April 3, 2025, 10:00 a.m. ET
Originally published May 16th in Vol. 1, Issue 01 of The Richmond Seen
Contributing writer Ellis Sawyer delves into the complexities of culture, resistance, and commerce—asking the thought-provoking, sometimes uncomfortable questions so you don’t have to.
Neo-soul reverberated off stark white walls as I stepped into Black AF Market, hosted by For The Fem In You, a nonprofit creating safe spaces for women. Incense curled in the air, mingling with the scent of shea butter and vegan soul food. Tables overflowed with handcrafted jewelry and books by Baldwin and Butler. It was the final day of Black History Month and a national economic blackout—a day of protest through withholding spending.
But as I took in the celebration, a question lingered. Blackness has long been on display, curated, consumed—but for whom? Was this resistance, a reclamation of space, or were we simply repackaging culture into something consumable, even in protest?
Familiar faces greeted me with warmth and recognition as I moved through the room, pausing at vibrant tables overflowing with handcrafted jewelry, incense curling toward the ceiling, stacks of books showcasing Black literary giants from James Baldwin to Octatvia Butler and plates of vegan soul food sending whispers of home. DJ Ease, rocking a black beret, spun a mix of hip-hop, R&B, and neo-soul, grounding the night in rhythm and nostalgia. Near the stage, artist Yvonne Ferguson painted a striking portrait of Angela Davis, her face emerging from the canvas as if she were watching over it all.
The crowd was vibrant—HBCU gear, affirmations on T-shirts, natural hair in all its forms, each a declaration of presence.
I eventually stopped at the table of ERV, a visual artist. I asked him what it meant to be Black AF, he didn’t hesitate: “Authentic, unique, and unapologetic.” perhaps resisting wasn’t purely economic or political; perhaps it was also about unapologetically claiming space, even if imperfectly.
That sentiment reverberated in the performances of some of Richmond’s poetry elites—Khalil Houston, MoeFlowz, and Sunflower—who poured raw truth and themselves into the room. When Khalil invoked Nat Turner, the room stilled. It was as if we had all been waiting for someone to name the thing we were carrying but couldn’t say out loud. And of course, it was the poets who did.
But for all the external celebration—the vendors, the music, the affirmations—what moved me most was the Zen Room.
Tucked away in a corner, behind white walls, it was like stepping into something completely separate, a space where the outside world and its pressures momentarily ceased to exist. It was a retreat from performance, a sanctuary within the gathering, where attendees were met with tarot readings, a massage therapist, and a myriad of wellness practitioners. At one table, a practitioner offered information on ear acupuncture, a practice once used by the Black Panthers to ease stress and anxiety.
Inside the Zen Room, something different happened. The air shifted from performance to presence, from transaction to restoration. There was no need to prove our worth, no need to make our suffering legible to outsiders. Just healing, just care. In a world that demands Black productivity, joy itself is fugitive.
The energy of the night transformed again as a group of women of all ages gathered for a Flow Movement session. I watched through my camera lens as they swayed, waved flags, and moved in harmony. Here, in this moment, the transactional aspects of the event melted away. No buying, no selling, no consuming—just movement, unburdened. It wasn’t about performing resilience or proving struggle; it was simply joy, lived and felt in real time.It was play and movement without shame or judgement.
Resistance, it seemed, could also include care, restoration, and reclaiming space to heal from anxieties we carry daily without time to tend to.
I asked the leader of the movement practice why it was important to feature here, and she said simply: Joy is resistance, and we all deserve space to play.
Her words lingered. Was this not resistance too? The marketplace was vibrant, affirming—but could Blackness ever be liberated if still tied to consumption? Did economic redirection alone bring us closer to freedom, or was the deeper act happening underneath? In the quiet recognitions, the way we leaned into each other?
An excerpt of this article is available in the March/ April Issue of The Richmond Seen. Available here.
The true weight of resistance and celebration wasn’t in the transactions—it was in the history shared, the energy exchanged, the moments of learning, the silent understanding. That was the real power
The love for the culture and history was visible. It was in the Angela Davis portrait, in a collage of Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, and Maya Angelou, in the book vendor who only sold Black authors. It was in the simple nods exchanged between strangers passing by, a silent affirmation: I see you.
Black AF was a space of thriving and support, a powerful reminder of what we can create together. But how do we ensure that this energy sustains us beyond curated moments? Buying Black is powerful, but true liberation requires something deeper—something that isn’t just transactional, but transformational.
I wondered how the event’s organizers viewed this moment—was Black AF meant to be just a marketplace, or was it the beginning of something more? So I asked Andrea, the event’s co-founder, what Black AF was about and what it meant to her.
“Why aren’t we celebrating with each other year-round? Especially now, with DEI under attack, we need to reroute our dollars here. Black AF means Black and Free, Black and Fabulous, Black and Fantastic. It’s everything we embody—greatness and excellence.”
Black AF was not just an event—it was an offering. A beautifully curated space, crafted with intention, love, and an undeniable commitment to Black joy. It was a night that reminded us what it feels like to be surrounded by our own, to move freely, to create without restriction, and to see ourselves reflected back with pride.
The care in its organization was evident in every detail, from the vendors selected to the music played, from the art being created in real time to the sanctuary of the Zen Room. This was a space built with us in mind.
It was a beginning. A foundation being laid. A first stroke on a collective mural that will only grow richer with time. But as we celebrate, we must also dream beyond these moments. What does it look like to sustain this energy beyond curated spaces? How do we ensure our collective power isn’t only visible in February or during economic blackouts, but embedded in the daily fabric of our communities?
Maybe, just maybe, resistance during an Economic Blackout isn’t just about withholding and redirecting—but also stepping outside the system to come together. To learn from one another. To support each other. To celebrate the way we want to, and share ourselves unapologetically. To live self-care as collective care. To play. To finally say what’s been left unsaid. To imagine new possibilities together. To be Black AF.
Black AF was a necessary space, but we deserve even more. Not just moments of celebration, but spaces that sustain us year-round, spaces that do not rely on visibility, validation, or the white gaze to affirm our worth. Baldwin told us that white approval is a fickle thing. Fred Moten tells us that real freedom lies in refusal—the refusal to be defined, to be contained, to be made legible for consumption.
We need spaces where we are free not just to celebrate, but to dream, to organize, to build, to be. Black AF was a beginning. Now we must ask: What comes next?
And that’s why I’m glad Black AF will be returning monthly—not as a one-time moment, but as a growing movement. We need these spaces, but we also need ones that don’t cater to the white gaze, ones that allow us to imagine without constraint. I am excited to see how it develops and incorporates other organizers, leaders, and organizations and develop into something truly powerful.
Photos by Ellis Sawyer / The Richmond Seen
Who Is The Richmond Seen.
The Richmond Seen is an independent newspaper publication, and digital news outlet, highlighting the Richmond scene – and unseen. Covering Hip Hop, Eats and Everything in between. Our goal is to continue to preserve & protect the Culture in which we are part of, and the Culture in which we see.
