I’m not a sports girl (Though I’m definitely cosplaying one until OKC wins the NBA finals. OKLAHOMA STAND UP!). I am, however, a culture girl, and Angel Reese is at the center of a years-long cultural firestorm that reveals just how little has changed for Black women in the public eye.

The latest incident? A hard foul from Caitlin Clark during a heated WNBA matchup. Both women brushed it off as a “basketball play.” But online, things unraveled fast — Reese was booed, dragged, and reportedly subjected to racial abuse. The WNBA is investigating, but for those of us paying attention, the dynamics are clear.

The media frenzy around Angel Reese has always had a whiff of punishment: for using her natural style and charisma to forge a persona that reaches far beyond Basketball. And Caitlin Clark, despite doing many of the same things on the court, rarely gets the same vitriol.

I appreciated that the Guardian article pointed to the broader dynamics at play. And I appreciated the study that backed it up even more. Because when you spend any time in these discourse trenches, it’s easy to feel gaslit. It helps to have the receipts.

That double standard isn’t just anecdotal. A 2025 study by researchers at Rice University and the University of Illinois Chicago analyzed 779,000 tweets comparing public reactions to the same “you can’t see me” gesture both players made during the 2023 NCAA tournament. (SN: When I read the paper earlier this week, it was open access. It’s since been restricted. I have to wonder if that’s because of people misusing or misrepresenting the work.)

Researchers found that reactions to Reese overwhelmingly included racism, misogyny, and commentary on her class status. In contrast, Clark’s behavior was framed as competitive and admirable. They coded tweets, fed them into a machine learning model called RoBERTa, and found that public sentiment broke down along racial and gendered lines. No surprises. Just receipts.

Clark was celebrated. Reese was called “classless,” a “hoodrat,” “trashy.” It’s textbook cultural racism where Black expression is pathologized and white expression is celebrated.

This is why “visibility” is never neutral. Reese and Clark are drawing record attention to the WNBA — ticket sales, engagement, sponsorships — but that visibility brings scrutiny, racialized abuse, and sexist commentary. And when you add gambling to the mix (which the league is increasingly courting), the stakes get higher, and the threats get real.

That context matters when people like RG3 (Robert Griffin III) accuse Reese of “overreacting.” Thankfully, Ryan Clark clapped back. On The Pivot podcast, he called out RG3’s long history of criticizing Black women and cozying up to whiteness. Was it a little dramatic? Sure. But when Black women are under attack, I’ll take dramatic over silence any day.

Angel Reese is being judged by a completely different set of standards. And every time someone insists that it “isn’t about race,” they reveal how deeply embedded racial framing is in our discourse. You can’t claim moral superiority while repeating racist talking points. You can’t weaponize class, tone (imagine the anti-PC/anti-cancel culture brigade whining about tone), and appearance against Black women and pretend it’s neutral.

Of course this week Dave Portnoy stepped back into the chat right on time to loudly proclaim that his disdain for Reese has “nothing to do with race.”

Reese herself has shown grace in the face of this mess. But we shouldn’t expect her to carry it alone. The real concern isn’t just the hate she receives—it’s what that hate reveals. It’s about who gets to be seen as human, and who gets cast as a threat. Who gets protected. Who gets punished.

And what’s wild is that this could all be good for the WNBA. Drama, rivalries, tension — it draws attention. And attention draws money. But attention without care, without protection, without a willingness to name plain realities? That’s exploitation.

Angel Reese isn’t perfect. Nobody is. But she’s magnetic, self-possessed and completely deserving of the dignity typically granted doggedly competitive elite athletes.

Visibility always comes with a cost. The question is: who’s paying the price?

Hey y’all,

Today I’m digging into the sudden mainstream interest in Hasan Piker—Twitch streamer, political commentator, and, apparently, the internet’s best hope for pulling young men back from the clutches of the far right.

If that sounds dramatic, it’s because it is.

Since the 2024 election, Democratic-aligned strategists and media have been scrambling to understand one thing: why did young men swing so hard toward Donald Trump? In 2020, Trump lost young men by 15 points. In 2024, he won them by 14. That’s a nearly 30-point seismic shift.

Now, suddenly, Hasan is everywhere. He’s been profiled in The New York Times, featured in The New Yorker, collaborating with FD Signifier. He’s tall. He’s hot (I’m sorry! We have to be honest about it!). He’s leftist. And he’s articulating his politics in a language the boys understand. The question is: does it work?

Here’s what I want to explore: Hasan’s moment is about more than just his charisma. It’s about the deep anxiety that the Democratic Party’s messaging and their messengers are no longer culturally legible to young people, especially young men.

The media ecosystem has been in search of a "bro whisperer" who isn’t so…Roganesque. They need someone who can meet disaffected young men where they are, validate their feelings, and then redirect that resentment away from Right Wing’s convenient scapegoats like immigrants or trans kids and toward the actual systems making their lives hard.

That’s what Hasan tries to do. His message is basically: be mad if you want, but your undocumented neighbor is not the reason your life sucks.

I think that’s a sound rhetorical strategy. But I still have questions about who’s actually watching him. Is his audience full of young men? Or are we projecting because he presents as masculine, and we’re desperate? Because if you look at his peers like Adin Ross, the Paul brothers, and the Nelk Boys, their audiences are easily discernible as male. I’d bet (and I have nothing to back this up) Hasan’s is more balanced, if not female-leaning.

Even if he is reaching men, what then? Do we really think one good-looking Twitch streamer is going to reverse a generational shift in gendered political identification?

Let’s zoom out.

Kimberly Nicole Foster's Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

The left’s messaging problem is really a relationship problem. Voters who generally support the Democratic Party simply didn’t show up in 2024 like they did in 2020. And that wasn’t just about the candidates. It was about Gaza. About the party’s reputation. About voters not feeling seen or prioritized. You can’t solve that with one viral man in a muscle tank. Or even ten of them.

You have to tend to those relationships in the off-season. Raise consciousness, like the feminists say. Cultivate trust between cycles. That’s long-term work. And yes, maybe Hasan can be part of that, but he’s not the whole plan.

We also need to talk about how these conversations get centered on young white men again and again. When the PRRI post-election survey came out, it wasn’t just young men who abandoned Democrats. It was young people overall. And a huge number or Black voters didn’t show up at all. That’s not just a bro problem.

Now, I’m not saying we should ignore alienated men. I’ve said before: they are a tinderbox. But naming their pain doesn’t mean we have to center it. Can we acknowledge their identity crisis without reinstating patriarchy by default? Can we be honest about how patriarchy hurts them and still maintain a broader feminist lens?

It’s tricky. Especially when the right is out here saying, “Yes, you should be angry—and it’s because of immigrants, or a trans girl playing soccer.” And what’s the left’s answer? “Be joyful.” That doesn’t land when people are broke, lonely, and uncertain.

So, sure, let’s keep experimenting with voices like Hasan’s. Let’s let him be one of many hands on deck. But we have to admit: the problem is bigger than messaging. It’s structural. And it’s spiritual (people are lonely and lost). And if we’re serious about fixing it, we’re going to need more than a six-foot-four Twitch star with a square jaw and a copy of The Communist Manifesto on his nightstand.

💜Kim

W

Hey y’all,

It’s been a few days since the first Monday in May, and you know what that means: it’s Met Gala time. The midnight blue carpet is rolled up, the press photos are in, and the takes (wipes brow) have been flying. So now that I’ve sat with it, watched the livestream, read the commentary, and revisited the standout looks, I have something to say.

This year’s theme celebrated Black dandyism and was inspired by Monica L. Miller’s book Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, which explores the history and style politics of Black men in Western fashion. The theme was timely, relevant, and filled with potential, especially in a moment where visibility, racial identity, and creativity are all under political siege. This should have been a visual feast. But for me, the night came and went without any truly unforgettable fashion moments.

Now don’t get me wrong. There were gorgeous looks. There was excellent tailoring, lavish detail, nods to masculine sartorial excellence, and more than a few dramatic trains. But where was the whimsy? Where was the irreverence? The surprise? The “we’ll be talking about this for years” moment? Conspicuously and saddeningly absent.

.

Let me be clear: I love fashion. I’m not a fashion girl per se, but I love aesthetics, I love history, I love what people communicate through clothing. And part of what makes the Met Gala special—what makes it mass culture event for the extremely online—is the idea that fashion can be a form of art. That it can provoke, inspire, delight. This year felt a little boxed-in. A little too safe. A little too literal.

And I think that’s because this moment, thanks to Donald Trump and Co., is political. We are living through a cultural backlash that has made every form of visibility—especially Black visibility—feel defiant. That weight is heavy. And that weight, I believe, showed up on the carpet. What could have been opulent became cautious. What should’ve been playful felt burdened.

That’s not to say there weren’t bright spots. I loved Teyana Taylor’s look, created in collaboration with the legendary Ruth E. Carter. The more I see Janelle Monáe in Thom Browne x Paul Tazewell, the more I like it. The look exemplified the playfulness I wish I’d seen more of, although I’d love to see her try something besides Thom Browne next time.

The legendary Diana Ross stunned me because she’s Diana freaking Ross but also because she brought scale, drama, and legacy with her embroidered cape. I also liked Cardi in Burberry, Coco Jones in Manish Malhorta, and Lauryn Hill’s structural yellow Stella McCartney moment.

But y’all know how I measure impact. The 2018 Heavenly Bodies Met was PEAK. I crave Rihanna in China: Through the Looking Glass levels of drama or Tyla’s sand sculpture moment. I want Gaga's camp reveal or Zendaya’s Cinderella transformation. I want SPECTACLE, and I didn’t get that this year.

I did appreciate the context Pharrell brought by shouting out working-class Black men and challenging the idea that dandyism belongs to the elite. That part? Loved it. Because good taste isn’t about money. It’s about eye. It’s about curation. It’s about culture. And Black folks have been curating beauty out of oppression for centuries. That’s what Sunday Best is about. That’s what this theme could’ve celebrated more boldly.

I also want to talk about the fake outrage. Lisa did not have Rosa Parks embroidered on her panties. That discourse was not real. And I’m not spending time being mad at white women for being boring. Sydney Sweeney’s off-theme look? Hailey Bieber’s tuxedo mini dress? It’s not an attack on Black imagination. It’s just boring rich white women being boring rich white women. Let’s all calm down.

Overall, I think fear stifled expression. Add this to the long list of things Donald Trump ruined. I think the weight of representation held some people back. And I think that in our current political climate, that’s understandable, but I was still a bit disappointed.

We’ll try again next year.

Until then, I’ll keep rooting for the girls (gender neutral) who bring surprise, drama, and beauty to these events. And I’ll keep honoring the scholars, stylists, and visionaries who make the celebration of Black sartorial excellence possible.

💜 Kim

Hey friends!

The other day, one of y'all asked me a question that I'm finally ready to answer: Kim, don’t you feel like you’re cheating when you use ChatGPT?

And you know what? I don’t. While it's a fair question that we should consider (Especially if you’re still in school! Don’t get caught up!), I’m not sure if that’s the most pressing question we’re currently facing in modern AI-enabled times.

The question that keeps me up at night—is: what happens to our desire to think deeply when we don’t have to do it anymore and there's relatively little incentive for it?

The normalization of AI chatbots is here. Not coming, not on the horizon—here. These tools will be built into every app, every workflow, every classroom, every workplace. There will be pressure to optimize, to move faster, to deliver more. You’ll be expected to use AI, and use it well.

As a Neurodivergent Girlie, I love a tool that helps lighten the load. Cal Newport introduced me to the idea of rhetorical load-sharing, and I’m an absolutely in favor of that.

I’ll happily let a chatbot help me with grunt work so I can stay focused on the most meaningful, highest productivity stuff. But the line between mindless and critical becomes increasingly blurry as the models improve.

Every time I got to the ChatGPT app, I have to ask: Am I doing the hard thinking, or am I outsourcing the part of my brain that I used to take so much pride in?

In the podcast I referenced my beloved Franklin Bookman electronic thesaurus dictionary. Back then, finding the perfect word was a joyful labor. Now, it’s a prompt away.

Like I said the last time I discussed this, friction is where the magic happens. Friction is where ideas deepen, skills sharpen, and clarity emerges.

So no, I don’t think using AI is cheating. But I do think overrelying on these tools will make us mentally lazy if we’re not careful. I still want to struggle just a little bit.

I’m not anti-AI. I’m anti-cognitive decline. I’m anti-sparklessness. I’m pro-effort. I’m pro-joy-in-the-struggle. And I’ll always be pro-people who do the work because y’all know I stan excellence.

So let’s use the tools. But let’s not let the tools use us.

💜Kim

do the reading. hoodie, do the reading. t-shirt, DO THE READING STICKER SHEET (discount applied at checkout)

Hey y'all,

Recently, reports surfaced that Trump allies are tossing out ideas like a $5,000 baby bonus for new mothers, quotas for married applicants in prestigious programs like Fulbright, and even menstrual cycle tracking initiatives to "help" women conceive. (Because nothing says freedom like the government monitoring your uterus.)

Let me be clear: there is no amount of one-time cash, no quota system, no empty appeals to "family values" that can paper over the deeper problems steering American women away from motherhood. And that's not just about vibes or personal preferences.

It's about reality. It's about the soul-crushing math of an economy that's rigged, the brutal realities of parenting in an underfunded, overworked society, and a profound collapse in optimism about the future.

The Trump team's nostalgia for the 1950s isn't subtle. They're selling a fantasy: that if you can just get white American men back into stable, high-paying manufacturing jobs, they'll reclaim their castles and the women will stay home barefoot and pregnant.

But even the first baby boom wasn’t magic. It wasn’t just a cultural retreat from women in the workforce. It was government investment. It was the GI Bill offering free college and home loans. It was economic policies actively building the American middle class. It was rewarding veterans — especially white ones — with opportunity, not gaslighting them about personal responsibility while slashing social supports.

Today, the idea seems to be to wave $5,000 at women and hope they forget that childcare costs are astronomical, healthcare is a joke, and maternity mortality rates are climbing every year. Meanwhile, the same politicians pushing the baby bonus are hacking away at the very institutions that might actually make family life sustainable: healthcare, education, labor protections, and scientific research.

And underneath it all, there's a broader, heavier truth weighing on people's choices. Everywhere you look, people are saying the quiet part out loud: this economy is a rigged, winner-take-all game. And guess what? They're not wrong. We’re living through a period where the return on capital is higher than the growth of the economy itself. Thomas Piketty taught us that. The rich aren't getting richer because they work harder. They're getting richer because they’re sitting atop asset bubbles, inheritance flows, and financial structures designed to protect and multiply their wealth.

Social media only magnifies the hopelessness. You’re reminded not just that you’re locked out, but that your future children would be too. That’s why even ambitious, well-paid women increasingly say, “No thanks.” Why bring children into a system you already know is broken beyond repair?

And that's assuming you have the money to begin with. Raising kids today isn’t just expensive. It’s isolating. It’s precarious. It’s terrifying. It’s not enough to have a good job anymore. You need astronomical savings for daycare, safe and affordable healthcare, job flexibility your employer probably doesn't offer, and the resilience to swallow the fact that having a child can tank your lifetime earnings by 20–30%.

Kimberly Nicole Foster's Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

That’s the real deterrent. Not "selfishness." Not feminism. Not TikTok trends. Reality.

Which is why throwing out a $5,000 baby bonus and calling it a day is both unserious and insulting. If politicians truly cared about birth rates, they would be talking about massive investments in healthcare, childcare, housing, and labor protections. They’d be attacking wealth inequality at the root, not offering trickle-down scraps. They’d be trying to restore some faith that the next generation could actually have it better than the one before.

But they won't. They don't want to. Investing in regular people doesn't fit into the Republican playbook of deregulation, tax cuts for billionaires, and cratering public services.

So here we are: stuck between despair and disgust, wondering why anybody still thinks women can be guilted or bribed into motherhood in a collapsing society.

$5,000? Girl, be serious.

💜Kim

✨ Links & Resources:

* These Truths: A History of the United States by Jill Lepore

* The Puzzle of Falling U.S. Birth Rates Since the Great Recession by Kearney, Levine, and Pardue (Journal of Economic Perspectives, Winter 2022)

* The Two-Parent Privilege: How Americans Stopped Getting Married and Started Falling Behind by Melissa Kearney (2023)

Happy Monday, y’all!

Maybe we need to rethink popular use of the term “historic” because every time I see the much-maligned all-women Blue Origin space flight referred to as that, I want to scream.

Thanks for reading Kimberly Nicole Foster's Newsletter! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Shouldn’t a “historic” event mean something to someone other than those who stand to profit from it?

In this episode, I break down the widespread backlash to Katy Perry and friends’ space ride and why it marks a turning point in how we engage with celebrity feminism. The vibe has shifted. And it’s not just fatigue. It’s disillusionment.

I’m very annoyed that I have to say this, but my criticism isn’t about hating rich women or denying anyone pleasure. We should take seriously how flimsy politics have become. Perhaps there was a time for the fluffy stuff, but the time has passed. Listen as I unpack how we got here, why people are mad, and why joy can’t be the only political project.

💜Kim

Hey y’all!

Love, real love, the hand-holding, eye-gazing, soul-edifying kind, has become a luxury good.

Today’s podcast is my first crack at contending with that. After a wondrous spring weekend spent bopping around Dallas, basking in the glow of shared affection, I logged onto social media to see Black women arguing about the merits of spending almost a quarter of the median US worker’s annual income on a dating coach.

Source: Shirley Vernae @ TikTok

Personally, I don’t see the problem, but I understand the anxiety. People (gender non-specific) are scared that romantic love is the new Chanel bag. And not even the classic flap. We’re talking seasonal, rare-textile, two-years-on-a-waitlist Chanel. And honestly? That fear isn’t irrational.

In a society where normies hire $10K dating coaches, status, class, and cultural fit silently make matches before feelings even get a chance to develop.

When “I just want to be adored” somehow sounds like a monumental ask, the old rules of courtship have collapsed. That’s not a completely bad thing. The problem is what’s replaced them.

Listen as I reflect on the slow death of romantic love inspired by Sabrina Strings’ hauntingly accurate diagnosis of media-fueled misogyny and the passing of old-school men who didn’t need to perform dominance to feel powerful. I talk about character, about culture fit, about how we ended up here, and why wanting to be cherished shouldn’t feel like a gamble.

To be clear, I don’t agree with Strings’ assessment. Romantic love isn’t dead, but it is cordoned off behind a paywall.

If you’ve ever felt like modern romance is a high-stakes game only the rich, beautiful, or exceptionally lucky get to play, I kinda think you’re right.

That’s it for now. But before I go, let me just say that wanting romance doesn’t make you delulu. It makes you alive. I’ve said this before, but I’ll reiterate a mea culpa.

Before I understood what a good romantic partner can bring to your life, I was extremely derisive (frankly, I still judge the thirstiest among us), but I completely understand the desire for a steady, non-raggedy love story.

Until next time,💜Kim

📚Reading Material

* The End of Love: Racism, Sexism, and the Death of Romance

⏳ Timestamps from the Episode ⏳

For when you want to skip straight to the good part.

0:00 — Weekend recap and soft weather bliss2:30 — Slowing down and savoring the little things5:00 — Spring is for lovers: thoughts on romance and renewal8:38 — What magnetism really has to do with marriage9:48 — The importance of “butterflies” 12:00 — The need to be adored: a dating non-negotiable16:59 — Gender wars, misogyny, and men performing dominance19:12 — What economic inequality has to do with feeling unloved20:00 — Sabrina Strings and the theory that romantic love is ending22:40 — Chanel bag energy: romantic love as a luxury good

💬 What do y’all think?

Does it feel like romantic love is a luxury now? Like something only certain people get to have? I’m really curious if you’ve felt that shift in your own life or are you like, “Nah girl, love is still out here if you want it.” Let me know in the comments. I wanna hear how y’all are feeling about all this.

Hey y’all,

I've spent years windmilling in comment sections defending Taylor Swift against what I’m dubbing "Taylor Derangement Syndrome" (TDS), the knee-jerk refusal to acknowledge Swift’s excellence as a songwriter, strategist, and marketer. To be clear: I'm not a Swift stan.

In fact, I generally hate Swift stans, but there's something remarkable in Swift's trajectory that deserves serious cultural analysis beyond the simplistic "overrated white girl" dismissals.

This is my attempt reckon with her legacy while working my way through Kevin Evers’ There's Nothing Like This: The Strategic Genius of Taylor Swift

You don't have to love Taylor Swift. You don't even have to like her. But understanding her cultural significance requires looking beyond personal taste to recognize a remarkable feat of artistic determination, strategic brilliance, and cultural transformation that has reshaped how we think about pop girl art and expression.

💜Kim

Hey y’all!

We’ve been sold a romantic idea that becoming extremely rich gives you freedom—that with enough money, you can finally say “f*** you” to the systems that restrain the masses. But watching people like Mark Zuckerberg (estimated net worth $207B) move through the world, pleading their case in pursuit of the goodwill of wannabe authoritarians, tells a different story.

These tech billionaires with so-called “f*** you money” are not bold. They are reactionary. They are obsequious. And they are laser-focused on protecting their empires, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

I just finished Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism, a memoir by Sarah Wynn-Williams, who used to work at Facebook as Director of Global Public Policy. What she describes is not surprising, but it is horrifying. Facebook didn’t stumble into complicity with repressive regimes or mass violence. They walked straight into it, with eyes wide open, for profit.

I don’t believe Zuckerberg had a grand plan to place himself at the center of an ideological maelstrom. He doesn’t have political beliefs in any meaningful sense. His only consistent value is the importance of protecting his image as a tech visionary. That’s how you end up collaborating with The Chinese Communist Party one day and Donald Trump the next. If it helps the stock, it’s on the table.

The Facebook that used to connect eager adolescents is long gone. It’s now a weaponized surveillance machine optimized to mine your data, manipulate your emotions, and monetize your insecurities. They have metrics for suffering, and they know exactly how much of it they are willing to allow.

We are now in the lawless Meta era. The rollback of Instagram and Facebook content moderation is not about principle; it’s about profit. The company is willing to tolerate what it would’ve deemed hate speech just a few short months ago in exchange for engagement. Everything is on the table as long as it will keep the MAUs up. No company has profited more from the decline in public trust across areas ranging from elections to fundamental facts.

Facebook is free to the public, but the world has paid an inestimable toll. We paid with our minds—our attention, our cognition, our mental health, our ability to focus. The architects of these systems send their own kids to schools that ban the very technology they built. That tells you everything.

We are entering the next phase now, with AI accelerating the downward spiral of trust and cognition. Now, a new crop of people selling these tools swear they’re value-neutral. But we’ve seen this movie before. They will call it democratization. They will call it connection. But it is always about power.

And just like every other revolution in tech and industry, the biggest losers will be the people already pushed to the margins. Women, Black folks, queer folks, immigrants. The ones who cannot afford to be naive.

Yes, I’m livid. What makes me angriest is that they knew. They knew what it would cost. They knew what it would break. And they did it anyway.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

💜Kim

Extra Credit: A Silicon Valley School That Doesn’t Compute

Kimberly Nicole Foster's Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Hey y’all,

In today’s podcast, I’m thinking through the cultural shift that’s happening right before our eyes: generative AI has crossed the Rubicon, and I don’t think most of us can fully imagine how dramatically it will shape how we make, consume, and value art.

Clearly, I’m not anti-technology. I’m not even anti–ChatGPT (or Gemini or Perplexity). I’ve used large language models for years.

What I am is suspicious. Suspicious of hype, suspicious of claims about democratization (that’s always been fake, but we’ll get to that later), and I’m deeply worried about what gets lost when we trade friction for convenience in every single area of existence.

Listen to me as I prattle on about the Studio Ghibli-style photo trend that took over social media, what it means when “normies” start using LLMs daily, and why I think this moment marks a real turning point.

All of these ideas led me to a harder question: What if most people never cared about art as much as artists and snobs thought they did?

Despite what Sam A. claims, we’re not in a golden age of creativity. We’re at the beginning of an aesthetic and intellectual flattening?

There’s a lot in here. Let’s get into it.

P.S. Here’s the Instagram Reel I referenced.

Love Always💜,

Kim