When Beyoncé announces a tour, it’s never just a string of shows — it’s a cultural reset. With the opening night of Cowboy Carter in Los Angeles, I knew this would be more than music. This wasn’t just another performance. It was a moment steeped in history, rebellion, and redefinition — a spiritual checkpoint, especially for those of us who’ve followed her journey from day one.
As the saying goes (and yes, it’s cliché, but true): “Stay ready so you don’t have to get ready.” So when my director asked if I wanted to attend the opening night, there wasn’t a moment of hesitation. I cleared my schedule. I showed up. And only later did I realize how deeply I needed this experience. Life lately has been heavy. Chaotic. Unpredictable. But somehow, Beyoncé always arrives at the right moment — musically and spiritually — to remind me: “Take that sh*t on the chin.”
Now, this wasn’t my first Beyoncé concert — in fact, it was probably my 15th or 16th (but who’s counting?). Yet every time I see her live, I’m reawakened to the beauty, boldness, Blackness, and unstoppable power she radiates. Cowboy Carter was no exception. It felt like a three-hour masterclass in pride, presence, and personal power. As someone who’s loved her since her Destiny’s Child days — back when the original four members were still performing in Houston — this night wasn’t just a concert. It was a movement. It was a mirror. It was medicine.
And of course, no Beyoncé concert is complete without the look. I needed an outfit that said both fly and fearless — a reflection of the Western aesthetic Beyoncé has reclaimed with fierce intent. I searched endlessly and came up empty… until H&M came through with exactly what I needed. With less than a week to pull it all together, they delivered — and I stepped into SoFi Stadium knowing I looked and felt like That Girl.
Inside, the energy was electric. Cowboy hats. Fringed jackets. Leather. Denim-on-denim. A sea of unapologetic stans ready to witness history. It was everything I imagined — and more.
Beyond the spectacle, what resonated most was the deeper story Beyoncé is telling with Cowboy Carter. Country music — despite its current associations — has deep Black roots. Its foundations are intertwined with the sounds of Black spirituals, gospel hymns, African instrumentation like the banjo, and the contributions of groundbreaking artists like Linda Martell and Charley Pride. This music has always been ours. What Beyoncé is doing is not a departure — it’s a return. A reclamation.
Yet, as we know all too well, Black contributions have often been erased from the narrative. From banned books to redlining, to the rewriting of history in real-time, the suppression of Black stories is not a thing of the past — it’s happening now. But Beyoncé uses her platform as resistance. Her art is purposeful. Whether she’s singing about heartbreak, empowerment, or joy, her work always says something deeper. It reflects back to us the feelings we often struggle to name.
Music heals. And that night at SoFi, I felt the healing. Not just in my ears — but in my spirit. Days later, I’m still carrying the emotional high. The experience was made even more special thanks to H&M, who hosted me in one of the suites, adding an extra layer of comfort and glamor to an already unforgettable night. And of course, seeing Rumi and Blue Ivy take the stage alongside their mother? A generational flex of epic proportions.
But ultimately, it was Beyoncé herself — standing tall, fierce, and free — who reminded me what’s possible when a Black woman claims space on her own terms. The road to “having it all” isn’t easy for us. We’re often forced to fight harder, prove more, and accept less. We’re labeled “angry” for setting boundaries. Told we don’t belong in certain rooms. Conditioned to believe that success must come at the cost of our joy, our rest, or our authenticity.
But Bey is proof that we don’t have to settle. She’s rewriting the rules, and she’s inviting us to do the same.
One moment I’ll never forget was when she performed Jimi Hendrix’s Woodstock version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” with powerful words flashing across the screen:
“Don’t ask for permission for something that belongs to you.”
That line struck me deeply — and I carry it with me now. As I move through the world, I’m reminded that I don’t need to shrink. I don’t need an invitation. I am here to take up space — boldly, unapologetically, and on my own terms.
Cowboy Carter wasn’t just a concert. It was a collective exhale. A homecoming. A reminder that Black women don’t need to wait for a seat at the table — we build our own damn tables and make history while doing it.
