Written by Oladoyin Alana
Music has the power to make you express, feel, be heard, be relieved, be charged and be entirely yourself. And when music is in the hands of some, it becomes a weapon to dismantle structures that have long suppressed their voices. For Black people, music has and continues to serve as a tool of memory and to preach, resist, remember and question systemic oppression wherever they find themselves, and many times enjoining others in the movement. Nina Simone's urgent Mississippi Goddamn and Beyoncé’s Formation are examples of songs where Black women have transformed their pain and rage into art that challenges the status quo. And now artists like Doechii continue this fight, using their platform to address the intersections of racism, sexism, and colourism that persist in undermining Black women’s successes.
On December 30, 2025, just a few hours before the new year, 2x Grammy award winner, Doechii, dropped a surprise track titled ‘Girl, Get Up’ featuring Sza. With just a teaser and little to no promotion, the timing also being quite unusual, the song did just what it aimed for—a clapback at her critics without mincing her words or making it palatable. The song doubles as a rallying cry for herself and other Black women over its hypnotic beat, its march-like tempo ordering us to enter the new year with a refusal to stay silent.
Doechii opens with an image of serenity that quickly shifts into defiance: “sipping my kombucha on a rooftop/ smokin’ blue dream on my karma sutra. Life is but a dream for a dark skin bitch like me. Life gets dark when you’re dark like me.” A revelation and the reality of those who look like her in mainstream Hollywood. What follows this opener is a declaration of war against an industry and culture that constantly questions her success, labour and right to succeed.
How Far Have Black Women’s Protests Gone?
To understand the power of Girl, Get Up, we must first understand the women who have used their voices by using their music as a weapon of reconstruction, a tool to fight injustice and rally others to join the movement.
In the heat of the Civil Rights Movement, Nina Simone condemned the murder of four black girls in the Birmingham Church bombing in 1963 in her song, Mississippi Goddamn. In her words, “it erupted out of me quicker than I could write it down.” Music became her weapon, like “throwing ten bullets back”, she said. And her philosophy was clear: "An artist's duty is to reflect the times.”
Fast forward to 2016, and Beyoncé ushered in what African-American professor Daphne A. Brooks calls a “golden age” of protest music with Formation and the visual album Lemonade. Formation was an insurgent assault on respectability politics and anti-blackness. The song opened with “y’all haters corny with da illuminati mess”, a pushback to those that have credited her success and relevance to the Illuminati or the devil. When she further performed this song at Super Bowl 50 with dancers in Black Panther-inspired outfits, critics accused her of being too political, as if Black women demanding to be seen and valued was somehow inappropriate.
The Lemonade album went further, centring Black women’s emotional lives in ways mainstream culture rarely permits. The ‘Hold Up” video showed Beyoncé smashing car windows with a baseball bat, symbolising feminine rage as a legitimate response to betrayal. A show many termed 'unladylike' and even unlike the singer herself. But who says women can only have a certain emotion—to be boxed?
This is the tradition Doechii inherits: Simone’s channelled fury, Beyoncé’s unapologetic centring of Black women’s full humanity and the great number of black women that have stood up for themselves.
What’s The Agenda When The It Girl is Black: The Industry Plant Propaganda
Doechii’s 2024 rise to the mainstream came with predictable backlash. Despite a decade of well-documented grinding, starting out on SoundCloud and Youtube, releasing independent mixtapes and building a devoted fanbase, her haters accuse her of being an “industry plant”, a manufactured success rather than an earned one. The term, which emerged on hip-hop forums in the early 2010s, has been weaponised disproportionately against women, especially Black women. Rolling Stone notes the accusations are “fuelled by misconceptions, misogyny, and prejudice.”
The attack escalated when racist and misogynistic streamer Adin Ross repeatedly targeted Doechii on his platform, calling her “an entitled, unintelligent, piece of shit” and also claiming that she had “zero talent” and is an “industry plant”. This hatred also intensified with her Grammy win and her recognition as woman of the year at the Billboard’s awards.
But he isn't the first to say this, as Doechii addresses, “all that industry plant shit wack/I see it on the blogs, I see it in the chats” she goes ahead to ask a question that pinches their skins: “but what's the agenda when the it girl black? They push false narratives that her success could not have been easily attainable and accidental. “Y’all can’t fathom that I worked this hard/ and y’all fathom that I earned this chart/ y’all can't stand my vibe cause I’m anointed/all y’all evil hoes just annoyin’.” But Black women aren’t new to this agenda; critics of Beyoncé attribute her success to her husband, Jay-Z, his record label (Roc Nation) and even the Illuminati! For Doechii, this assertion is the same: it must have been a well-laid-out strategy by her team, Top Dawg Entertainment (TDE) or even Kendrick Lamar, but this agenda only undermines their credibility, attributing it to some sort of shadowy conspiracy.
Misogynoir as a Tool for Illegitimising Black Women’s Success
To fully grasp what Doechii is up against, we need the language scholar Moya Bailey gave us. She describes misogynoir as “the anti-Black, racist misogyny that black women experience, particularly in US visual and digital culture”; it is an intersection of racism and sexism that frames “protection” but presents as scepticism and concern.
That Doechii does not conform to the typical narrative of Black women in the media is not only infuriating but poses the question of 'How Dare She?!' Over time we have seen Doechii act in the most unapologetic (Black) manner; she doesn’t conform to eurocentric ideologies nor centre male desires. She cannot play in their script: she's dark-skinned, spits heavy bars, is visibly queer and mostly doesn't fit the hypersexual rap trope. Let's not forget that she's also hated for being loud about her culture and criticism. She is expected to perform likeability and gratitude.
She boastfully raps, “I don't read y'all tweets, I delete y'all threads / Don't need weed to be ten feet tall / I don't need keys when I knock down walls." And then comes the declaration that undercuts every attempt to diminish her, “Why sell my soul when I know I'm God?” Likening herself to a higher power is the radical self-possession that terrifies those invested in Black women's self-doubt.
Interestingly, all of which she’s now hated for are the same reasons her naysayers used to like her. She was loved for being bold, punchy, and unconventional, so what changed? In Don Lemon’s words, “America loves the idea of free press, but the press is only free so long as it does not disturb comfort, so long as it does not expose what power would rather conceal.” Her critics want to fit her into the suffer-to-glory archetype. And even though there is enough groundwork that she started from scratch, as she also acknowledges, "I did eight years of fallin’, plus a lot of cold winters/used to be a starvin’ artist” they'd rather her not win an award that is dominated by men. An award that earned her her first grammy becoming the third woman to win the category in all of its existence and also above the industry’s male machine.
Cover Art as Resistance; Hair as a Symbol of Rebirth
On her previous project, Alligator Bites Never Heal, Doechii appeared in cornrows fixed with beads, carrying an alligator in her arms. Subsequently, with this new drop, the cover art carries a continuation of her art—cut-down braids with beads in them. In Black culture, hair is an important symbol of resistance and continuity. Pulling out your braids means that you are preparing for a new one. A rebirth. Shedding old skin. Preparing for battle.
This also connects to Beyoncé's iconic Lemonade braids becoming a cultural phenomenon. Both artists use Black hairstyles as statements of non-conformity, refusal of eurocentric standards that demand straightened hair and proximity to whiteness. The beads in hair connote childhood, playfulness and a reclamation of black girlhood that society often tries to steal from black girls, forcing them into adulthood too soon. This rebirth comes with a charged purpose.
Doechii has announced that the album is already on the way: “the album six months old, it needs a fuckin’ babysitter” and for those who have ears, let them wear their bulletproof because she’s waging a war on them: “had to take it to the stu' and show these niggas pressure/ Father, forgive 'em, they gon' be hurt when I deliver.”
What Doechii would Have you Do This Year
Released on a rather unconventional date—on a Tuesday and at the close of the year—it is evident that she isn’t chasing numbers. Her message is direct, with no hidden metaphors. Reiterating that her culture is not a costume or in this context, her activism doesn't need clout. She is filled with rage and will address it that same way. Defying this norm is setting a new standard.
And what does Doechii want you and I to do this year? The answer is in the song's title. Get Up! Be confrontational. Name the agenda behind the accusations. Recognise that when the IT girl is black, people will reach for any tool—industry plant, drug addict, satanist, manufactured to avoid acknowledging your excellence.
“Why sell my soul when I know I'm god” is the boldness she wants black women to have. As black women, we have been conditioned to shrink ourselves, not boast about our achievements, and be tolerant of oppression, but Doechii helps us to confront this stereotype. I spoke to Zeera, a journalist, about what she will be doing differently this year and it is “becoming confrontational and checking it for people on the spot.”
She also addresses the facade that is benevolent misogyny; people that try to praise her by putting other women in rap down – “they calling me the intellect amongst the pussy rap” – but she lets them know that she doesn't buy into the propaganda: “I still be popping pussy, them my sisters, so I can't agree with that.” Talking to Angel Nduka-Nwosu on her own approach, she mentions how her attitude to calling out men has changed from before, where she might be too tired to argue with them, but this year, “if I can’t argue, I want to frown at the very least or look disgusted. Some things should not be said around me. And I should keep on being known as a feminist so that everyone continues to maintain composure.”
Doechii closes the song with a prayer that reveals her true mission: “god keep me from the bitterness/help me reach the masses, all the black women gon feel this shit.” Ahiowawa, a medical student and aspiring model, wants to “make sure that all the women that I speak to on a regular basis stand on business.” This sermon is for a collective liberation, the very structure black sisterhood is based on.
Above all, Doechii lets us learn that to be a woman is to be political. This year is the year Black women are not keeping shut and someday, somehow, we know that we’ll have everything that's ours.
