a bad blood, petty party

happy valentine's day with a love note to pettiness

Everybody is talking about Kendrick Lamar this week. This is not surprising. His Super Bowl halftime show on Sunday was a flawless performance blending political resistance, historical context, Black perspective, lyrical genius, pop culture, poetic justice, and…perfect pettiness.

I am still grateful to my favorite Soul Cycle instructor, Cat G, of Houston fame. She was in many ways an inspiration, and my unofficial life coach during the three years I frequented the studio. My Soul Cycle obsession started in late 2016, and this was how I was eventually introduced to and became a fan of Kendrick Lamar’s genius. His 2017 album DAMN (the one that won him the Pulitzer) dropped, and it was one of those albums that reverberated through pop culture, especially in Houston. “HUMBLE.” graced many of Cat’s superb playlists, and to this day, I get a surge of endorphins when I hear the opening line. Nobody pray for me.

The ability to hold two truths at once is a skill I admire, and one that Kendrick Lamar does so deftly. Can he be petty and scathing re: his feud with Drake? Yes. At the same time, can he be a profound voice of a generation re: race relations, American violence, etc.? Also yes. Can he do this in the same breath, stanza, song? Yes, yes, yes.

This quality is something I love. I talk about understanding the nuance all the time. I found myself meditating on the nuance of pettiness this week after watching the halftime show and reading the discourse that followed.

---

Within hours of the halftime show, my Gen Z sister, Hallie, informed me that Kendrick Lamar and I have eerily similar natal charts. Our suns? Gemini. Ascendants? Libra. Moon? Water, Scorpio for me, Pisces for him.

The takeaways? First, WHAT AN HONOR. Second, according to Hallie, who is much wiser and more unhinged about this kind of thing, my pettiness should be a strength I lean into—clear eyes, full heart, can’t lose, b*tches. Her actual words: “you see how you need to lean way more into your haterness.” Who says the younger generations can’t teach us something? My reaction was immediate. As Hallie would say, bet.

baby, now we’ve got bad blood

---

Now, I should pause here and let you know that I grew up in a household where (and I do not exaggerate) my mother daily said some variation of: “kill them with kindness” or “if you don’t have any nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” And, I wonder where my pathological people-pleasing tendencies came from? I also grew up in a conservative, evangelical Christian flavored small town in Texas where “bless her heart” was the most scathing thing you could publicly say about someone without being called a gossip or mean.

This meant that behind closed doors, with trusted friends, those of us who had Things To Say™ would say the things we could not say in public. I thrived in these yap sessions. Can I be a little mean/petty/bitchy/etc.? was like a homing device. Gather ‘round ye lovely besties and let me tell you what’s really on my mind. If you asked my middle sister in middle school, she’d say I was mean. And, maybe I was a little mean. But, in the light of day as a grown-ass adult, I was really just speaking from the heart. I remember the thrill of telling my best friend about how my archnemesis was being vindictive, or mean, or rude, or a liar. Because, turns out, most of the time my best friend could relate. And, if she couldn’t relate she had my back. Cue Taylor Swift’s Mean, which is a song I needed more then than I do now. My archnemesis, of course, had no idea that she was my archnemesis, but I was a pre-teen and very sensitive, and she had words like knives. The act of being petty with my inner circle is what saved me from spiraling.

---

I would be remiss not to mention Taylor Swift, who also recognized the opportunity for an epic crossover song (and video) of pettiness. If Kendrick Lamar is the King of Pettiness, she is, of course, our Queen. And, Bad Blood feat. Kendrick Lamar is our kingdom’s anthem:

Kendrick

Remember when you tried to write me off? (Uh-huh)
Remember when you thought I'd take a loss?
Don't you remember? You thought that I would need ya
Follow procedure, remember? Oh, wait, you got amnesia
It was my season for battle wounds, battle scars, body bumped, bruised
Stabbed in the back; brimstone, fire jumping through
Still, love my life, I got money and power
And you gotta live with the bad blood now

Taylor

Oh, it's so sad to
Think about the good times
You and I
'Cause, baby, now we've got bad blood

---

My sister’s observation got my double air sign wings f*cking flapping. She’s right. To be honest, my own pettiness has always been part of the alchemy of what makes me witty (sometimes), sharp (most of the time), observant (can never turn it off), and grateful (counterintuitive, but for petty folks, iykyk). It’s what gives me the ability to put my full force and effect of mental rigor into the small stuff, big stuff, and anything in between. So, why haven’t I allowed myself to practice the pettiness?

Kendrick is certainly a pettiness savant—the Poet Laureate of Pettiness, if you will—and my god is it a gorgeous thing to behold. I love a permission structure, so here I am, taking the cue…

Don’t sweat the small stuff? Yeah right. I will sweat the miniscule, the teeny tiny, the things no one else even noticed, and the things someone thinks no one else will even notice. Because I care, and because sometimes people who should care don’t care and someone’s gotta care. The small stuff is the important stuff. The small stuff adds up to the big stuff. Someone has to pay attention to all the STUFF.

The stuff like…

…that throw away comment made to my friend that obviously came from a jealous place? No ma’am, I’m not putting up with that any more. My friends are an extension of me!!!

…that time she mildly flirted with my partner and thought it was okay because I’m so “chill”? B*tch please, you don’t get to disrespect me that way again. And, no more chill!!!

…that time he put conditions and exclusivity on being friends with him? No, buddy, you don’t get to dictate terms like a king. Friendship is not a finite resource!!!!

…that time you failed to mention key facts when you set up two friends? Let me tell you what a girl’s girl is, honey, because that isn’t it. We have each other’s backs!!!!!

…that time you were three words into saying why the Super Bowl halftime show wasn’t good? Sit down, be humble. I’m about to educate you, darling!!!!

---

---

My pettiness hasn’t been a trait I’ve always embraced, but this year—the year of the snake, the year our democracy crumbles before our eyes, the year I turn 39—it feels urgent to reconsider that lack of prioritization of it. Part of that prioritization is being clear about one thing: pettiness does not equal rudeness, or meanness, or something that is bad. Pettiness can be useful. Pettiness can be for a higher purpose. (Thank you, Amanda, for helping me articulate that.)

It’s kind of like that saying, “if someone is upset about your boundaries, they were benefiting from there being a lack of a boundary in the first place.” In the same vein, here’s a working version of my new maxim: if someone is offended by your pettiness, they are benefiting from no one calling them out a behavior that goes against one of your values.

What I’m saying is, I’m going to use my pettiness for good. Or, at least, I’m going to use my pettiness for what I think is good, reserving the right to admit I got it wrong. No more holding my tongue. No more being nice only to make someone else comfortable, especially when that someone is crossing a line. No. More.

My mom did get it right, though. I may ignore the “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” sometimes. (Sorry, Mom.) But, to kill with kindness? Hell, yeah. That might actually be a profound act of pettiness.

So taking note from Darla Myatt and Kendrick Lamar for a new pettiness maxim:¹

Kill them with kindness, and b*tch, don’t kill my vibe.

1. I’m 100% positive my mom would never expect to be be quoted along side rap royalty, but here we are. Love you, Mom, and genius is genius.