by Khalilah Jones
Hot Take: When “Black Excellence” Gets Mistaken for a VIP Section
Somewhere along the way, “Black Excellence” caught a rebrand it did not ask for. It went from a community standard to a velvet rope. From collective pride to curated proximity to whiteness. From “we out here doing our best” to “show me your résumé, your net worth, and how well you code-switch.”
Let’s talk about it.
Too often, when folks say Black Excellence, what they really mean is Black people with money. Black people with titles. Black people who know how to behave in white spaces without making anyone clutch their pearls. The ones who get the quiet nod. The “good ones.” And if you don’t fit that mold, you’re invisible. Or worse, you’re treated like you didn’t get the memo.
That’s not excellence. That’s classism in a Black-owned font.
And before we rush to defend the phrase, it’s worth pausing to ask: Who do we picture when we say Black excellence? Who automatically gets left out of that mental image? Because our definitions tell on us.
Here’s the part that might make some folks uncomfortable. I think a lot of this obsession is projection. It’s insecurity dressed up as aspiration. When excellence is defined as something rare, elite, and unreachable, it lets people off the hook from seeing it up close. Because if excellence only lives in penthouses and boardrooms, you don’t have to wrestle with the fact that it’s also alive in your block, your church basement, your auntie’s kitchen, your group chat.
So let me ask this: If excellence is everywhere around us, why are we so committed to pretending it’s scarce?
I’m not rich-rich, baby, by ANY stretch of the imagination. I’m not elite. I don’t have a blue check or a fancy last name that opens doors without knocking. Even though I am a “Jones” I’m not thee Joneses. And still, every single event I’ve ever touched has been rooted in celebrating, uplifting, and highlighting Black excellence. Not JUST the glossy kind. The gritty kind. The kind with work ethic. The kind with consistency. The kind that shows up even when nobody is clapping yet.
That’s the thing. Black excellence is not a reward tier. It’s a mindset.
Michelle Obama said it plainly. “Excellence is the best deterrent to racism or sexism.” She did not say wealth. She did not say respectability politics. She did not say assimilation. She said excellence. As in how you move. How you work. How you treat people when there’s nothing in it for you.
Ava DuVernay reminds us, “If your dreams only include you, they’re too small.” That right there dismantles the whole elitist version of the phrase. Because real Black excellence is communal. It multiplies. It reaches back. It builds tables instead of flexing chairs.
So maybe the better question isn’t Is Black excellence elitist?
Maybe it’s: When did we start confusing visibility with value?
When we reduce Black excellence to luxury brands, exclusive access, and how well someone can survive white spaces, we’re shrinking ourselves. We’re telling the single mom holding it together on grit and prayer that she doesn’t qualify. We’re telling the barber mentoring kids after hours that his excellence doesn’t count. We’re telling the community organizer, the caregiver, the creative who hasn’t “made it” yet that they’re somehow less than.
Nah. Miss me with that.
Black excellence is the standard you hold yourself to when nobody is watching. It’s discipline. It’s integrity. It’s showing up prepared. It’s doing good work even when the spotlight is elsewhere. It’s not reserved for the elite. It’s embedded in the community, heavy on the everyday, loud in the unseen.
And if this take makes you uncomfortable, that might be the invitation. To reexamine what you’ve been taught to celebrate. To expand who you honor. To ask whether your version of excellence builds community or just reinforces hierarchy.
Because excellence was never about getting a pass.
It was always about raising the bar.
For all of us.