On the Nicki Minajs and the Cardi Bs
Some women are loved because they leave room for others to step into them, like a dress that’s just loose enough to fit anyone. Their flaws are familiar, their humor disarming, their presence comfortable. Cardi moves in that space: relatable, open, unguarded. She is safe for projection.
But then there are women like Nicki, who stand in the fullness of themselves like a cathedral built on sacred ground. Every brick is intentional. Every word is deliberate. She does not hollow herself out so others can live inside her. She is not a vessel for projection; she is the altar itself.
And that unsettles people. We have been taught to love women only when they bend, when they round their edges, when they dim their own brilliance so we can bear to look at them. Nicki refuses to do this. She stands as both mirror and light, and for many, that reflection is too sharp to hold.
It is easier to call her arrogant or a “mean girl” (despite others’ actions actually living into that stereotype) than to ask ourselves why a woman’s certainty feels like an attack. It is easier to call her mean than to reckon with the truth: we were never taught to feel safe in our own bigness, so hers feels like a threat.
But maybe the lesson isn’t about her at all. Maybe it’s about us… about the parts of ourselves still waiting for permission to stand as tall, to speak without apology, to inhabit our own names with the same weight.
Because the women we resent for taking up too much space are often the ones showing us how much space was always ours to claim.
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