Shoutout to India Arie
Not everybody wants to get free.
“I’m not the average girl from your video,
And I ain’t built like a supermodel,
But I learned to love myself unconditionally,
Because I am a queen,
I’m not the average girl from your video,
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes,
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be,
The India Arie.” — India Arie
I cried in front of Parker on the Fourth of July.
It was close to midnight, and she was lying in bed beside me, blurry-eyed and exhausted after a long day.
We had spent the evening talking about the messages that shape us and the voices we choose to let into our lives.
Then India Arie started singing.
And I lost it.
India Arie has been a part of my life for a long time.
Long before Parker. Long before Money Talks. Long before I understood how powerful a message could be.
Her music always feels different. It doesn’t demand attention. It earns it.
It’s not built around telling people what to chase. It’s built around reminding people what they already have.
She isn’t just singing about love. She is singing about the kind of love that begins with knowing your worth.
That has always been the beauty of India Arie.
She has spent 30 years creating music that asks people to look deeper. Beyond appearance. Beyond approval. Beyond the expectations placed on us by a world that often rewards the surface over the substance.
Her catalog is filled with examples of that truth.
“Video” challenged the way women are often taught to measure their beauty. “I Am Not My Hair” pushed that message even further, reminding women and girls that their identity extends far beyond their appearance.
It was the first song I played for Parker that night.
Because before she ever worries about how the world sees her, I want her to understand that she is so much more than what people can see.
India Arie has always explored more than self-love. She has also celebrated the beauty, vulnerability and intention of Black love through songs like “Brown Skin,” “Purify Me” and “Ready for Love.”
Then there was “Steady Love.”
That one felt different.
That one felt personal.
“He’s a good father. He’s a good cook. He loves his basketball. And he loves a good book.” — India Arie, “Steady Love”
Those words have stayed with me for years.
Because somehow, India Arie captured me in a single lyric.
That’s why her music has always felt so personal. She has spent her career reminding us who we are.
And that’s why I struggled so much with what happened next.
Just before the Fourth of July, India Arie found herself at the center of a cultural conversation after responding to a Threads post about rapper Yung Miami’s “Spend Dat.”
“I finally realized that not EVERYBODY wants to get free. And it was a very, very, very rude awakening. smh. because the mass acceptance of this song is a crystal clear sign of this much bigger truth.”
Her words sparked a debate.
Some people agreed. Others pushed back.
A few days later, I was lying in bed with Parker on the night of the Fourth of July, watching Dr. Boyce Watkins break down the conversation in a 65-minute video.
Watkins has built a platform around economic education and financial empowerment through his “Money in the Morning” daily class, which he describes as “the home for intelligent Black people.” His messages often challenge me to think differently about wealth, ownership and the choices we make.
This time, I was watching with Parker.
And as the conversation unfolded, I wanted her to understand who India Arie is and why her words matter.
So I paused the video.
And I played “I Am Not My Hair.”
I watched Parker listen, and I thought about the world she is growing up in.
The messages she will encounter. The voices she will have to learn to question. The things she will be told to value.
And then I thought about India Arie.
For three decades, she’s pushed back against those same pressures, which made this moment even harder for me to process.
She has spent her life trying to help people see themselves differently.
And somehow, when she challenged a mindset that deserved to be questioned, she became the target.
Because the message at the center of this conversation was not complicated.
“Spend Dat” is built around celebrating spending money quickly, displaying wealth and glorifying the lifestyle described in its lyrics.
The chorus says:
“Where all my scammin’-ass n**** at?,
Spendin’ that money fast,
Twenties, fifties, hundreds, cash,
Boy, go in that Goyard bag.”
And then repeats the message:
“Spend that shit.”
I read those words and sat with the reality of what was happening.
This was the song receiving that level of attention.
This was the message being defended.
The conversation was never about a song.
It was about what we value, what we celebrate and what we normalize.
I understand why some people pushed back.
Music is personal.
People connect with different sounds, different stories and different experiences.
But I have always believed repetition matters.
What we say. What we hear. What we celebrate. What we normalize.
They shape us, whether we realize it or not.
That’s why India Arie had me wiping away tears in front of Parker on the Fourth of July.
Because for 30 years, she has been intentional.
Her message has not changed.
Her voice has not changed.
Her heart has not changed.
At 11:56 p.m., with Parker barely keeping her eyes open, I played one more India Arie song.
“There’s Hope.”
“There’s hope,
It doesn’t cost a thing to smile,
You don’t have to pay to laugh,
You better thank God for that.”
I wiped away my tears.
Parker was quiet.
Then she looked up at me.
“I like it,” she said.
Love India Arie!