. And I imagine that’s what it feels like to navigate multiple identities, communities, and spaces.

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Hypermasculinity in hip‑hop and homophobia go hand in hand. Male artists struggle to synthesize and express their own feminine energy—in their art, in their daily lives, personally and professionally. They feel forced to hide themselves, to deflect with cars, clothes, and women. And that creates envy toward the woman who naturally moves through both energies without judgment from peers or industry leaders. She’s respected and rewarded for being beautiful, girlie, business‑minded, and no‑nonsense.

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Meanwhile, feel the need to double down on proving their masculinity—first through lyrics and lifestyle, then onto other men, their peers. Celebrating what looks like the downfall of other Black men. A ritualistic lynching in the entertainment industry—not by chance, but by design. And yet afterward, they reconcile behind the scenes, celebrating another moment of media attention, marketing, or ego‑stroking.

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When men do try to express themselves through their art, people miss or ignore their declarations: This is who I am. Do you see me? They try to claim their true identity, but people cling to the version of them that feels acceptable within hip‑hop culture and Black culture. The narrative of Black masculinity versus femininity is complicated—especially for men raised by women, whose only models of masculinity come from absent fathers, friends, or worse, predatory men who exploit a child’s need for male connection behind closed doors. And it can create confusion around identity and masculinity if it's the only time they felt loved or received adequate attention. 

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This is how alter egos and rap names are born—identities shaped around childhood wounds. Knowing this about yourself can actually be healing. Annie is an abandonment wound for me. She shows up when people want me to abandon my identity and autonomy to gain their approval—a self‑abandonment. And abandoning one’s identity in favor of what’s acceptable to the public or to European standards has been a burden throughout Black history and the entertainment industry. But it’s expected if you want success or opportunity.

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People want to connect with someone who sees the real them, but they don’t know how—or they’re afraid. Afraid that for once they might experience unconditional love and safety.

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We all have secrets. Things we don’t want others to know. Things others don’t need to know. But we should learn to embrace ourselves fully and genuinely. That creates a world where others can embrace us—not the mirage we present, not the version we hope they’ll accept.

 

And that’s the only intention of the Juice News.

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but it's not an excuse to steal my money.