In just a few hours, the cast of Insecure will gather at YouTube Theater in Inglewood, California to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Insecure, which launched on HBO a decade ago on October 9. Featuring Issa Rae, Natasha Rothwell, Yvonne Orji, Jay Ellis and Prentice Penny, there are sure to be plenty of cameos, tacos, drinks, and a block party vibe.
Our Editorial Director Savanah Taylor, shared what the show meant to her back when it played its finale episode in 2021, words that sill ring true today. Here, we revisit those timely words.
Wnsecure has meant a lot of things to many people—and even more to Black culture. Over five seasons, the phenomenon has tackled everything from the struggle to find one’s purpose to reckoning with the ups and downs of love and friendship. Issa Dee (played by Issa Rae) and her homegirls illuminated the intricacies and complexities of Black womanhood while navigating varying definitions of Blackness. It was messy AF, hella cringe at times—but oh so Black.
Most importantly, Insecure was ours. It belonged to us in a way that a lot of mainstream TV shows have not. Incorporating our vernacular and cultural norms in a tasteful yet authentic way, Insecure has earned its spot among great Black sisterhood stories like Girlfriends, Living Single and Waiting to Exhale.
Each half-hour episode breathed new life into the promise of what stepping into peak #BlackGirlMagic could be at a time when many of us needed it most. Instead of turning to white girl-centric coming-of-age stories, we turned to the lives of Issa, Molly, Kelli and Tiffany, played by Rae, Yvonne Orji, Natasha Rothwell and EBONY’s Black Thought contributor Amanda Seales, respectively.
If you’re really about that life and have been along for the ride since day one, you’ll recall that seeing Issa Rae transition from her Awkward Black Girl era on YouTube to television was euphoric and, honestly, extremely cathartic. Having built a solid following through various web series on the channel “Issa Rae Presents,” she was no stranger to creating content that highlighted Black folks of differing backgrounds in comedic but relatable ways.
So when news broke that she would be bringing her creative genius to television—HBO, at that—there was no question that she was gonna shake things up for real.
Everyone knows where they were and what they were doing in life as each season played out. When the series began in 2016, I was a freshman in college, dreaming of someday finding myself among the ranks of dope and powerful Black women but often unsure of my own potential.
Since then, the show has become a symbol of hope and aspiration for what my future as a Black woman could hold. It showed me that there was no master manual for being on my grown Black woman sh*t and that, while it’s an individual journey, it doesn’t have to be a lonely one.
As I connect the growth of my close circle to the journey Issa and her friends have taken over five seasons, I recognize how deeply this representation has shaped my development and that of those around me. Whether relating to the microaggressions experienced at a “We Got Y’all” type of job, feeling the disappointment of a relationship gone awry or deciphering the sting of childhood wounds, each season was a balm for chaotic moments on life’s roller coaster. It provided solace to know that I was not the only one experiencing them.
The bond Insecure fans have with one another is not a game. The community the show created among its viewers helped solidify its place as a modern-day Black cult classic before our eyes. What other TV show has so successfully and intentionally recreated moments of Black joy in real life?
From recapping Issa’s very questionable decisions with friends and live-tweeting with strangers about still being Team Lawrence in 2021 to attending Insecure Fest or putting our partners—even our parents—onto the show, you can go almost anywhere and see the real-life manifestations of its commitment to magnifying Black excellence.
In 2018, I even ran through the streets of Harlem and waited in line for hours with my cousin during a Twitter-based scavenger hunt that led to a screening of the opening episode of season three. Let it be known that I don’t just run through anybody’s streets, but I did for Issa and the promise of a masterfully done season—which did not disappoint.
The show’s influence on our culture is undeniable and will continue to permeate our community for decades to come.
When speaking about the nostalgia of Insecure, one would be remiss not to mention the wild assortment of personalities and scenarios that mirrored our own lives. To keep it 100%, Issa Dee made mirror talk sexy. That did a lot for my anxiety, helping me process my decisions unapologetically and talk myself down off a ledge.
Simultaneously, the show found comedy in—and romanticized—Black success and Black life in a way I’d never seen, especially with the help of its sonically spectacular soundtrack.
The weekly updated Spotify playlist, with its beautiful range of ratchet-to-soulful tracks, has been a chef’s kiss. Each track captured the moment it accompanied while allowing me to cinematically visualize my own life through the diverse genres on display.
Seeing each character’s growth over five seasons has also been exceptional—a low-key miracle. They have taken us for a ride, chile, and tugged on all our heartstrings.
Issa navigating her romantic ties with Daniel, Lawrence, Nathan and TSA Bae; Molly figuring out her dynamics with Dro, Andrew and Taurean; Condola—and all her given nicknames—dealing with Lawrence and their new baby; Tiffany and Derek figuring it out as new parents. We’ve been through a lot with these folks and, at times, thought we wouldn’t recover from the emotional toll of their experiences.
But we’ve made it. Regardless of the shenanigans, Insecure made me feel unafraid of not knowing exactly what my future held or how to navigate it, as long as I stayed true to myself and did what was best for me.
Insecure was not perfect, but it taught us, as Black people, that we didn’t have to be either to be worthy of joy, success, love, friendship and life.
While all good things must, unfortunately, come to an end, we have to remember the legacy, okay?! With one last episode in store, along with a documentary highlighting the series’ impact, there’s no doubt that all the feels will be felt.
Here’s to dedicating one last Sunday to a show that shifted the culture and let us know that our fears, hopes and dreams—no matter how insecure we may be about them—are valid and worth fighting for.