Each one of us has a unique gift, a talent that makes us stand out and, if we’re fortunate, allows us the opportunity to be an asset to other people. What we have discovered from Elevatorgate 2014 starring Jay-Z, Beyonce and sister Solange is that more folks around us are savvy decipherers of grainy hotel security camera footage than ever we could have imagined. (Also body language experts, mind readers and mental telepathy translators.)
Basically, mostly everyone with internet access has had something to infer about the three-and-a-half minute surveillance video of the celebrity trifecta that boarded that now-infamous Met Gala elevator. According to the conclusions of general public opinion, Jay’s manhood is under scrutiny and Bey, who has long been the center of android rumors, may just be a robot after all. As the on-camera aggressor, Solange has gotten the brunt of the post-altercation furor, though.
Without any of us knowing the full story—and the security detail who does exhibiting the utmost in hush-mouthed professionalism—she’s been the instant villain in the still-unfolding saga. Vitriol against her has been brandished with a degree of viciousness that would be better reserved for the evil of Boko Haram or goofy Donald Sterling.
Solange is bipolar. Solange’s jealousy spilled out and over. Solange really wants Jay. Solange was pissy drunk. Solange is smooth crazy anyway. It was just a matter of time before we all found out. Solange has earned the distinction of Donkey of the Day. Solange has enjoyed more publicity from recent memes, retweets and jokes than she’s ever had in her career. Solange has been thoroughly roasted across Black, White, Latino and Polynesian Twitter. And nobody’s comment section anywhere has been kind to her:
“And now she is finally famous. But fukk dat byatch for acting out in public… real ladies confront men in private. I hope Jay got a prenup, cause them Knowles hoes are up to something.”
“If that cunt started swinging and kicking like that at Game he woulda lifted that bitch up in the air and broke her skull open.”
“How dare she raise up against King Jay-Z? She is a nothing and a nobody.”
I’m convinced nobody will ever win a debate over any dust-up or altercation that involves the Knowles-Carters. They may bring up commendable points, but they’ll ultimately burn out their light in the process. The bulk of Jay and Bey’s fans are not just fans. They’re superfans, a mutation of normal person who devolves into total reasonlessness when it comes to their favorite entertainer or artist. Ever on the defense on behalf of someone who doesn’t know they walk the earth, these zealots would swiftly cuss their boss, their spouse or their own nana if any of them cleared their throats to contradict the perceived perfection of that superfan’s favorite superstar.
If you’ve ever tried to stay upright in an argument with a member (or, God help your soul, more than one member) of the Bey Hive, you’ve experienced that level of intensity. I’ve seen it here on Clutch, even.
We’ve become downright cultish in our devotions to celebrities and, as such, make every illogical excuse for their behavior, no matter how trifling, weird or absurd it gets. It’s the reason why Chris Brown still has a gaggle of devotees who will cut ya soon as they look at ya, why Rihanna holds court over faithful followers who think everything the girl does is the pop cultural equivalent of walking on water, and why Mariah Carey can get away with drunk speeches and candy garments. (Ma’am, please.)
We’ve elevated famous folks to a stratosphere beyond reproach. They’re untouchable and unaccountable. In the matter of Solo vs. Jigga, however, only one of them enjoys that level of sacrosanctity. Hint: it’s the one worth $520 million.
Jay could’ve throttled her good on both sides of her head before they stepped into the elevator (not that I’m saying he would do anything like that). It wouldn’t have mattered. Solange lost before she even lifted a foot. Beyonce stans have embraced Jay, Jay fans lust after Beyonce. Their love affair trumps the Knowles girls’ sisterhood. The performance at Coachella was cute and all, but the Jay and Bey hit factory have given us many danceable songs, a hip-hop generation power couple and a cute baby named Blue Ivy. Plenty of someones will spend their hard-earned $289 for tickets to the On the Run Tour. Advantage Jigga.
Of the three, Solange is the least wealthy and the lesser famous. If that would have been Beyonce kicking and slinging purses, I promise her every move would’ve been re-choreographed by fans in no less than 1,000 Vines and YouTube videos. But it’s Solange, the quirky lesser sister, social media’s present voo-doo doll. She may be a hothead, maybe she was provoked. From the lack of official statements and confirmed facts, this will remain private family business enveloped by a cloud of public intrigue.
Because our fandom isn’t based on who’s respectable or foul, but who’s got the best songs, the prettiest hair, the dopest body and the biggest bankroll, she is always going to be wrong, no matter what her impetus was.