tip on the tightrope

On Worldbuilding, Vulnerability, and Self Preservation

The opening lyrics of Janelle Monáe's anthem "Tightrope" perfectly capture the precarious position Black creatives often find themselves in:

Some people talk about you / Like they know all about you

This constant "tipping on the scene," a balancing act between vulnerability and self-preservation, is a recurring theme in Black femme expression.

Tightrope is a track from Janelle Monáe's debut studio album "The ArchAndroid," released in 2010. I was turning 19 that year, still deep in the throws of my tomboy era. I vividly remember catching the video on BET — it was like watching a time machine get on board a space ship. There was Monáe, sounding like the 70’s and dressed in their¹ signature vintage, black-and-white palette, navigating a surreal asylum-like setting called The Palace of Dogs.

According to the video’s opening credits, the asylum (which looked entirely too much like my middle school) had forbidden dancing for its “subversive effects on the residences and its tendency to lead to illegal magical practices”. Monáe’s dance moves throughout the video, reminiscent of James Brown's iconic footwork, symbolized the balancing act of navigating societal expectations while staying true to oneself.

I didn’t know all that when I heard it. I just knew Tightrope was a bop, and the visuals were making me feel things. (How could I not have figured out I was queer way earlier, considering my intense and instant crushes on both Janelle Monáe and Gabrielle Union?)

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Audre Lorde, in her seminal essay "Poetry Is Not a Luxury," eloquently captures the essence of this struggle. Lorde posits that within every woman, especially Black women, lies a "dark place,” ancient and deep, where creativity and power thrive amidst adversity and obscurity. This place isn't a physical location, but rather a metaphorical wellspring of creativity and power. It's a place where lived experiences, both joyous and painful, intertwine with ancestral memory and a deep understanding of the struggles we face. However, accessing this "dark place" requires vulnerability – a willingness to confront past trauma, grapple with societal expectations, and unearth emotions often buried deep within.

Sharing one's truth, especially for Black creatives, is a constant tightrope walk. On one hand, it's a necessary act of vulnerability, a way to tap into the "dark place" of creativity Lorde describes. On the other hand, tapping in carries the risk of exploitation in a culture that often seeks to commodify Black experiences. This can be doubly true when the Black experience in question is distinctly feminine. Yet, like Lorde suggests, it's from this very vulnerability that artists like Monáe craft their powerful messages.

As a writer, I find myself grappling with a similar tightrope walk. I write to process my feelings. I write to make myself real. But at the same time, sometimes I struggle with having my most vulnerable moments consumed by strangers.

Just a few weeks ago, I hit publish on a Substack piece titled "the intimacy of scrutiny." It was a raw collection of vignettes on (my) sexuality and gender. Even more recently, I wrote “swallowed up.” a piece about living with a chronic pain condition.

Audre Lorde writes of “dark places”, and I think I am Bane.

“Ah you think darkness is your ally? You merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, molded by it.”

―Bane

I have certainly lived through darkness. I have known pain, and loss. I have known the sharp knife in the gut that is betrayal. I have been through horrors that would curdle the oat milk in your overpriced, genocide-fueled latte. Despite this, I yearn to uplift, to weave narratives of joy and resilience for those who might see themselves reflected in my words.

I walk the line between comforting the wounds of my inner child and allowing the rage of my inner rebellious teen. Between craving the spotlight, and wanting to hide.

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Whether I'm high or low / I gotta tip on the tightrope.

But Janelle Monae and Audre Lorde have already given us the answer to keeping our balance: worldbuilding.

Both Lorde, with her groundbreaking work "Zami: A New Spelling of My Name" which pioneered the biomythography genre, and Monáe, with their sprawling "Metropolis" concept albums, have crafted entire worlds to show themselves to us.

It dawned on me, only after my friend Bethany Nicole talked about world-building as a hobby…perhaps I am a world-builder, too. -

Rose J. Percy

My favorite part of writing fiction is worldbuilding.

Worldbuilding is about fleshing out and making whole. When I am writing fiction (which I do, btw. just more quietly), my favorite part is building the world my story takes place in. I love figuring out the history and culture of the place I am building. I love filling in the details of language and technology, and flora and fauna. I love creating magic systems and making all that shit work together, and somehow tie into the story I’m trying to tell.

But we are worlds unto ourselves.

Would that we took as much care in crafting our existences as we take in crafting our essays. How much more would we love ourselves, if we focused on the details of our lives the way we focus on the details in our stories? What would the air taste like if we applied the principles of crafstmanship, and development, and sacredness and rhythm to our memories?

What if everything you’ve ever pulled from that dark place, was part of the new world you have yet to be?

Here, in our own work, and in the work of our foremothers and contemporaries, we can explore these complexities freely, without fear of exploitation or judgment. And within these safe spaces, our emotions transform. Pain becomes power, vulnerability becomes strength, and personal experiences become narratives that uplift and empower others who might find themselves in the worlds we build.

That is womanism.

I'm building my own world now, a haven for honest storytelling and self-discovery. It's an ongoing process, this act of fleshing out my own "epistemology," my own way of knowing the world. But as I build this space, a truth resonates: the most powerful sanctuaries are often the ones we create for ourselves and each other.

Just as long as you are knowin' / That I’m gonna bring it big / I'm never gonna take it / Lying down

1. Monae did not come out as nonbinary officially until 2022. Monae gave a feature with the LA Times in which they said “My pronouns are free-ass motherf— and they/them, her/she,”
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/books/story/2022-04-22/janelle-monae-nonbinary-pronouns-festival-of-books