Listen, do I think it’s right or in any way morally defensible that the top 0.01% richest individuals hold 11% of the world’s total wealth? No. Do I think we’d all be better off if we prioritized funding schools and libraries and making sure people can get life-saving health care without bankrupting themselves, rather than letting Jeff Bezos vibe out in space? Yes. These things are important to me, and yet when I heard that Rihanna was poised to become the world’s youngest self-made woman billionaire, I involuntarily fist-pumped. What is wrong with me?
Of course, there are several factors separating Rihanna from your average, run-of-the-mill Mr. Burns. She’s a Black woman of Caribbean descent who overcame an early life characterized by poverty and abuse to become, among other things, a nine-time Grammy winner, the first Black woman to head a luxury brand for LVMH, and the second-best-selling female musical artist of all time. Still, I’m semi-disappointed to find myself so unabashedly excited about her opulent wealth. What happened to my socialist credentials?
Actually, you know what? Screw my socialist credentials. If there’s anything I believe to be true in this world, it’s this. One, fancy mustard is never as good as regular yellow mustard; two, abortion is a fundamental human right; and three, Rihanna should be allowed to do literally whatever she wants. This is the woman who gave us Anti, after all, an album I spent so long listening to when I was friendless and broke in L.A. in my early 20s that I still can’t put on “James Joint” without having a Pavlovian reaction that spurs me to tears. Who am I to try and dim her light?
Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
I always felt a little, well, confused about Rihanna’s predecessor on the woman-billionaire front, Kylie Jenner, being described as “self-made”; not because she doesn’t work hard (I watch The Kardashians! I know a family empire like that doesn’t just happen!) but because being descended from an internationally famous clan does seem to give you, uh, a leg up. Rihanna, on the other hand, has been hustling to make her music career happen since she was discovered in her Barbados hometown at 16, and to be honest, all I want for her is ease (along with an unlimited charge account at Baby Dior).
Ultimately, I’d love to see the downfall of the capitalist state that controls us all, and I still think a better world is possible if we work for it. (Here’s to a single-payer health care system in our lifetime, baby!) That said, if the Elon Musks of the world are going to spend their time and seemingly unlimited funds acquiring Twitter and union-busting and generally being as evil as possible, I want Rihanna in that billionaire boys’ club that I assume meets once a year on a private ski slope in Gstaad to discuss the fates of us lowly under-humans. I know she’ll fight for us—or at the very least, I know she’ll spend her billions on luscious fruit and important ensembles—and that’s good enough for me.
