By Tyra D.
In the early 2010s, I was a fresh college graduate running a Tumblr blog called TyraMail—a fashion, Natural hair, and music page, because let’s be real: that’s what most of us were into in our early twenties. It was playful, creative, and expressive—but it was also a space for critique. And when I used that platform to share my thoughts on Odd Future, specifically Tyler, the Creator, the response was hostile.
Let me be clear: I never vibed with Odd Future.
Not with Tyler.
Not with Earl Sweatshirt.
Not with the collective.
And not even with The Internet in their early days—despite how much people tried to claim they were different.
Their music didn’t feel safe to me.
It felt violent.
Anti-Black.
Anti-woman.
And back then, I didn’t even have the word “misogynoir” yet—but my spirit recognized it. And I said so.
And apparently… it got back to them.
💻 The Day the Internet Turned on Me
Someone from their camp messaged me through my YouTube account. It wasn’t just hate—it was rage. My inbox was flooded. My Tumblr comments were wild. I was being swarmed. Harassed. Mocked.
I was terrified.
I had never experienced that kind of hate before. Not for a tweet. Not for a take. Just for an opinion.
I ended up deleting my Tumblr.
I went quiet on YouTube.
I disappeared—for six to eight months.
And here’s the part I never realized until just now, writing this:
When I came back in late 2015, I rebranded my entire identity.
I re-emerged as a married woman.
A wife.
A soft, safe figure.
I didn’t even connect it until now. But in hindsight, it’s clear:
I chose a man, that I am no longer with, who felt dark and masculine because I thought that’s what I needed to feel protected.
I stepped into marriage as a safety mechanism.
I abandoned critique to avoid being punished again.
That’s how trauma works.
It repackages itself as transformation when it’s really self-protection.
🎭 Tyler’s Fanbase Wasn’t Just Edgy—It Was Dangerous
Tyler didn’t just “accidentally” build a toxic fanbase. He cultivated it. He nurtured white boys who laughed at Black pain and treated Black girls like punchlines. These were not fans seeking healing. These were kids using Tyler’s chaos as an excuse to act out their own anti-Blackness, misogyny, and rage.
“You invited an audience to voyeuristically enjoy Black rage and dysfunction without accountability—while alienating the very communities you claimed you came from.”
Tyler, in 2025, is grieving the loss of D’Angelo and was stunned at how cold and callous his fanbase responded. But what did you expect, bro?
You’re asking your audience for something you never required of them.
They lack empathy because you never required them to have any.
That is the risk of creating art with no moral compass.
The people who resonated with your chaos don’t want your healing.
🧠 The Incel Aesthetic in Hip-Hop
Let me be even more direct:
“Your music is the backdrop to incel culture, bro.”
I was there during your Tumblr era. I watched it unfold.
That whole edgelordy, nihilistic, rage-meets-depression aesthetic isn’t inherently the problem. There’s always been space for art that’s messy, dark, angry, or absurd. There should be. But when you’re cultivating a fan base and building a community around that energy, there has to be a level of intentionality.
You have to ask: What am I inviting in?
Who is being centered—and who is being harmed?
Tyler didn’t do that. He wasn’t making rage-art to heal or to provoke thought—he was doing it for chaos sake. Shock value. Disruption without direction. And the people who resonated with that? They weren’t looking for transformation. They were looking for permission to stay broken and violent.
He didn’t hold the energy he unleashed.
And now it’s turned back on him.
That’s what made it dangerous.
And no amount of Igor-era softness, vintage luggage, and pastel loafers can undo that legacy.
“New music, new outfits, and a new aesthetic doesn’t silence the damage.”
“You may have privately grown and think it absolves the public harm—but you’re kidding me, right?”
The Creator is now being cannibalized by his creation?!
💔 Black Women and Fems Remember
Now Tyler is being cannibalized by the very base he built—white and non-Black fans turning on him. And meanwhile?
Black women and fems are still not rushing to forgive.
Because we remember.
We remember being ridiculed. Gaslit. Harassed.
We remember the Tumblr comments.
We remember the YouTube messages.
We remember the cultural harm.
“A cultural memory of harm—especially in Black communities—is long.”
“We’re not rushing to forgive just because you’re making lush, sonically evolved records in pastel sweaters.”
🙅🏽♀️ Grace Requires Restitution
Let me be clear: people can grow. And people should grow.
But growth without accountability isn’t growth—it’s branding.
And grace is for those who seek to repair, not rebrand.
If Tyler wants to be seen as someone who’s changed, he needs to do more than drop new albums. He needs to acknowledge the impact of the world he helped create. Publicly.
Otherwise?
“You’re getting your ass served by the whites and the non-Black fans now—because the North remembers.”
And we do.
I remember everything.
Tyra D.
Cultural Commentator. Scriber of the Times. Tumblr Girl Turned Oracle.
✍🏽 Author’s Note
This letter is part memory, part reckoning, and part release. It is published through the Feminine Alchemy Network, a storytelling platform and digital archive rooted in the lived wisdom of women across every phase of life. While this piece reflects my personal experience as a Black woman navigating digital harm and cultural critique, it speaks to a broader truth: what happens when women use their voice—and what happens when they’re silenced for it.
This is not just about music.
It’s about memory, protection, evolution, and the reclamation of voice.
And this time, I’m speaking without fear.
Feminine Alchemy Network 