I Didn’t Think Essence Was for Me
Making it as a vendor at EssenceFest felt as monumental as making the cover of Essence magazine.
To me, it meant that years of building, praying, grieving, and believing in my brand had finally been recognized. As a Southern girl who had admired Essence from afar, receiving that opportunity in 2024 felt like a dream fulfilled. The power, beauty, and intention behind the festival are difficult to explain until you experience them for yourself.
Then, in 2026, I returned…..not as a vendor, but as an attendee.
That experience confirmed something I had suspected for years: the conversations happening online don’t tell the full story. Critics often describe EssenceFest as an event that has lost its way. What I found instead was an experience rooted in community, celebration, and possibility.
Yes, I bought tickets to see Cardi B, and she absolutely delivered. But the concert was only one piece of the experience. Step onto one street and you’ll find celebrity-hosted parties happening all weekend. Turn another corner and it feels like you’ve walked into Disney for Black culture with rows of Black-owned businesses, immersive brand activations, wellness and beauty experiences, conversations with entrepreneurs and thought leaders, and even a car show that had the men just as entertained as the women.
The best part? Much of what makes EssenceFest so special is completely free.
And although I’ll save the full recap for another day, let’s just say there were a few handsome, eligible bachelors wandering around too.
It wasn’t just an event. It felt like an entire city built around celebrating Black culture, Black businesses, and Black joy.
For decades, Essence has created space for Black women to learn, build, celebrate, and see themselves reflected. Growing up, though, I believed that space belonged to someone else…..the accomplished career woman, the established auntie, the woman who had already arrived.
I was wrong.
EssenceFest isn’t just for one generation of Black women. It’s for all of us.
And that’s exactly where my critique begins.
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If Essence Is for Everyone, Why Doesn’t It Feel That Way?
EssenceFest is for all of us.
So why do so many Millennial women still feel like it isn’t?
That’s where my critique begins.
The conversation surrounding EssenceFest often centers on whether it has “lost its essence.” I don’t believe that’s true. I believe Essence has remained remarkably consistent in its mission, but it hasn’t consistently communicated how that mission has evolved alongside Black women.
Growing up, I thought Essence was for my aunties, the accomplished career women, mothers, and community leaders who seemed to have life figured out.
Today, many of those women are passing the baton to a new generation. Millennials are building careers, launching businesses, traveling the world, choosing different paths to family, and redefining what success looks like. We may not look exactly like the women who first made Essence what it is, but we are a continuation of that legacy.
The challenge is that many of us don’t realize we’ve always belonged.
That communication gap creates space for people to define Essence before Essence defines itself. Some conclude it has changed too much. Others assume it isn’t for younger women at all.
Neither tells the full story.
After watching A Time of Essence on HBO, I realized this isn’t a new challenge. Throughout its history, Essence has navigated generational shifts, cultural change, and evolving definitions of Black womanhood. Every generation has forced the organization to ask the same question:
How do we honor the women who built this community while welcoming the women who will carry it forward?
The answer isn’t choosing one generation over another. It’s making sure every generation knows she’s already invited.
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The Invitation Gap
As beautiful and intentional as Essence is, it has a communication problem.
The issue isn’t that Essence has lost its identity. It’s that many younger Black women don’t realize they were always part of its vision.
Growing up, I believed Essence was for accomplished career women, mothers, and aunties. Now, as a Millennial woman building my own life and business, I realize I belonged all along. I just didn’t know it.
That disconnect isn’t new.
After watching A Time of Essence on HBO and reading Edward Lewis, the founder of Essence magazine’s book, The Man from Essence, I realized this tension has existed for decades. Every generation has wrestled with the same question, who is Essence really for?
When Hip-Hop entered mainstream culture in the 1990s, many questioned whether artists and younger audiences belonged within the Essence brand. Today, we’re asking similar questions about Millennials and Gen Z.
But Lewis’ vision was never limited to one type of Black woman. He wrote that Essence exists for every Black woman navigating her identity and growth.
That includes the executive and the entrepreneur. The mother and the woman who chooses not to have children. The established auntie and the woman still figuring life out. Essence hasn’t changed as much as the conversation around it has.
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Here’s What I’d Change
The answer isn’t choosing one generation over another.
It’s listening to all of them.
As both a vendor and attendee, I noticed something surprising……. I was never asked for feedback about my experience. For an organization built around serving Black women, that’s a missed opportunity.
If Essence wants to continue growing, it should continuously ask its audience:
- What brought you here?
- What did you love?
- What almost kept you from coming?
- What would make you return?
The answers already exist within the community.
Segment your audiences. Recognize that today’s Black woman isn’t one story, she’s many stories. Some of us are raising children. Others are building businesses. Some are climbing corporate ladders. Others are collecting passport stamps, caring for pets, launching side hustles, and redefining success on our own terms.
Essence doesn’t need a new identity.
It needs to communicate that its evolving audience has always belonged.
Because EssenceFest remains one of the most valuable experiences available to Black women. The majority of its programming is free. It introduces us to Black-owned businesses, launches careers, creates community, and celebrates our culture in ways few organizations can.
The problem isn’t the experience.
It’s that too many people still don’t know the experience is for them.
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Talk to Us
EssenceFest is that MF’n girl, and I’m saying that in a younger Millennial voice for all to
hear.
It is for me and it is for others, who may not have always felt welcome or worthy.
Its intention has always been to showcase this ever-changing woman, but the messaging
can get lost in translation.
It’s not Hip-Hop or vulgarity that’s the issue.
It’s not who’s really Black Excellence, because if you’re Black and existing, you still qualify
when we’re in a world that doesn’t expect us to survive.
EssenceFest is not for just the aunties; it’s for her nieces and those around her.
Talk to us. We want to share.
– Auntie Shay Sweat
