Kanye is important to me on many levels and I can only hope that we do him a little bit of justice, both in this discussion and in our day-to-day documentation on one of our greats. That sort of affirmation of not having your shit together but also not giving into feelings of embarrassment is something really necessary to me. In many ways, I feel like Kanye had his growing pains - and continues to struggle through them - for the both of us.
There’s a specific Kanye Effect™ that I can’t articulate to people who don’t get it instinctively, and it’s a much stronger feeling that I have in relation to many other celebrities I love and adore. I’ve been listening to his discography all morning for the purpose of this discussion and am amazed at how many feels I have every time I listen to the same songs that, in some cases, I feel like I’ve had in my iTunes library for my entire life. This inevitably leads us to discuss the progression and undeniable talent of a certain Earl Sweatshirt who we both rate very highly. People talking shit but when the shit hit the fan…Īmani: It’s safe to say that I’m an unashamed Kanye stan. We also talk on the gaze and subsequent expectations placed on black artists who gain critical acclaim and global success. While that was (maybe) a joke, there was a real desire to talk about the influence, development and contextual significance of Kanye West on both our lives, and to attempt to explain the impact he has on people of colour, speaking from two different, individual diasporic standpoints. It started as a roundtable discussion through direct messages on Twitter between the two of us because we hated everyone else’s opinions. This discussion serves as a celebration of all that we know, all that we love and, of course, all that we debate about Kanye Omari West.
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