Of Individual and Corporate Blaccents

"Say Jack! Put it on the black side!

This quote comes from a now elusive-to-me TikTok clip from the Kev On Stage podcast, #HeresTheThing. With host That Chick Angel, the two go back-and-forth mocking what a podcast or radio ad sounds like when companies like McDonald’s market to African American audiences. (In the unfortunate abyss that is the cribbing era where folks don’t cite their sources, I’m not sure what episode the clip is from.) Kev’s content, often reshared by others, appears regularly on my For-You Page.

The co-hosts engage in a playful banter, exaggerating what many would recognize as 1970s Blaxploitation-era vernacular. Beyond growing up in a Black American family, if you have enough salt-and-pepper in your hairline to recall that era, or if you’ve seen such films or other media from the period, then you know African American Vernacular English is like a wave. Always present in some form, always changing region to region and month to month, created of elements that aren’t ever really gone.

Why, Kev asks, do companies feel like they have to speak to Black audiences in such a ridiculous manner? Even if the voiceover actor sounds culturally familiar, the cadence of the language simply isn’t the same. You know how you can sense when a social media creator is trying to make branded/bought content feel natural and serendipitous? It’s kind of insulting, right? Just say the beauty company sent you a year’s supply of gloss and smack your lips or whatever! Do not woo me! Similarly, I’ve never understood why ad agencies and brands don’t realize their target market doesn’t suddenly perk up their ears or eyes as if to say, They’re talking to me! I guess I need a Filet-O-Fish!

In the 2017 book Talking Back Talking Black: Truths About America’s Lingua Franca, John McWhorter describes the origins of “Black English” written in dialogue by white writers, especially before 1965 but still present today: “…people sometimes mock the idea by launching into a rendition of minstrelese, with a theatrical pitch, an exaggerated southern twang, sprinkled with the likes of I’se and you’se.” (I direct you to George Gershwin’s 1934 opera Porgy and Bess, composed and written by white men—Gershwin insisted the characters be portrayed by Black actors, which I hope clarifies that it was not expected that white people would not be playing Black folks in blackface.)

You can get an updated treatment of how AAVE presents in different eras in the film Dolemite Is My Name (see trailer). It’s a depiction of Rudy Ray Moore, the real-life pioneer of comedy and rap, played by Eddie Murphy. Dolemite debuted in 2019 but brings the spirit of 1975. Dolemite, the character Moore creates, becomes a self-made movie star during Blaxploitation, a stylistic period that blended action and Kung Fu, good guys vs bad guys tropes, comedy, and sex. It’s a warm depiction honoring an approach to storytelling that’s too often sensationalized (see Quentin Tarantino and Pulp Fiction). It’s pretty obvious to me that the modern buddy flick is a direct outcome of the multi-pronged Black-centered genre.

I say all of this to say, it’s not surprising to me that so many brands lean on Black culture to sell their goods, even when they’re not purposefully marketing to Black folks. Black American language, often derived from Black American music and musicians, is the most direct way to convey being of the moment. Blackness is, unfortunately, currency.

Take Lunya, the luxury sleepwear brand, launched in 2014.