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Needless to say, we are hella excited for Insecure season three.

WARNING — Insecure spoilers ahead By Rachael Edwards HBO’s  Insecure wrapped up its sophomoric season last night. Fans are wavering on whether or not the show ended on its best foot. This was a season that was frustrating and made me throw my phone at the end but the season finale tied some loose ends and made us hopeful for the third season of Insecure. Molly navigated the corporate world as a Black woman and discovered she is getting paid (significantly) less than her white colleagues. Office politics can be a touchy subject because its roots run deep into respectability politics. Recall when Molly asked the office assistant in season 1 to tone down her blackness, encouraging her to learn the art of code-switching. Molly quickly learns that code-switching will not save her. It was disappointing to see Molly so out of touch with this reality and wading in respectability-swamps. The implicit biases projected on women of color is a huge part of the reason why Molly is not getting paid at the same rate as her white (men and women) colleagues. Season two of Insecure concluded with Molly putting Dro to the side to focus on her wants and needs. This is what we needed to see and what fans clung onto because stability in Molly’s life was imperative. Watching her get down with her colleague Quentin (Lil Rey Howery) was refreshing, especially since they were not interested in entertaining white people at the firm. Molly had the most interesting storyline this season.
Related: IN ISSA RAE’S “INSECURE,” SISTERHOOD IS EVERYTHING

Whether you want a romantic relationship, partnership, marriage or none of the above–let your single flag fly unapologetically.

Think about your earliest ideas of being single–was your association negative? Did it carry undertones of loneliness, sadness or undesirability? By your definition, did singleness somehow equate emptiness or incompletion? If that was your understanding, you weren't alone. When I was a kid I remember hearing adult men associate singledom with heavy-set women (insert major side eye) who ate ravioli from the can with their bare hands, while crying over romance films and soaking their cats with their tears. The same men that shamed single women were not only single themselves, they were actually celebrated for it. I learned quickly that it was indeed a man's world. I grew up believing that every man was a prince, and a woman needed approval from a prince to be considered a princess. As young girls lead by the Disney dynasty, media never taught us to imagine our lives without a man at the helm. It was suggested that unless a prince became your savior, you were destined to be nothing more than a dusty damsel incapable of living a meaningful life. Cinderella's slippers weren't good enough; her worth was contingent upon her ability to fit into the slipper more palatable to the prince. Snow White's prince made out with her and took consent-less ownership of her body while she was sleeping–but that was okay because he claimed her. I'm sure they lived happily ever after.
Related: 10 THINGS EVERY INTERSECTIONAL FEMINIST SHOULD ASK ON A FIRST DATE

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