We're Going to Need More Wine

by Gabrielle Union

Well, if we have hashtags about which teams people are on, black children staying out of the sun to avoid getting darker, and research studies that show the darker your skin, the greater your economic disadvantage, then we know colorism is a fact. We’re ready for the next step, and we can’t shrink from it just because it’s hard and uncomfortable.

“Love the skin you’re in.”

Because dark skin and Afrocentric features are not curses.

“You’re gonna have to be bigger, badder, better, just to be considered equal. You’re gonna have to do twice as much work and you’re not going to get any credit.”

“Things were getting worse faster than we could lower our standards.”

So I say to my patients, the friends going through a bad split, “You are Deanie.” We waste our nutty on people who don’t deserve it. Wait it out. He’s gonna end up dirty with chickens and #22, and you’re going to come out on top. Trust me on this one.

It’s the moment where you reclaim your sanity by going insane, the burst of clarity that comes with blind rage. So, let Angela have it for you, breathe in the smoke from the car, and move on with her out of the bushes. In retrospect, I can say to myself, “Are you kidding me? Why would you lose it over that freaking loser?” But I know it doesn’t ever feel like that in the moment. It feels reasonable to be in all black wearing a skully as you crouch in someone’s bushes. Absolutely fucking reasonable.

I’m making a lot of jokes to cheer you up, but take this seriously: If you are feeling humiliated and broken by the weight of pain over someone trifling, be Tina. Let yourself be forged in this fire. I, for one, started my adolescence wanting to be Molly Ringwald, but I spent my twenties wanting to be Tina Turner.

As for that craziness I felt, one day I woke up and I just didn’t feel it anymore. It left. It took time, but it left. It was as if the crazy was a gas bubble. You’re just really uncomfortable and the very core of your body, your stomach and chest, hurts. And then you fart or drop a deuce and the pain leaves you. I promise you, it gets better. You will fart your way to healing, I swear.

As you go about this, your best game is honesty. Tell Plan B exactly where your head is at. “Do you want to be here? Yea or nay?” I don’t even say, “This is a rebound.” Don’t even put that much weight on it. It’s just fun. Tell them it’s like hooking up with someone on vacation. Staycation sex.

the little old lady from Poltergeist comes out and says, “THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN!” You will hear, “You really need to work on yourself before you jump right into something else.” Oh, please, who’s got that kind of time? I got shit to do.

By the way, you can work on yourself and still have sex with someone at the same time. Or at least around the same time. Your pussy and brain don’t have to take turns. Besides, there’s a bunch of hours in the day. You can actually get to therapy and go on a date on the same day.

There are only two options for drinking your pain away after a breakup: red wine or tequila. Never mix, never worry.

Choose red wine if you’d like a warm hug and maybe a nap. A Malbec is that slightly bitter pal who rallies to say, “There, there, we’ll get through this.” A Cabernet is a model of efficiency, drinkable with a high alcohol content. With all of its varied flavors, Pinot is the one who’ll encourage you to keep a sense of mystery.

But if you want to skip all that and just get to the point where you fuck one of his friends? You go tequila all the way. I prescribe straight, no ...

I realized what I had been doing. When you’re in a place where you don’t know what makes you happy, it’s really easy to be an asshole. I put other people’s pain on my Happy List.

It’s a temporary cure for their invisibility.

The problem is, there’s always an audience for negativity.

Negativity and the exploitation of other people’s pain drive so much of our culture and conversation.

I know that, but I can still get caught up in my feelings.

“An empress does not concern herself with the antics of fools.” She smiled, so I smiled. That kindness, one empress to another, one woman to another, released me from the bullshit.

I would live a more authentic life.

They are the boys I adore. And people don’t value their very breath. It could be extinguished in one second, without thought, leaving a dog to run, dragging its leash the whole way home. A dog, safer from harm than black boy bodies.

It was hell, especially when you’re supposed to be marrying your best friend. Finally, three days before the wedding, he became Dwyane again. You know why? Because I signed. He was like Jon Snow, morphing from “Winter is coming” to “I’m in Miami, bitch!” He became ecstatic, throwing off all the layers of anxiety, and there I was underneath them, the woman he loved. He was freed. But I was resentful. Hell, I am still resentful. Which is why when I make him my #ManCrushMonday on Instagram, I say, “As per the prenup, my forever man crush Monday.” Does he regret playing hardball? Not in the least. He played to win.

Honestly, our wedding saved our marriage. I fell in love with him five different times that night. When I say I had the time of my life, I really mean every word.

THERE WAS A REASON. HOLLYWOOD IS EXTREMELY SEGREGATED.

Here’s the thing about the #OscarsSoWhite discussion.

Inviting one black actor to the party isn’t enough—sorry, folks. We all know you can create even better art by truly being inclusive, but you’re never going to get inclusive in your work if you can’t figure out how to get inclusive in your social life.

The films Deliver Us from Eva and Two Can Play That Game—these are hood classics, if not cult classics like Bring It On.

They are underappreciated, but they never lost money.

ones I call FUBU, For Us by Us—because I love them and I am grateful for them.

Now, a lot of white people have been like, “I have loved you since Bring It On.”

And so, you, my sweet, patient, understanding reader: Sookie made me promise to tell you not to act out of fear. I can only add that you can be scared to death, as I’ve been while sharing these stories with you, and do the thing you need to do anyway. Take care of yourself.