I want to be Beyoncé. Well, I don’t want to be her be her, but I do wish that I could somehow borrow her body for a temporary period of time. That way I could roam the world coated in glitter just like her, wearing custom designed $75,000 wigs and four to seven pairs of Spanx at once. I’d know what it felt like to make millions of dollars for being insanely talented, burning stages down around the world for the thousands of fans who’ve come to see me.
I’ve been a Beyoncé fan since “No, No, No” and Destiny’s Child, but I really fell in love with her the moment she ditched those two/three other bitches and finally became her own star, which is what Destiny’s Child was about all along. Back in 2003 I was a freshman in college and Beyoncé made her first mononymous appearance, debuting “Crazy In Love” to the nation on Saturday Night Live. Even though B has been a “Single Lady” and can get “Bootylicious” in a heartbeat, “Crazy” is Beyoncé’s best song AND YOU CAN’T TELL ME OTHERWISE, QUEEN. In 2004 B snatched five Grammy Awards and performed a totally mesmerizing rendition of “Dangerously in Love” at the awards ceremony. If you watch the performance you come away wondering, can you be more talented?
I’ve had heated debates with friends who say shameful things like “Beyoncé is an average vocalist” or “She’s just not that talented/interesting.” Really? The clip above is one of her hottest performances of “Crazy.” How can you watch that and not lose it? Whatever — I suppose you can’t fault people for not having any taste! The truth is you can’t come for Beyoncé. Sure, she borrows and sometimes steals directly from current yet little known acts and predecessors, like Michael Jackson, Janet Jackson and Tina Turner. Those people are all outrageously talented, and Beyoncé’s fame and marriage to Jay-Z are not what make her interesting. It’s her extraterrestrial talent that makes her untouchable.
If I dated Beyoncé we would obviously need to open the relationship up because that would allow me to flirt with all of her hot famous friends, like Chris Martin from Coldplay. I would know what it feels like for people to pass out or come to tears the second I merely took a breath in their presence. I would ask how she could be a self-described introvert yet burn the stage down when “Sasha Fierce” comes out. I would ask her about the homophobic comment she reportedly made years ago, before she got really fabulous. I would ask her to teach me that diva face she always makes when she’s on stage where she furrows her brow, tosses her head back and puts her lips out like “I’m HOT, trollops. Can you take it?” I would convince her to just admit that she wasn’t really pregnant with Blue Ivy, that her surrogate, whoever it is, is laid up in some penthouse in St. Barths.
If I dated Beyoncé I would invite all my friends over to our Tribeca loft where the elevator opens right into the apartment. Inside there are 42 high-powered industrial fans that are constantly blowing so that her hair is always flowing, looking FLAWLESS. I would ask her if Jennifer Hudson was on her shit list because SHE got the Oscar for Dreamgirls. I would ask why she lets people Photoshop her to look lighter than she really is. She would tell me all her secrets, like how she gets her lace fronts to stay on so tight in spite of all the booty shaking and wind that constantly threatens to undo the illusion. She might even let me try some of them on. Of course I would post a pic on Instagram — “Get INTO me in this Beyoncé wig, yaass! No really, it’s Beyoncé’s actual wig.”