In the pilot episode of The Chi, two teenagers lose their lives to gun violence — one at the beginning and another at the end — establishing the emotional reality that shapes the remainder of the series. But in between those moments are kids riding bikes to school, crushes developing in classrooms, aspiring chefs chasing promotions, teenage relationships unfolding, and families simply trying to make it through another day in the south side of Chicago. That balance is what made The Chi feel so real. In many television dramas, violence becomes the entire story. In The Chi, the small details become the heart of it: why a silence lingers too long, why a kitchen feels lived in, or why a character struggles to say “I love you.” Producer and screenwriter Lena Waithe created a series that understands that even in communities shaped by grief and survival, people are still growing up, falling in love, laughing, dreaming, and finding ways to live. With its eighth and final season out now, let’s take a look back and zoom in on those small details.

Chicago isn’t just the setting of The Chi — it’s the force shaping everyone inside it. Middle schooler Kevin rides his bike with pegs, giving his friends lifts on the way to school. Jake is being raised by an older brother who is deep in the street life, not out of choice but expectation. Papa, the third Musketeer, offers the friend group sermons passed down from his pastor father. Then there’s Keisha — in high school making her somewhat old enough to guide her younger brother Kevin, while still navigating her own coming-of-age between athletics, relationships, and adolescence. Emmett, also sixteen, juggles fatherhood, relationships, and responsibility while still deeply tied to his mother. Individually, these moments feel ordinary. But placed against the backdrop of Chicago, they become something else entirely. These aren’t just kids being kids — they’re kids growing up in a city where survival is never guaranteed.

In earlier seasons, fans of the series watch the kids graduate from middle school and move onto the same high school together, experiencing milestones that feel familiar to so many teenagers. We witness first love, heartbreak, betrayal, reconciliation, and the awkwardness of figuring out identity while growing up in front of one another. Kevin, Jake, Papa, Keisha, and Emmett are allowed moments of normalcy — crushes, prom send-offs, cookouts, jokes, and family dysfunction — even as violence constantly threatens to interrupt them. That balance is what makes The Chi feel so emotionally honest. The series never ignores the dangers of Chicago’s South Side, but it also refuses to strip its characters of softness, humor, vulnerability, and joy.

In later seasons, we see characters show up for one another not just in good times but in hard times too. In The Chi, adulthood doesn’t arrive with certainty. Sometimes it arrives with grief. The ladies encompass Tiffany when she loses the father to her unborn child. The guys of The Chi meet once a week to facilitate a support group where they vent, cry, and lean on one another in a safe space. They show up for a grieving mother and these relationships stand the test of time and aren’t brief. Victor running for a political position to make a difference while his past haunts him. And during the more uplifting moments, the community shows up. As the kids have their Prom send offs, an occasion that has become super popular today, the neighborhood is there to embrace them.

The series’ light shines especially bright when a character lands their first internship, gets their first apartment, moves out of the neighborhood. Kevin’s mom selflessly taking in Lynae, a classmate with no where to turn. Papa’s father taking in Bakari, a kid who has proved to be the furthest thing from a PK (pastor’s kid) and becoming his first true role model. Bakari soaring to newer heights by letting love in, writing a novel, taking accountability when he’s wrong. The cookouts that take place despite the stigma of the neighborhood. A small detail can be a song where the kids are on the dance floor at their Prom, all singing to the top of their lungs Nardo Wick’s Who Want Smoke? Smiles and pure joy signaling that they have survived through it all especially with the reality that not everyone makes it.

The Chi has become the longest-running Black drama series in premium cable history, with 8 seasons and when watching it, viewers are reminded of the small details in life that matter. And it’s in these quiet, everyday details that The Chi finds its heart, reminding us that even in the midst of violence and uncertainty, joy, love, and youth still insist on existing. In the series, growing up isn’t just a milestone — it’s a privilege. The small, ordinary details of their lives are what make their survival extraordinary. Season 8 feels less like a farewell and more like a commencement for characters that audiences watched fight to become themselves — characters who had to survive long enough to grow up.

Following the highly anticipated debut of the Michael biopic, TikTok has been flooded with audiences recreating some of the film’s most memorable moments. College graduates have used the triumphant Bad finale scene while preparing to cross the stage in their caps and gowns. Others have recreated outfits and choreography from Thriller, Smooth Criminal, and The Way You Make Me Feel, transforming nostalgia into celebration at movie theaters around the world. But there is one moment from the film audiences haven’t tried to imitate — only absorb. Across TikTok and other social media platforms, viewers have posted themselves crying, stunned into silence, and emotionally overwhelmed while watching “Michael Jackson” perform Human Nature during the 1984 Victory Tour.

Shortly before returning to the stage for the tour, Michael experienced a devastating tragedy. During the filming of a Pepsi commercial, he suffered third-degree burns and nerve damage after pyrotechnics malfunctioned, forcing him into hospitalization and recovery. An experience that could have discouraged or even ended the career of many artists seemed to push Michael toward something greater instead. By the time he performed Human Nature at the Victory Tour, he was no longer just the child star from The Jackson 5 or the larger-than-life figure from the Thriller era. The performance felt transcendent. There’s a moment during Human Nature in Michael where the arena lights soften, the synths begin to float through the stadium, and Michael Jackson looks less like a global superstar and more like someone discovering his purpose in real time. Audiences continue replaying the scene and returning to theaters not just to watch it again, but to feel something real–something euphoric.

The power of Human Nature lives not only in the lyrics, but in Michael Jackson’s physicality throughout the performance. His slowed pauses in movement, the reversing and methodical spins as he repeats, “They say why, why… tell ’em that it’s human nature,” transform the song into something almost spiritual. At certain moments, he freezes his body entirely, hand sways emphasizing specific lyrics without saying a word. Even the sounds he creates between verses feel less like ad-libs and more like emotional release. As he sings, “Electric eyes are everywhere,” the stage lights flicker beyond the stadium and into the night sky, making the performance feel larger than the LA Dodgers stadium itself. And then comes the moment audiences cannot stop replaying: Michael stretching the aching “OHHHHHHHH” as the instrumentals shift from high to low, left to right, sounding as though he is breaking and healing all at once — inviting the audience to do the same. By the time Michael Jackson stepped onto the Victory Tour stage, audiences had already witnessed the pressure, pain, and scrutiny that came with growing up in front of the world. But Human Nature felt different. It wasn’t just a performance anymore — it was release. For a few minutes, Michael wasn’t escaping himself. He was finally becoming himself.

Much of the emotional weight of the scene also rests on Jaafar Jackson, whose portrayal begins to blur the line between performance and embodiment. During Human Nature, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate nephew from uncle. The mannerisms, pauses, vulnerability, and emotional intensity feel so spiritually aligned with Michael Jackson that what began as portrayal slowly transforms into something deeper — less imitation and more inheritance. For the audience, it feels as though Michael’s presence briefly returns through Jaafar’s performance.

To many viewers, Human Nature is no longer just another song from an album — it feels like the moment Michael Jackson fully stepped into who he was always meant to become. The euphoric power of the performance isn’t found only in the vocals, choreography, or production, but in watching a man who survived pain decide, in real time, to transform that pain into light. During the Victory Tour performance of Human Nature, Michael stopped performing at the audience and began emotionally connecting with them — a shift that would define the rest of his career. Since the release of the biopic, streams of Michael Jackson’s music have surged up to 95% in the U.S. across platforms, with his catalog seeing a massive increase in listeners as audiences return not just to the film, but to the feeling the music created. More than four decades later, Human Nature continues to transcend generations. For audiences both in theaters and across TikTok, the performance doesn’t just feel like a moment being revisited — it feels like a transformation being witnessed all over again.

After two years, ThriftCon has made its return to the sunny shores of South Florida. Known as the world’s largest vintage convention, the event took over 100,000 square feet inside the Miami Beach Convention Center on April 4, bringing together more than 150 vendors offering vintage clothing, collectibles, and rare finds. Locals and tourists alike shuffled from booth to booth in search of pieces that spoke to them, from Y2K fashion and golden gems to vinyl records and Pokémon cards. More than just a marketplace, ThriftCon Miami created space for a diverse crowd to connect through nostalgia, style, and self-expression. Call it spring thrifting — a cultural reset where instead of clearing things out, attendees searched for pieces of the past to carry forward.

Vintage shopping has become more than a trend — it’s an art form and a growing cultural practice, both in Miami and beyond. When asked why vintage continues to surge in popularity, Ryan, owner of Vintage Pill, pointed to both quality and aesthetic. “Because of the natural fibers, the style, and the overall look — that’s what’s making vintage so big right now,” he said, gesturing to a Mary J. Blige graphic tee. “This shirt will last a lifetime.”

A few booths over, storytelling took on a more personal tone. Maren of My Closet Vintage shared the significance behind a brown Alicia Keys graphic shirt that has made its way through her extended family. “It’s become a communal piece,” she said, explaining how she, her husband, and his siblings have all worn it over time. “It’s like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants — it fits everyone differently and becomes a part of all of us.” For Maren, thrifting is rooted in nostalgia and connection. “Growing up with little sisters, we always had hand-me-downs. It’s special to see something you once loved being loved by someone else — like you’re part of something bigger.”

Attendees spent hours flipping through bins of vinyl records, Y2K sunglasses, jewelry, leather jackets, and one-of-one pieces. Sounds from Miami native Rick Ross and Puerto Rican superstar Bad Bunny echoed through the convention center, reflecting the city’s layered cultural identity. As the music shifted, strangers bonded over style — offering opinions, exchanging compliments, and snapping photos in curated corners of the space.

Beyond the racks, conversations around culture took center stage during Secret Tapes: Skateboarding’s Path from Parking Lots to Pop Culture, a live ThriftConversations panel featuring Don Brown, Kareem Campbell, Geoff Rowley, and Bam Margera. Panelists reflected on skateboarding’s rise from an underground movement to a global influence, highlighting how the culture has shaped fashion, music, and visual identity over time. They also pointed to defining moments — including the success of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater — that helped expand skateboarding’s reach and further cement its role in creative expression.

What set ThriftCon apart was its ability to foster community without forcing it. Conversations unfolded naturally as attendees sifted through racks, reached across tables, and exchanged questions about pricing, style, and origin. In those small moments, strangers found common ground — bonding over shared tastes, cultural ties, and personal stories. It’s a reminder that vintage shopping is more than a transaction; it’s an experience rooted in connection and discovery. On a larger scale, events like ThriftCon amplify that experience, turning individual moments into a collective one — and leaving many inspired to return, not just for the finds, but for the feeling.

Scenes from ThriftCon Miami:

A film once celebrated for depicting ambition, intimacy, and Black love has recently been recast online as a cautionary tale–or worse, a “horror story”. Twenty-five years after its release, Love & Basketball, is now routinely filtered through modern diagnostic language: its male lead labeled a narcissist, its romance deemed toxic, and its ending framed as feminist failure. But this reframing reveals less about the film itself than about how we engage with stories that refuse emotional neatness. Love & Basketball was never a guidebook for how to love; it was a portrayal of people growing toward themselves imperfectly and sometimes painfully. The discomfort many viewers feel today is not a revelation about the film– it is evidence of our shrinking tolerance for emotional messiness. The question raised by the movie’s cultural revaluation is not whether its characters made the “right” choices, but what happens when we retrofit modern clarity onto older art and mistake context for failure.

Love & Basketball arrived at the turn of the millennium, during a brief but meaningful period in Black cinema that sat between Love Jones (1997) and Brown Sugar (2002). It was a time before social media flattened film criticism into hot takes, before therapy language became a default for interpreting fictional behavior, and before audiences were encouraged to diagnose characters rather than sit with them. Viewers encountered the film largely on its own terms. They were spellbound by recognition; Black families in Baldwin Hills, two-parent households shaped by ambition and disappointment, and a soundtrack echoing what already lived on the radio. Director Gina Prince-Bythewood’s film was received not as a moral blueprint, but as a story: imperfect, textured, and emotionally familiar. The cultural conditions that now invite constant reinterpretation simply did not yet structure how audiences consumed romantic films.

That distance–between when the film was made and how it is now interpreted– has narrowed how the characters are understood. Quincy McCall (played by Omar Epps) is often revisited now as a moral failure rather than what the film actually presents him as: a young man emotionally undertrained by a household that prized discipline, legacy, and restraint over vulnerability. His father emphasized two values: education and basketball while lessons in emotional fluency were largely absent. The lessons Quincy absorbs about masculinity, especially the idea that “can’t” should never be in a man’s vocabulary, extend beyond the court and into his intimate relationships. Monica Wright (played by Sanaa Lathan), meanwhile, is frequently read as inflexible or regressive, when the film frames her singular focus as survival in a world that rarely made room for women like her. Basketball is not simply her passion; it is her identity. Where Quincy is emotionally uneasy, Monica is closely disciplined and trained to prioritize ambition above all else, including emotional flexibility. Neither attitude is presented as ideal, but both are portrayed with empathy. Even the film’s two-parent households are marked by fractures, complicating the sense of security they outwardly promise. In Love & Basketball, imperfection is not a flaw to be corrected, but the condition through which intimacy, disappointment, and growth unfold.

If these characters feel harder to tolerate now, it is worth asking what has changed in the culture that is doing the viewing. Over the past two decades, the language we use to talk about relationships has changed dramatically. Diagnostic frameworks once confined to clinical settings now circulate freely in popular discourse on social media, offering clarity, vocabulary, and validation. But they also encourage a kind of moral sorting–reducing fictional characters into case studies and turning grey areas into evidence of failure. In this environment, love stories that resist perfection can begin to feel unsettling rather than familiar. Characters are read less as narrative constructions than as symptoms to be interpreted. Contemporary romance is increasingly imagined as something to be done correctly, efficiently, and without contradiction. Uncertainty, once understood as emotional accuracy, is now often treated as a “red flag”. The danger is not that older films portrayed imperfect relationships, but that we have grown increasingly unwilling to sit with imperfection at all.

Love & Basketball does not ask to be defended. It asks to be watched as it was made: as a story about two people learning, imperfectly, how to want both love and their dreams at the same time. Its endurance lies not in its resolution, but in its willingness to linger in uncertainty–about timing, ambition, and emotional readiness. In an era increasingly uneasy with uncertainty, the film remains a reminder that love has never been a matter of best practices, but of growth, missteps, and full circles.

G Herbo didn’t always have the luxury of reflection. On 79th & Essex, Chicago, a street that raised him, survival was the only option. For years, the artist balanced a rising rap career with real-life danger that didn’t clock out just because the cameras turned on. When his 2014 mixtape Welcome to Fazoland that centerpieced standout track Kill Sh*t featuring Lil Bibby debuted, G Herbo documented raw experiences on every track. But now, at thirty years old, the music feels different. He feels different. On his latest album Lil Herb, there’s a weight to his words that only comes from living long enough to look back and reflect.

When he first hit the music scene at sixteen, he was in the eye of the storm he rapped about — a storm of loss, chaos, and survival. Only years later, with miles between him and those blocks, did he gain the space to examine the world that shaped him. On Fallen Soldiers, from the Lil Herb album, you can hear it in his voice when he talks about losing his brother and feeling like he was running out of luck. “Paid for over twenty funerals” he says while recalling the attendance roster of names he’s lost over the years. “Couldn’t show emotion now I’m holding onto trauma” he raps over the beat making it clear that there’s a certain gravity Chicago puts on a young man’s shoulders. Fallen Soldiers isn’t the only track where he talks about losing friends or growing numb to violence. On Give It All, he bleeds out a story of how he and his close friend Lil Greg, who was more like a brother, grew up together and how he’ll never be the same after seeing him in a coffin. “It was just me and you, shorty, now you gone, what I’m gon’ do shorty?” he says over the somber instrumental. He apologizes to the late Lil Greg for not being there for him at the time of his demise. The song’s potent observations place you directly into G Herbo’s silent memories of high school days to traveling to riding in foreign cars with his brother. On the album’s opener Every Night, G Herbo paints a picture of restless nights lying awake thinking about loss and recounting how many times he’s had to cry. Essentially, many tears overpowered the space for joy and there’s some people he wished were still here.

The rapper has previous albums like 2020’s PTSD and 2022’s Survivor’s Remorse that highlight the difference between the trauma and carrying on with the grief. Both projects scaffolded and led to the evolution of his storytelling in this album. It’s on Lil Herb that he has a real opportunity to reflect on what he’s been holding in for years as so many people do. As he cries, so do the songs. This new era of G Herbo is about hindsight and healing. On Lil Herb, from the cover art that portrays a childhood photograph to talking openly about therapy, mental health practices he never had access to as a kid, you can hear the storm passing him by finally. Equally important, he reveals how intentional he is about fatherhood. “Everything has to align with each other. There has to be an understanding where my career is always going to be a priority but my kids come first and until I’m married, my kids come before my relationship. I have to be an active, present father.” G Herbo shares in an interview with hosts Paul Pierce and Azar Farideh. This fact is evident in online clips of him with his children, most notably his son who has a very similar personality.

The famous saying never meet your heroes doesn’t apply to G Herbo as he finds himself sitting on couches beside them these days. From performing on stage with Philly rapper Meek Mill at the Swerv & Friends Birthday Bash, collaborating on Emergency with legendary Haitian artist Wyclef Jean, to receiving a stamp of approval from the iconic New York rapper Jada Kiss. These new heights are only possible for the Chicago native because he was blessed enough to make it out of his environment. In a VladTV interview, he reflects on the deaths of Chinx and Lil Snupe, noting that although neither was from Chicago, both lost their lives in their hometowns — a reminder of how fragile success can be without distance from the environments that shaped them. From being in the pain to reflecting on the pain to using it as a blueprint for others, G Herbo exhibits the power of transformation. G Herbo’s story isn’t just about what he survived. It’s about what he realizes now, at a point in his life where growth matters more than glory. His journey is becoming a testament: if you live long enough to tell the story, you owe it to someone coming after you.

Lil Herb feels like a full-circle moment — a conversation between his past and present selves. He’s not glamorizing the struggle, he’s making a statement and creating a sense of community. And by showing up for the youth, he also provides those same kids listening to his music the tangibility needed in order to dream past their perimeter. With his Swervin’ Through Stress foundation, G Herbo offers resources and support to communities shaped by the same pressures that raised him. He keeps the line of connection open with his fans through the Official G Herbo app. Users can find exclusive offers and early access to unreleased music. He consistently advocates that the only two outcomes of street life is and will always be death or jail. He doesn’t celebrate drilling or gun violence rather he acknowledges the blessing of being one of the few who made it out of his circumstances with a voice loud enough to echo back home.

The Humble Beast credits his manager, Mick James, for seeing something in him before he could see it in himself. He also acknowledges the team that has helped shape his career, from producers Don Cannon and Southside to collaborators who consistently show up for him, including fellow Chicago native Jeremih. He’s turned personal history into collective healing, proving that reflection is a responsibility to the future. Now able to afford the luxury of reflection, Herbo prioritizes time with family, physical training, and his overall health. “If I’m going to be my best self,” he says, “I gotta do what’s best for me.”

The world was introduced to Southern rap in the early 1990s, but no group would go on to define it quite like the Hot Boys. Around the same time, TRU (The Real Untouchables) — a group led by Percy “Master P” Miller alongside his brothers “C-Murder” and “Silkk the Shocker” — was making music, but limited promotion and radio play hindered their reach. In 1996, the Hot Boys shattered those barriers, emerging from the Southern projects of New Orleans to capture the world’s attention with a sound and style that deeply resonated with fans. From the chrome lettering on their album covers to the grills in their mouths, the rap supergroup celebrated a lifestyle that became universal. It was rare to see a four-member rap group in the late ’90s and early 2000s, but the Hot Boys changed the game with timeless music and videos that left a lasting impression on its audience. Proudly toting their camouflage bandanas, the swagger of riding on convertible hoods and four-wheelers — the Hot Boys provided more than visuals; they were the essence of Southern pride and identity. Women felt seen, and Southern men felt truly represented by this army of artists.

Although the group disbanded in 2001, recent reunions in full have thrilled fans, especially during their recent performance at the Lil Weezyana Fest joined by Big Tymers’ Mannie Fresh and Birdman. For those who remember the era, seeing the Hot Boys chemistry on stage again is a nostalgic rush, a reminder of the unique culture they helped create in hip-hop. And for the younger audience who are learning of the Hot Boys for the first time, appreciation can be found in the music as it is the foundation for which today’s Southern hip-hop stands on.

Cash Money Records label was founded by brothers Bryan “Birdman” Williams and Ronald “Slim” Williams. Launching in 1993 and signing the boys in 1997, the label had an ear for talent that set a new standard. The Hot Boys brought Southern slang, style, and attitude to center stage, influencing countless artists after them. For instance, veteran rapper Boosie Badazz and even YoungBoy Never Broke Again are both from Baton Rouge, Louisiana carrying on the same regional aesthetic drawn from the Southern rap scene. The Hot Boys’ footprints can be seen again with the heavy usage of the term “Hot Girl” which was a concept first popularized by the group, before its resurgence by today’s Megan Thee Stallion. Their “hot boy” image, complemented by their “hot girl” counterparts, introduced a romanticized Southern dynamic that was as influential as it was iconic. Additionally, the fact that each member found success on their own, solidifies the Hot Boys’ influence across multiple fronts.

One of the founding members B.G. (Christopher Dorsey), hailing from the Magnolia projects, has played a pivotal role in wide spreading New Orleans culture. In random conversation during a studio session, he coined the term “bling bling”, and in 1999 that same term evolved into his hit “Bling Bling” from Chopper City in the Ghetto. The song topped charts and landed on the Billboard 100. Beyond the song’s success, the term also became an entry in the Merriam Webster’s dictionary. “Bling-Bling: flashy jewelry worn especially as an indication of wealth or status.”

Turk (Tab Virgil Jr.) brought his own energy to the table with his 2001 solo debut Young and Thuggin’. Turk is also known for trading bars with Lil Wayne on the most notable verse on the ‘I Need a Hot Girl’ track. Meanwhile, Lil Wayne’s (Dwayne Carter Jr.) Carter series and individual mixtapes showcased his evolving lyricism, transforming him from the youngest Hot Boy into one of hip-hop’s enduring icons. Juvenile (Terius Gray), who experimented with bounce music in the late ’80s, gave the group its grounding in the genre. His 1998 album 400 Degreez (featuring hits like “Ha” and “Back That Azz Up”) solidified Southern rap’s place on the national stage. Producer Mannie Fresh once called Back That Azz Up “the greatest love song ever written,” capturing its massive cultural impact.

Nearly 20 years later, the Hot Boys’ influence is still felt across hip-hop, from their groundbreaking Southern sound to their signature style that has sustained cultural mobility. The movement continues as Juvenile tours with the 400 Degreez Band, not just representing his solo success — he’s carrying the legacy of a group that changed the music terrain forever. The Hot Boys came from the South and showed the world what they were made of, leaving a mark that remains unmistakable in today’s hip-hop culture.

In the fall of 2020, during the height of the pandemic, Power Book II: Ghost premiered on Starz, and viewers were hesitant. The vision of how they could possibly commit to a storyline based on one of the most hated characters in TV history was unclear. In the final episode of the original Power series, Tariq St. Patrick (Michael Rainey Jr.) killed his father, James “Ghost” St. Patrick (Omar Hardwick) and fans CANCELLED him. They forgave him for the death of his twin sister Raina (Donshea Hopkins) but the murder of Ghost was unredeemable. Reactions and hate tweets made it clear that the likability of the spinoff wouldn’t be the same as the original series. Long since then, the producers of Power have created an entire universe. “Power Book II: Ghost Season 4 breaks network record for all-time viewership high delivering an average of over 10.5 million viewers. Over 1.6 billion hours of “Power” Universe watched globally to date.” executive producer Mark Canton posted. Viewers have retracted their hesitancy in exchange for cheers for Tariq. Against his late father’s wishes, Tariq has remained determined to thrive in the game. While doing everything in his power to avoid his father’s shadow, Tariq turns out to be exactly like Ghost.

Check out the list below of the different ways our antihero reminded us of his father:

1. A battle between success and the streets:

In the pilot episode, Tariq St. Patrick runs across campus to class and then jets to court for his mother who is on trial. Every time this occurs, we can take a look back to the times that James St. Patrick buttoned up one of his prestige tailor-made suits to go check on his nightclub TRUTH or meet with an investor. Moments after, sometimes within the same scene, he too would turn to his street life duties. Ghost always made it clear that success was the only end game he was interested in. Although Tariq’s actions gave reason to believe that the achievement of success his father scolded him about was in his DNA, however, that didn’t stop him from moving weight on and off of Stansfield’s campus.

2. Jeopardizing the women who love him:

Following in his late father’s footsteps, Tariq treated the women who loved him as pawns on the chessboard. When he uses his charm to guilt Effie (Alix Lapri) into handing over a duffle bag of product for no profit at all, we realize Ghost’s shadow. Tariq then coerces Lauren (Paige Hurd) into withholding the truth from the feds in order to help him. Lauren knows the more logical thing to do is to cooperate with the feds and Effie knows she shouldn’t help Tariq but they do. In this department, Tariq may have taken it a step farther with two more women, Diana Tejada (LaToya Tonodeo) and Anya (Sydney Winbush). Similarly, Ghost got Angela, his mistress/ ex-girlfriend who was a federal prosecutor, to bend the truth for him and go against a system she believed in. Jeopardizing her career for Ghost, she cooperated. Ghost was able to rope his wife, Tasha St. Patrick (Naturi Naughton), into the game during her teenage years by asking her to put his gun in her purse.

3. Having a loyal best friend and loyal defense attorneys:

Tommy (Joseph Sikora), Ghost’s second-in-command, was unhinged and had a shoot first ask questions never mentality. Tariq’s second-in-command, Brayden (Gianni Paolo); slightly less unhinged was just as loyal to the protagonist as Tommy was. Another quality that they both had was getting addicted to the product and causing unnecessary messes. Aside from having a loyal best friend that could sometimes be a liability, Tariq got himself a loyal defense attorney, Davis MacLean (Method Man). It’s safe to assume he got that move from none other than his father since Ghost also had a loyal defense attorney in his corner, R.I.P Joe Proctor (Jerry Ferrara).

4. Making friends with the enemy:

Deals being made with the devil to get out of binds was a philosophy Ghost found himself practicing quite a bit. Think back to Rashad Tate (Larenz Tate), Felipe Lobos (Enrique Murciano), and more. Tariq does the same with different names in the very first season of Power Book II. He knows he can’t trust Monet (Mary J. Blige) nor the Tajeda family, yet that knowledge doesn’t stop him from working with them pretty much for the entire series. When Mecca (Daniel Sunjata) stepped into the picture, Tariq cut deals with him as well. There was no difference when it came to major antagonist Noma (Caroline Chikezie) or dirty cop Carter (Michael Ealy).

5. Body Count:

In his eulogy at his father’s funeral, Tariq said “And I’m the manifestation of what he could never be,”. Throughout the course of the four seasons, Tariq becomes a monstrous murderer. Think back to the pilot episode of Power, Ghost travels downstairs to the basement of his nightclub, rolls up his sleeves, shoots a guy to death, wipes off the residue and heads back upstairs to mingle with guests and investors. Or the time when Ghost killed his own friend Rolla and left him for dead on his kitchen floor. In Power Book II, Tariq leaves his Canonical Studies professor Jabari Reynolds out cold and without breath in the dark of the night just to attend class the next day discussing a novel from their class syllabus. The blood of Bash Kumal Stern, one of Mecca’s soldiers, and one of the Russian soldiers was also on Tariq’s hands.

6. Attempt to leave the game behind:

Tariq reaches a crossroad where he makes the unthinkable and unexpected decision. The whole reason behind him detesting and killing his father is that he wanted to learn the game. There was no way that he would ever think to leave it behind after all he’d lost and the trouble he went through. On the contrary, he does reach a point where he contemplates if it’s all worth it. In Season 3 episode 8, Tariq is seen working at Weston Holdings trying to get his life right. For a second, there’s hope until Brayden sabotages the opportunity and makes a donation to get the internship passed onto Tariq’s classmate, Brushondria. Subsequently, Tariq accepts fate: there is no leaving the game behind.

7. Family is a motivating factor:

Everything James “Ghost” St. Patrick did was for his family. He put them in the most elite schools, finest penthouse, high fashion clothing, and making sure his children didn’t know trouble or a life of crime. “…the biggest goddamn drug dealer in New York City” is what Tasha said when asked what she thought Ghost was going to be when they first met. Ghost always saw himself as more for his family’s sake. He knew the street life wouldn’t allow him the opportunity to be around to raise his kids and be an active father/husband. In Power Book II, Tariq’s main priority, purpose, and motivating factor is his mother and younger sister Yasmine. By any means necessary, he has to get his mother out of custody and if that means coming up with $500,000 for a lawyer, he’s going to. And he did. While trouble found him and he found trouble, his family was always at the epicenter of his decision making just like his late father.

It might not be until this final season of Power Book II: Ghost when viewers register just how much Tariq St. Patrick has truly personified his father. During a time when he desired nothing more than to be the polar opposite, he morphed into James St. Patrick Jr. The young teen we see in the beginning willing to do anything to get his family back becomes the young man who is yoked around in the game to no avail. Tariq has unwillingly kept his father’s spirit alive at every occasion. And to prove the ancient proverb “like father like son” true in the final scene of episode 10, Tariq confirms exactly what he is. “After today, you don’t even got to see my face ever again. The machine is ready to go as soon as I say go after that I’m basically a GHOST!”

When season one of All American premiered in the fall of 2018, its future impact on Black culture through family, sports, and education was unforeseen. The CW network has been home to earlier teen dramas, however, the cast of All American stood out with its highly effective formula and the magic of melanin, amongst other essential factors. At the 28th annual American Black Film Festival 2024 (ABFF) in Miami, the cast’s intimate panel discussion “Friday Night Vibes with All American and All American: Homecoming,” showcased how they’re still able to capture lightning in a bottle.

Currently in their sixth season, the storylines and characters that fans can connect with continue to develop. While All American focuses on the importance of family and the village that supports its lead character Spencer James (played by Daniel Ezra), the setting of the series has become a character of its own. The series invites viewers into what it’s like growing up not only in the hood but also in the valleys of California. Spencer James balances life in Crenshaw where he has to worry about his mom not being able to pay the light bill and Beverly Hills where the Baker family has multiple bathrooms to choose from. Fans get to experience the swinging pendulum in neighborhoods; one side with ringing gunshots while playing football and the other with revved engines of luxury cars. The setting is expanded beyond households and showcases what an inner city black school is like compared to a school with funding in the hills.

At ABFF, the All American cast expressed their gratitude and adoration of their leader and showrunner, Nkechi Carroll. The cast shared with the audience the amount of investment and encouragement that their showrunner has in all of her cast members. More specifically, Daniel Ezra shared “When I told Nkechi, I wanted to experiment with directing she told me I might as well do it here with this cast that supports me and whom I know well while I have the chance,” She created an opportunity for the star to grow beyond limits as an actor. As a result of Carroll believing in her cast, Ezra not only directed the noteworthy 100th episode but three others where he was allotted the opportunity to infuse his vision into the craft. Carroll’s presence could be felt as the cast members spoke highly of her and her ability to make this series key in shaping Black culture. “Other than 2017 series The Quad and A Different World from the 80s, you don’t often see storylines following black girls to HBCUs. Nkechi created that for me. I was in the background of All American and she brought me to the front of a spinoff,” stated Geffri Maya (played by Simone Hicks), lead of All American: Homecoming.

A byproduct stemmed from the original series, still utilizing some of the original cast while creating opportunities for new black actors and actresses. Although All American: Homecoming season three will be its culminating season, the college-set spinoff was still able to cover a perspective that isn’t always found on mainstream television. Simone Hicks brings to television sets: ambition, perseverance, and vulnerability thus giving fans a strong female protagonist to cheer for and find inspiration in. Additionally, in All American: Homecoming, tennis and dance are the preferred extracurricular activities, reforming the stereotype that all Black people play football and basketball. It informs the uninformed of the organizations, community engagement, leaders that are produced in a Historically Black College University.

During the six season run, the All-American cast continues to use football as the foundation for growth. Throughout the series football has united not only the teammates with their coaches, but family members, friends, business partners, and more. Football has guided characters like Olivia Baker (played by Samantha Logan) in discovering her need to pursue a career in journalism and now showing her author chops. Football has enticed Spencer James to start therapy and reconcile with his father. All American has used football to encourage growth in Jordan Baker (played by Michael Behling) as he battled with believing in himself and belonging. Football has been the reason why Coach Marcus (played by Cory Hardrict) in the spinoff, gets professional help in order to be an asset to his players. Football is what unites Billy Baker (played by Taye Diggs) and Spencer in the initial season which essentially onset a multidimensional relationship: father-son, mentor-mentee, brother-brother, etc for the series to stand on.

The chemistry that the cast of All American and All American: Homecoming portrayed on the ABFF stage is inimitable. This cast that plays a fictional family and friends on screen have become a genuine family when the cameras are no longer rolling. By following their distinct formula, the series compels viewers to journey with the team into their later college years and non-traditional careers. It explores multiple facets of life, including family, sports, and education, serving as a dynamic vessel that continually energizes its fans and enriches the culture.

On the evening of Juneteenth, Kendrick Lamar made history during his Pop Out: Ken & Friends show in Inglewood, Los Angeles. The Compton rapper took to the stage of the Kia Forum Arena, a performance of exceptional bipartisanship within his community. While the culture has been exposed to the rap beef between Kendrick Lamar and Drake via social media these last few months, Kendrick proved to the world that the music he raps is much bigger than a feud. Live streamed on Amazon Music (setting a new record), E-40 narrated the evening for those at home and the fans in the arena “…sometimes all it takes is one Domino to fall to get the momentum going, and the West Coast needed this reminder…”

At The Pop Out: Ken & Friends, styled in a red hoodie, diamond studded cross chain, jeans, and Nike Shox, Kendrick rose and released euphoric rhymes into his microphone; ironically beginning his setlist with his 2024 Euphoria. With skilled breath control the entire show, the MC performed his most notable tracks from his discography. Dating back to 2015’s Alright and even further back 2012’s Swimming Pools (Drank) and Money Trees, he brought out rapper Jay Rock who was featured on the track. Not only was Kendrick mixing the old with the new in his musical performance but also in his secondary performance, the component with his friends.

As the Compton rapper introduced more of his tracks 2024’s 6:16 in LA and 2014’s Collard Greens, he introduced Ab-Soul and Schoolboy Q. The more artists were introduced to the stage, the more the emphasis on community grew. The appearances spanned from the younger generation to the new. YG, Roddy Ricch, Dom Kennedy, a Black Hippy reunion, Tyler the Creator, Tommy the Clown (an LA legend), to name a few. When we reference legends of LA, more specifically, legends of music, Dr. Dre’s name is planted at the top of the list.

When Kendrick reached the anticipated pinnacle of his show, Dr. Dre joined him on stage and performed the 1996 California anthem that he was featured on. Dr. Dre performed California Love; a song that not only he rapped on with the late Tupac Shakur but it’s also the same song that inspired a young eight year old Kendrick Lamar to celebrate his California heritage by rapping. After Dr. Dre showed fans that well, he’s still Dre, he surprised the audience by whispering “I see dead people,”. Cheers echoed from the crowd as the beat to Kendrick’s Not Like Us dropped.

While the 2024 track was released in a response to one of Drake’s diss tracks, this one song is multifunctional. Hip-hop beefs have transcended the ages dating back to Tupac and the Notorious B.I.G. Another example would be the Nas versus Jay-Z era. However, in one night, on one of the culturally celebrated nights, Juneteenth, Kendrick Lamar demonstrated what hip-hop and our culture truly is. Through his curative craftsmanship, he demonstrated the power and strength that exist within black music and black artistry. This one track displayed how community building isn’t just about one side, but it’s about all sides.

As the DJ restarted Not Like Us from the top, Kendrick invited more friends onto the stage. Rapper Westside Boogie and NBA player Russell Westbrook joined him on stage, dapping each other up and falling into mean crip walks. The DJ replayed Not Like Us again and Kendrick brought out more guys; some sporting blue flags and some dressed in red, smiling, dancing, and having a good time as the beat continued. On one platform like never before, various sections of Los Angeles neighborhoods were unified. When the DJ replayed Not Like Us for the fourth time, it became a gospel that both the audience, the artist, and Lamar’s congregation sang at the top of their lungs. The title of the song that by definition expresses uniqueness, praised not only the West Coast but everyone from the culture. The message encourages every human being to pop out and show people who you are and what you stand for.

The Pop Out show solidified Kendrick as that one Domino that made the first move so that all the other pieces can follow suit. In Lamar’s final speech, he paid homage to the fallen rapper, Nipsey Hussle who was also LA proud and preached unity. During an emotional speech, Lamar stated “We’ve been f*cked up since Nipsey died, we’ve been f*cked up since Kobe died,” reminding the West Coast that this moment and this track isn’t just for them, it’s for those that are no longer with us as well.

Not Like Us’ replay value was at an all time high as DJ Tony restarted the track for the fifth time, the crowd only rapping the lyrics louder. Kids danced from both the stage and the audience. An epidemic Black Boy Joy flooded the Forum, vibrations to transfer from the arena and out to the world. The Pop Out prompted an unofficial watch party on X (Twitter). West Coast rappers like Vince Staples and Snoop Dogg took their thoughts and regrets of missing the show to their social media accounts. “In all honesty, if I knew Tommy The Clown was gonna be there I would’ve cancelled the tour…” Staples expressed. Snoop Dogg sincerely addressed Lamar in a video message “You are the King of the West. That’s the kind of sh*t kings do, we unite.”

The heart of Los Angeles pumped at the sight of an inclusive community building episode through hip-hop allowing Kendrick and all stakeholders to take their victory lap.

*The 2024 summer anthem Not Like Us is on Apple Music, Spotify, and all streaming platforms.

In the heart of a community where therapy remains taboo, Haitian South Florida filmmaker and director Fedleine Jerome, brings to the screen a cinematic prize to dissolve any stigmas. “The Therapist,” is a pillar of change sparking conversation regarding therapy and receiving help. Officially selected by The Pan African Film Festival 2024, ‘The Therapist’ premiered February 11 at the Cinemark Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Theater of Los Angeles and beyond all expectation illuminated this Black History Month. With a skillful lens, Jerome captures a scene of humanity’s depths, reminding us that behind every whispered confession lies a beating heart, flawed and vulnerable.

As the curtain of the short film rises, we are ushered into the sacred space of a therapy session, bearing witness to its raw complexities through a troubled black couple, while peering into the innermost thoughts of the therapist that advises them. Said couple, Brooke and Jason, find great challenge in hearing what each other has to say and drawing genuine comprehension of the other’s feelings. While the couple in the film navigate their first therapy session with Amanda the therapist, chaos and broken dialogue rises as silence takes a back seat to the effectiveness of therapy.

The therapist juggles the uneasiness of the session even though moments of harsh truths and solutions drift further and further away. The ails of therapy truly bloom in this short film demonstrating the non-linear pathway that the practice includes. “The Therapist” isn’t just a film — it’s a revolution of the mind, inviting us to ponder, to empathize, and ultimately, to embrace the fact that no one is above the other whether that be healed or the unhealed.

At the conclusion of the film, when secrets have been exposed and frustrations somersault, viewers learn that even the therapist needs therapy too. Through the lens of Jerome’s vision, the film exceeds its title and deciding to tell the story from the therapist’ point of view flawlessly gathered that truth. “Everybody needs help! The main significance of telling the story from the point of view of the therapist was to highlight & humanize the healer. Whether it’s the therapist or a pastor or whoever you look towards for healing, it’s very possible that the healer struggles too. They are regular people who endure challenges like everyone else and I wanted to put that on display.” Jerome shared in an interview with The Writing Refinery.

Films like those written and directed by Jerome are a catalyst for other essential films that our community and culture crave and need. While the short film entertains its viewers with drama and romance, it also serves a greater purpose and heralds evolution. ‘The Therapist’ is a glasshouse for the apprehensive, afraid, and uninitiated wherever therapy is concerned. Watching ‘The Therapist’ provides an opportunity to peel back the beauty people tend to highlight and underscore the value of beginning the journey to self-discovery.

Check out the link to ‘The Therapist’ trailer here -http://tinyurl.com/m3m8k5cx

Instagram @fedleinej

Website www.fefej.com

For inquiries and booking fedleinejerome@gmail.con

Q&A with writer and director, Fedleine Jerome

1. What or who inspired you to enter the realm of filmmaking?

Movies have always played in my head. I’d imagine a music video playing or hearing a song and I would create an entire world for that one song. I never thought it was a viable career and have always been in surrounding art environments. I never thought it was obtainable for me. However, when I had my daughter a specific question remained on repeat in my head: Did I accomplish everything I wanted? The answer was “no” .

2. What was your greatest challenge in writing or directing ‘The Therapist’?

The writing took one day. The real challenges while directing were getting actors to emote on cue. I’m so proud of Brooke’s character. As a director, I helped her break a limit. Funding this project was a another challenge. We had to self fund with no grants.

3. What advice would you give to aspiring writers and directors, especially the women?

Write from your heart! We don’t need anymore reboots. Where’s the fresh perspectives? Write from your heart, from an authentic place, from your experiences. As for the motivation, trust yourself. If God gave you a vision, see it through. So many setbacks happened but I believed in the project. Have conviction in your story to bring it all the way through to the end. Be prepared for the hurdles yet still finish.

4. Therapy for black men: thoughts?

I hope for a day when therapy is no longer stigmatized in our community. It’s not a weaker thing to go or to say I’m hurting. It’s okay to talk about your feelings & to seek help. We celebrate the people that say “I’m good, I’m good” but we shame the ones who asks for help. I hope this film encourages men to get together and create a form of emotional release (whatever that looks like for them). Men should start embracing it (therapy) more. Not embracing it is plaguing the relationships & the black family.