From Garage Raves To Day Parties, Here’s How Black Clubbing Has Changed Since The 90s

You’re reading Gen:Blxck, a series exploring Black culture, history, family and identity through the generations.

On a Friday, Saturday or even Sunday night, there’s one place and one place only where you’ll be able to find me: the dance. As a resident ‘out-out’ girl, partying is where I feel the most alive. It’s a time where I’m able to dress up, drink, be with my friends and dance until the early hours of the morning. The enjoyment is doubled when I’m in a space where hearing afrobeats isn’t rare, where I don’t have doubt if the colour of my skin will hinder my chances of getting inside, where I can be free.

Note that I said ‘partying’ and not ‘clubbing’, as the Black club scene in London and other parts of the UK is pretty non-existent. Instead, almost all of us can be found at pop-up events from organisers like DLT, Recess, Pitch Sundays and Jay’s Link Up.

Today, these events make up for the lack of dedicated clubs catered to Black audiences – but it hasn’t always been this way.

In the 90s to the 2000s, Black clubs were on the rise. Playing music from garage, jungle, dancehall and grime, they were the places you wanted to be if you were Black and wanted to rave.

“It looked very much like a So Solid music video.”

– Alison Awoyera

Alison Awoyera, who a 34-year-old founder of Itsblackowned.com, found herself at her first rave at the tender age of 15. “I started going to under 18 raves, my first was at a night called ‘Final Conflict’ at a venue called Le Fez in New Cross, which is now closed,” she says.

“This was around 2003 and I remember feeling so grown, despite the crowd being mostly under 18. It was refreshing to hear the underground genres like grime and garage played on pirate stations on a night out.

“It was normal to have DJ sets in the rave too, with some MCs who went on to top the charts.”

She then started clubbing at a place called Yates in Lewisham nearly every week. Other clubs she frequented included Cameo’s, Silks & Spice and Rainforest Café, all located around south-east and central London.

The attire was simple. She recalls going to raves in flat shoes because people didn’t bother with heels. “Skirts, well-greased legs, and a cute top. Hair gelled onto forehead, a trend I see has returned and is now dubbed ‘edges,’” she shares.

“Guys wore any brash designer piece they could get: Avirex jackets, Iceberg jeans, Moschino (with the logo branded all over), Nike 110s.

“It looked very much like a So Solid music video, which makes sense as they were topping the charts back then. As we moved into nights in central London, we had to go smarter. Heels, dresses, and much better makeup, whilst men wore smart shirts and jeans, as flyers often ran on a ‘no hats and no hoods’ policy.”

She recalls the feeling of having a night catered to a Black crowd as “unmatched”.

“At larger venues like Ministry, there were different rooms catered to genres, so you could go from old school dancehall to grime and garage, feeling so content,” she says.

“I remember if ladies got there before 11 sometimes you’d get a glass of bubbly – it felt so classy, though in hindsight it was likely the cheapest!”

Nana Adjei, who is also known as FrenchkissDj, is a 44-year-old DJ and producer who owned a club in Shoreditch called ‘FK bar’ in 2002. He started out as a DJ playing music in west-end clubs when he noticed a lack of diversity in the nightclub scene.

Nana Adjei

Nana Adjei

Nana Adjei

“There weren’t many Black clubs or bars or anywhere really that catered for our music. It’s always been a gap in the market so I wanted to tap into that and create a space for us,” he says.

“I started raving in the 90s but there weren’t many Black clubs then, more house parties. But coming into the 2000s, they started popping up.

“The vibe was lovely, we would play hip-life, bashment, dance but though the crowd was mainly Black, it was a mixed crowd.”

The venue would open every weekend from Friday to Sunday. He would promote the club through a mailing list or through text messages. “I used to get a friend of mine to just walk around with a clip and paper on the clipboard and take people’s numbers. So after that, we insert those numbers into the telephone box system,” he recalls.

“And then if we had events coming up, we’d pay for credit and text people with the relevant information.”

Eventually, the club closed as he experienced difficulty renewing the license. Since then, he’s moved to Ghana and opened the same club there.

“The rules weren’t as strict or stringent back then.”

– Naivasha Mwanji

When it came to going out, I learnt everything I need to know from my older sister. She started partying at the age of 13 (probably against my mother’s wishes) and would frequently attend under-age raves, eventually progressing to actual clubbing a few years later. It wasn’t uncommon in the community.

“The rules weren’t as strict or stringent back then and I think I went to my first nightclub when I was 15,” Naivasha Mwanji, a 32-year old partnerships and outreach manager, tells me.

Her go-to venues in the mid-00s were Club 19 in Forest Gate, Twilight in Canning Town, Cameos in Oxford Street and Guvna Bar which is now known as LA Lounge in Canning Town. Fast forward to today and nearly all of those clubs are closed.

Naivasha Mwanji clubbing in uni

Naivasha Mwanji

Naivasha Mwanji clubbing in uni

In the past decade, the British club scene has been shrinking across the board. Nightclubs in Britain fell by 21% between December 2017 and December 2018, compared to a 1% yearly decline between 2013 and 2017, according to an industry report by the International Music Summit (IMS).

The pandemic only exacerbated the problem. The latest IMS report shows 2021 ticket demand for clubs was at just 36% of 2019.

But Black-owned nightclubs – or clubs catering specifically for the Black community – have felt the impact acutely, due to already being fewer in number.

Technomaterialism, a platform formed by Black writers, musicians and club workers, produced a detailed analysis of Black representation in the industry and found that in 2021, it sat at just 4%.

The gentrification of certain areas – with sky high property prices pushing out clubs – and form 696 have both been blamed for the decline of Black nightclubs.

Form 696 was created by the London Metropolitan police in 2005. Anyone who owned or hosted a party was required to provide information about the type of event they were going to host, the music that played, and the target audience of the crowd – often including ethnicity. Critics of the form say it allowed police to target events that played Black genres, such as grime and hip-hop.

Though the ethnicity and music style clauses were removed from the form in 2008, it was still in use until 2017, when it was eventually abolished.

In that time, clubs that once allowed Black people to feel free, shut down.

“It’s a space for people to enter without fear, a place they can move without barriers.”

– Founders of DLT

Without the clubs, we needed something to plug the gap. And today, Black event companies run the partying scene.

From Recess to DLT, Jay’s Link Up to Pitch Sundays, these groups are making a name for themselves hosting pop-up events at venues across the capital and beyond. Think you’ve found it hard to get tickets for Adele or Lizzo? Try getting tickets for DLT.

Days Like This, also known as DLT, was birthed in New York. “Our vision was to have fun with our people in the daytime with good music, food and vibes. After the success of our first few events, we realised how much the Black community needed something as joyous as DLT in London,” they told me.

“It then became our mission to be the standard and example for what positive and excellent Black events would look like.”

DLT want Black people to feel they have the freedom to experience their parties in whatever way they want to.

“Sometimes as Black people we go out to enjoy ourselves, but because of our surroundings, we may not feel we have the full ability to really experience the events as we’d like to – at DLT it’s very important for us for our attendees to feel that freedom in our space.

“We strive to create a space for like-minded people to fully enjoy our events. It’s a space for people to enter without fear, a place they can move without barriers.”

Kadir Gold

As well as DLT, there’s also a surge of smaller niche Black spaces making an appearance in London.

SSensational Sounds are a music collective, made up of DJs, producers and music lovers. Their mission is to push the EDM sound within the Black community. ”So music like Afro-house, Afro-tech, amapiano, funky, garage, anything under house music we want to push,” their spokesperson said.

Amapiano, a style of South African house music, has exploded in the last year with more amapiano raves flooding all over the world. As an amapiano lover myself, the music and the parties can’t be described – they have to be experienced. Anyone who listens to the genre will describe it as spiritual.

One of the main reasons I created SSensational Sounds was because I’m a massive music head,” they told me. “I started hearing amapiano in 2019. So I was doing my research and trying to push the sound out.”

They would describe the atmosphere at SSensational Sounds as “intimate” as they’re smaller to the bigger names like Recess or DLT and their parties are called Ssensational Shoobz. “It’s for the people that wanna dance, have fun and hear new music,” they said.

“I go to a lot of house raves, and people there are so care-free, so I wanted to create this type of atmosphere whilst exposing people to new music.”

“You’re surrounded by people that look like you, whilst hearing music you like, dancing carelessly, it just feels like a community of joy.”

– Jasmine Akua

Pop-up parties for queer people of colour have also been on the rise, at a time when LGBTQ+ clubs are closing.

Organisations such as Reveur, Pxssy Palace, Fluid and Lick Events have created safe spaces for the Black LGBTQ community – a game-changer for people like Jasmine Lee-Zogbessou, a 26-year-old journalist from London.

“The one thing that makes these queer spaces better for me is the is the consistent emphasis on consent and ensuring that everything you’re doing in that space is welcomed,”Lee-Zogbessou says.

“The first ever queer event I went to was Lick Events and I’ve never felt such joy. As it’s a woman-only event i was able to dress the way I wanted without the fear of being harassed.”

Outside of queer events, she usually attends Black parties like recess and DLT. “The first time I went to Recess, I absolutely loved it. You’re surrounded by people that look like you, whilst hearing music you like, dancing carelessly, it just feels like a community of joy.”

Jasmine Akua at a recess fancy dress party

Jasmine Akua

Jasmine Akua at a recess fancy dress party

But Jasmine notes an issue with these events – they’re not regular.

“If I want to go out on a random Friday night I can’t go, I have to wait until they have an event,” she says.

All this means the demand is high, tickets sell out in minutes and you can rarely buy tickets on the door. The solution is simple: more Black clubs, right? Unfortunately this isn’t a straight forward process.

Though form 696 has been scrapped, some club owners are still hostile to events catered to Black audiences.

So what does the future of Black parties look like?

DLT want more Black-owned club spaces that aren’t governed by harsher rules than their non-Black counterparts.

“In the future we need the larger venues to be more open to building better relationships with those on the rise as the space for Black parties is continually growing in demand,” they say.

As an out-out girl, I simply want these spaces to be the norm and not the exception, especially in areas outside of London where events are even more scarce.

These spaces aren’t created to alienate ourselves from ‘normal’ clubs, they’re born out of a clear lack of diversity and inclusion in the nightclub scene.

Now, Alexa, play ‘Heated’ by Beyonce, it’s time for me to get ready.

What does it mean to be Black and British? Well, it depends which generation you ask. This Black History Month, HuffPost UK has teamed up with BuzzFeed’s Seasoned and Tasty UK to find out. Read more from Gen:Blxck here.

Paris Anthony-Walker

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From Aunties To IG Hairdressers, Black Women’s Hair Ideals Are Changing

You’re reading Gen:Blxck, a series exploring Black culture, history, family and identity through the generations.

My earliest memories of having my hair done are all at home. My mother would braid mine and my sister’s hair before it got too thick for her to manage. Then I met my first hairdresser, a family friend of a friend, called Akosi. I’d travel to her house with my mum and spend the next few hours sitting in between her legs, getting curly box braids (my absolute go-to back then).

But in recent years, there’s been a surge of young Black women getting into the hair industry and using Instagram as a way to find clients. They’re labelled IG hairdressers by the community, and fewer women my age are now going to traditional Black hair salons where ‘Aunties’ typically styled your hair.

Aunties once ruled the Black hair landscape here – we grew up with them and we didn’t have anyone else to compare them to. But now there is a growing ‘Aunties versus IG hairdressers’ debate in the community. And of course there are pros and cons to each.

If you’re looking for a cheap price point, you’d probably want to get your hair done by an auntie. The trouble is, you’re more likely to be waiting a few hours to get your hair finished in the salon as they switch – and chat – between clients.

IG hairdressers, on the other hand, are easier to find and book online and more likely to be able to do a hairstyle they haven’t done before, but they also tend to charge more and often get called out for unprofessional behaviour like cancelling last minute.

Whoever we trust with our hair, the styles Black women are favouring are changing – and fast. For centuries our hair has been policed by whiteness, but now, Black women are finding a new sense of pride. We’re finding our unique styles, whether that’s braving the big chop or saying ‘no’ to wigs altogether.

It’s been a long journey to get here and even the biggest fans of IG hairdressers will acknowledge we’ve got decades of salon owners to thank for it.

“In the 1960s, Black hair was often either stylishly styled in a natural African look or chemically treated to give it a washed-out colour,” co-founder and CEO of Curl Centric, Akirashanti Byrd tells HuffPost UK,

Byrd is 45 and she’s been styling Black hair for 15 years. Her customers are mainly Black women who want to keep their hair in its natural state.

“Often, these women are not familiar with the various styling techniques and products available to them, so I spend a lot of time educating them on the available options,” Byrd says. She has seen many trends in her time as a hairdresser. “By the 1980s, Black women were experimenting with naturally kinky curls and Afros, greatly expanding their style options,” she says.

“In the 1990s, we saw celebrities like Viola Davis rocking bold Black hairstyles that stood out from all other styles. This decade also saw the introduction of blonde hair dye, which helped make light-skinned people’s dark locks more visible. Since then, many variations of Black hairstyles have continued to be popular today, including relaxed curls, cornrows, dreadlocks and afro.”

The ways you can treat and style Black hair have also expanded in this time – especially with the help of the natural hair movement.

Akirashanti Byrd: 'I spend a lot of time educating [women] on the available options.'

Akirashanti Byrd

Akirashanti Byrd: ‘I spend a lot of time educating [women] on the available options.’

The natural hair movement really kicked off in the 60s alongside the civil rights movement, and was spearheaded by political activist Angela Davis. Afros were worn to protest against white supremacy and champion Black liberation.

However, the early to mid 2000s saw a resurgence of this movement. More and more women in our community started to question why we relied so much on straight hair to make us feel worthy. So we put relaxers and the hot combs on pause and brought back the blue magic, afro combs and blow dryers.

Social media has played a big part in this. I learnt how to style my natural hair by watching YouTube. I watched to see how I could maintain a wash and go, slick down my 4C hair, and even attempted to learn how to cane roll (I’m still learning).

“The rise in popularity of natural hairstyles has led to an increase in demand for products and services that cater to this market and has resulted in more Black-owned businesses entering the industry,” Byrd says.

“The natural hair movement has positively influenced the Black hair industry. It has helped increase awareness of the need for products specifically designed for Black hair and has created a demand for these products. This has resulted in more companies developing Black hair care lines, helping to grow the industry.”

Brands like Ruka Hair, Cantu, Shea Moisture, KeraCare are Black girls’ go to for hair products. And women are investing their money into these brands. Black Women in the UK account for 10% of haircare spending, although they make up only 2% of the UK adult population, a survey by TreasureTress found.

“Today, I feel like hair trends seem to change with the season: seasonal colours, lengths and protective styles etc,” says hairstyilst Ayanda Soares. Soares has been a hairdresser for 14 years and describes her customers as those who want to embrace their natural hair and often opt for protective styling.

She began learning when she was a teenager. “I had always done my own hair, as my mum was terrible at doing mine and my sister’s hair – she had dreadlocks for most of our childhood,” she shared. “In secondary school, I would braid friends’ hair and I learned to do braided weaves around the same time.”

Soares tells HuffPost that in her time as a hairdresser, she’s seen a surge in demand for experimental methods such as tape-ins and keratin fusion. These options weren’t accessible in the UK in the same way they were in the US due to a lack of hair suppliers offering extensions for women with Black hair.

“These have been around for many years, but have not been seen at this level in the afro/Black hair space,” she adds.

Ayanda Soares (left) and a model with tape-ins styled by her (right).

Ayanda Soares

Ayanda Soares (left) and a model with tape-ins styled by her (right).

Soares agrees that social media has played its part in changing the landscape of Black hair styling. “It has also has allowed us to showcase our work globally,” she says.

She is big on educating women about how to care for their hair, running training programmes that highlight how to clean and prolong your hair extensions, for example.

“Content creators also help sell the message for us business owners, in terms of education, so we tend to work with influencers often,” she adds.

The pandemic also affected the way Black women do their hair – 64.7% said the way the did their hair changed as a result of lockdowns, according to the TreasureTress research.

More of us made the decision to transition “back to natural”, where women grow out their chemically treated hair. Additionally, they actively sought out resources to educate themselves on how to take care of their hair because they were no longer able to visit professionals due to lockdowns.

And with a younger demographic booking clients, the hair styles Black women are choosing is shifting.

Marlene Gatrude Twinomugisha: 'I just kind of fell into it'

Marlene Gatrude Twinomugisha

Marlene Gatrude Twinomugisha: ‘I just kind of fell into it’

The most popular hairstyles today tend to be the more natural ones, like knotless braids, free-style feed in cane rolls or locs, Marlene Gatrude Twinomugisha, a 20-year-old hairdresser from London tells me.

She started doing hair by “accident”. Similar to Soares, she didn’t like the way her mum did her hair, so took it upon herself to learn how to style it. “I then moved on to to doing hair for my cousins, then my friends and more people were asking me to do their hair at school, so I just kind of fell into it,” she says.

“My experiences getting my hair done by aunties when I was younger was me showing them a hairstyle, them saying they can do it but whenever the style was done, it didn’t look the same at all,” says Twinomugisha, who posts her styles on Instagram under the name Crowned By Her UK.

She believes younger girls have moved to sourcing stylists from Instagram because IG hairdressers are able to jump on hair trends quicker. “Aunties can’t really keep up,” she adds.

However, IG hairdressers also have their issues. Writing for Refinery29 earlier this summer, Yolanthe Fawehinmi detailed how the convoluted booking process and poor customer service is causing young women to return to their roots.

“As more and more horror stories pile in about the last-minute cancellations, excessive fees, where you’ll need to pay a deposit via a booking system to secure an appointment and can be charged for being late, wanting extra length or colour, and of recent, even parting your hair — sometimes bad customer service, young people on social media are boycotting Instagram hairstylists, particularly those on TikTok, who are going back to Britain’s African braiders,” she reported.

Sade Idem, a 25-year-old hairstylist from Kent, says younger black stylists have more of a business mindset.

“With many of us growing up in the UK, we’ve seen how much Caucasian stylists would charge for less challenging hair services, and we realise £60 for seven hours of braiding with no breaks is criminal!” she says.

Idem has a lot of respect for older stylists as they’ve paved the way for the younger ones. “However, many older stylists are focused on the final look, rather than the health of the client’s hair long term,” she comments. “Their customer service can also be affected as they’re trying to fit in as many clients as possible to make up for the low prices they charge.”

Sade Idem: 'We realise £60 for seven hours of braiding with no breaks is criminal.'
Sade Idem: ‘We realise £60 for seven hours of braiding with no breaks is criminal.’

So what does the future of Black hair and hairdressing look like from here? To me, it looks like versatility, growth and experimentation. As we move towards more protective and natural styles, I see us breaking away from the idea that we have to play it safe with our hair. Let’s enjoy it, and have fun.

I hope to see more young Black girls growing in the profession, but I do believe there’s a place for aunties in the Black hairdressing arena. They worked hard to build Black spaces for women to do hair in this country and paved the way for younger Black women to learn and grow as hairdressers.

As Byrd puts it: “There’s no doubt that Black hairdressing is a growing industry with immense potential. The future looks bright for those willing to put in the hard work and dedication required to succeed.”

What does it mean to be Black and British? Well, it depends which generation you ask. This Black History Month, HuffPost UK has teamed up with BuzzFeed’s Seasoned and Tasty UK to find out. Read more from Gen:Blxck here.

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Black Theatre Gives Us Voice. It Deserves A Black Audience

You’re reading My Black History, a series of personal reflections from Black women in the UK on the meeting point of history and life lessons.

I was six when I saw my first play – a pantomime version of Cinderella. Feeling the stage come alive through performance and music was a thrill, even at that young age. I signed up to every drama and music club at school and went on every theatre trip. And I even started considering a career in musical theatre.

This love of theatre is genetic, I think – my late father was a huge fan of the arts. He was president of the drama club at university and travelled all the way to London from Kenya to watch Miss Saigon. My sister inherited the theatre bug, playing Annie at the age of 10 and taking performing arts at school all the way up to sixth-form. It was only natural for me to follow in both their footsteps.

But as I got older, my dreams of performing in the West End began to feel unrealistic for a Black girl from Dagenham. Most of the shows I saw featured an all white cast. Black performers only seemed to get the lead roles in shows like The Lion King and Dream Girls. As my West End dreams started to fade, my love for theatre grew – and became a hobby, one that has become even more joyful with the rise in Black shows and Black stories in the UK theatre world.

One play that really stands out for me is Tree, which I saw, pre-pandemic, at the Young Vic in 2019. Before the show started, it felt like a full-on club. A DJ was playing Dancehall and Afrobeats, while the cast and audience danced on stage. The story, which is based on an album by Idris Elba, started off in London but swiftly moved to South Africa, following a boy called Kaelo after a family tragedy. Seats for the show were limited so we stood for most of it, but I barely noticed, I was so engrossed. Moments like this highlight for me that Black theatre can challenge how traditional theatre should look and feel.

Around the same time, I managed to get tickets for the most talked about musical in town. I had no idea what Hamilton was, I just knew I needed to be there and as soon as I heard the first song I was hooked. Though Hamilton isn’t a Black story per se, seeing Black actors in lead roles at the Victoria Palace theatre was a powerful reminder of why I fell in love with the arts. Hamilton highlights how theatre can tell a story in such a poignant way. It shows the realms of possibilities that can be explored on stage.

SOPA Images via Getty Images

When, almost two years later, I was finally able to see a play again, it was like coming home. Is God Is at the Royal Court, which I saw last month, focuses on two young African American women on a quest to find their father. Writer Aleshea Harris tackles difficult themes such as domestic abuse and neglect, but finds humour in the struggle. Most of all, though, it was refreshing to be back in a theatre and see people who looked like me on stage and in the audience.

Which is why I find so much joy in Rendition. This online hub for all things Black theatre across the UK was founded by Shore Delano, a 26-year-old digital project manager from Hertfordshire. It has been running for two years now, sharing guides and reviews of Black shows playing right across the country.

Like mine, Shore’s passion was lit at a young age when her mother used to take her and her sister to theatre in London. The family had a yearly tradition of going to the Hackney Empire panto over the Christmas period. This festive extravaganza is legend among parts of the Black community, but going to the theatre regularly is less common.

Shore says theatre fandom “really blossomed’ after university in Warwick, when she returned to London and saw Barber Shop Chronicles by Inua Elms at the National Theatre. There began an “unhealthy obsession” of trying to get to every play she could find out about that was written by, made by, and/or starred Black talent. And it wasn’t long before she spotted something amiss.

“Passion aside, the more I started watching theatre shows with majority Black casts, or distinctly African/Caribbean storylines, the more I noticed that, as a Black audience member, I was in the extreme minority,” says Shore. “While anyone can enjoy good theatre, when plays are moulded upon Black (African/Caribbean/Black British) history and experiences, I believe these stories should be able to be heard and experienced by the people they are based on.”

Take shows like Three Sisters or Strange Fruit Shore says – “for many African and Caribbeans these goes beyond a standard theatre performance. The stories told represent and mirror memories, family histories, lived experiences, and culture. I wanted to create a platform that connected audiences to the stories that often form part of who they are,” she says.

The Barber Shop Chronicles by Inua Elms.

Mike Marsland via Getty Images

The Barber Shop Chronicles by Inua Elms.

Unless you’re part of the theatre world, it can be genuinely overwhelming finding out about shows – especially plays in smaller venues with less visible marketing. This is something Shore noticed when posting reviews on her personal page.

“People would always ask me where I was, what shows I was watching, and how I found out about the shows,” she says. “And I realised that lots of Black people, and specifically young Black people aged 18-35, want to go to the theatre, but for whatever reason are not aware of what to see and when. I realised I could try and plug that gap, and two years later here we are.”

Shore reels off a list of her favourite shows in recent months: Hamilton, of course, And Breathe by Yomi Ṣode at the Almeida, The Fisherman by Gbolahan Obisesan (adapted from Chigozie Obioma’s Booker-award winning book). She also loved Nick Payne’s Constellations, which originally starred white actors, but was revived post-lockdown with a rotating cast of couples including Black British actors Sheila Atim and Ivanno Jeremiah. “They were both amazing!”

Rendition has pointed me to some shows I know I wouldn’t have heard about otherwise, either. For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy at the New Diorama might be one of my favourites yet. As the name suggests, it didn’t shy away from the struggles young Black men face in this country – exploring themes of knife crime, sexual assault and suicide, while still somehow managing to make the audience laugh. The script and use of music was just so unapologetically Black, and I left feeling inspired that a young Black boy can now go to the theatre and see himself on stage.

During Black History Month, we were able to see a plethora of shows made by Black talent – but there’s so much more work still to do. This should be the norm, year-round. As Shore says, Black theatre helps us appreciate our shared experiences and history. “I especially love to see our stories represented with range and thought, stories that go beyond some of the same trauma-led narratives that we see so often in mainstream media,” she says. “Give me Black untold histories, give me Black British love, give me Black fantasy. All of it!”

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