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French Montana

French Montana: Starting Sh*t on Twitter Doesn’t Make You Relevant

Slut-shaming from French Montana, who dates Kardashians, clearly enjoys oral sex, and parades around music videos with beautiful women is so played. I. Literally. Cannot.

A simple-minded, backhanded troll has catapulted French Montana from whatever studio where he was rapping about fame, fortune and bitches, back into the discussion of his relevancy to rap culture and race politics. Thank you.

Someone randomly tweeted:


And just like any butt-hurt misogynistic sub-rated rapper that he is, he responded in kind to the trivial nonsense (the tweet has since disappeared from Twitter):

French Montana tweetNormally, I would pass this off as an internet troll and a rude response of an ego-hurt celebrity, but then Montana attempted to qualify his disparaging comments, which mimic the lack of creativity in his music, with this:

And now, my strongly worded letter:

Dear French,

I can call you French, right? Since we’re like cousins. My dad is from Africa, too — Nigeria, to be exact. And my mom’s great-great-grandparent was kidnapped from somewhere on the Gold Coast. The details are fuzzy. But we share that vast diverse motherland, do we not? And as cousins, we share similar experiences. Our president may see you as an undercover terrorist, and me a drain on the welfare system. I do have two kids. So we’re on a first-name basis.

French, where we live or come from does not define our race. For example, I met a sporty Indian woman from Kenya, and all those white Africans on the south side. They are not de facto black folks. Do not use your pre-pubescent stint in Africa to qualify you as one of us. Birth plus 13 years in Africa does not a black make, any more than shouting “black lives matter” and claiming harassment outside of a NYC strip club does. I am sure that being in Morocco, with its unique identity in the Arab world, kept you removed from the unique experiences actual black people experience all over the globe.

Moving on, French — you fuck black women. Produced a black son from this fucking, and in that, nullified your credibility when you decided to insult the phenotypes that make us uniquely who we are. The growth pattern of our hair, as you insulted as “nappy,” cannot stand on its merit. There is no black person alive who does not hold a curl or kink to their natural tresses. It is one of the things that is our identity. One of the things that you can never replicate and create. And one of the things that the mother of your black child possessed when you bed her. So here stands you, an Arab man, saying “nigga” in your music, invading black culture, and you have an issue with Poetic Justice braids and nappy hair. If you knew anything about black people, you would know that Poetic Justice is a national fucking treasure and not to be fucked with. Ugh!

Hold on, My appropriation alarm is going off.

Slut-shaming from rappers who date Kardashians, clearly enjoy oral sex, and parade around music videos with beautiful women is so played. I. Literally. Cannot.

Before I release you with a well curated sign-off, let’s discuss yours: “Be humble” Surely an allusion to Kendrick Lamar’s track “Humble,” which is doing quite well in the rap community. There is something about that Kendrick, isn’t there? Everything he touches turns to gold. You’d be wise to align yourself with him. It must be disappointing that you release all this music and your name will never be in the same circles as a Kendrick, Chance the Rapper and J. Cole. Allow me to tell you why.

Related: Why Kendrick Lamar’s Take on “Natural” Women Doesn’t Matter

These men are authentically themselves, and it has proven to be better than any Bad Boy Label marketing technique. Kendrick raps about women wearing their skin and stretchmarks. J. Cole wants to “Fold Clothes” with us. Chance and his daughter stays in my timelines. These men have lyrics which may appear to problematic, but in their personal lives they understand that women buy records and support rappers who see us as companions rather than items. They have been victims of internet trolls, just like you were, but their responses show that they are something you are not: artists.

So, French, I challenge you henceforth to be genuine with your music and truthful in your tweets. Reject musical puppetry in all its forms. Because hell hath no fury like Black Twitter Scorned.

In real blackness,



Hi! I am Joy! My hair, glasses, and lippies change with the Michigan weather. I am passionate about educating black and brown youth, finishing all the food on my plate, and traveling to regions of the world which produce good fruit. My flavor is Igbo original flavor from Nigeria. I have two kids, one for each of my degrees, and a husband I got during a scam. You can follow my shade on Facebook: Joy Mohammed and on Instagram/ Twitter: @joyistheculture

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