The girlies HATE when I refuse to share a link on TikTok. Refusing to divulge the full rundown of everything you do, everything you buy, everything you are online results in being deemed a mean girl— a badge I don't mind sporting. Growing up as a young Black girl in America, I learned early on that some things weren’t meant for everyone; they were meant for us. I’m not talking about exclusion for the sake of exclusion; I’m talking about the sacred knowledge that was lovingly passed down from mothers, aunties, older cousins, and big sisters. These weren’t just items or information; they were pieces of themselves, shared as a gesture of love and trust.
From a borrowed spritz of Versace Red Jeans perfume to a treasured Destiny's Child CD that lived in a rotation of CD players across the family, these were gifts of exclusivity. They weren’t just material, they were cultural. These small offerings said, You’re special. You’re one of us. You’re ready to hold this piece of what I’ve learned. So, despite what the internet tries to tell you, this kind of gatekeeping isn’t about selfishness, it’s about intentionality. It’s about recognizing that what we share carries meaning, and that meaning is diluted when given to everyone. There’s something sacred about keeping certain things within the folds of our community, our sisterhoods, or even just between two trusted souls. It’s why your mom might have had a signature perfume that she only brought out for special occasions, why your auntie’s fried chicken recipe always came with a knowing, “This stays in the family."
In a world that increasingly demands access to everything and everyone, gatekeeping feels radical.
Community Over Consumption
We live in a culture of entitlement. Social media, with its endless sharing, has made people feel like they deserve access to everyone’s knowledge, experiences, and preferences. People want the sauce without putting in the time to build the relationships or the trust that make those shares meaningful. And see, here’s the thing: being in community is about reciprocity, not consumption. It’s not just about taking—it’s about investing in the people and spaces around you. When I choose to share my beauty tips, my favorite brands, or even a small life hack, it’s not because someone demanded it; it’s because I see them as part of my community. I see the connection, the bond, and the trust we’ve built. When you’re in community with me, what I give you isn’t just knowledge—it’s a reflection of the relationship we’ve nurtured.
Gatekeeping as Preservation
I take pride in my heritage as a Black American, and in my opinion, for Black girls, gatekeeping isn’t just about boundaries, it’s also about preservation. Growing up, so much of our culture was (and still is) appropriated, repackaged, and commodified. The slang we created, the hairstyles we were once ridiculed for, the music we made from our hearts is constantly taken, diluted, and sold back to us. Gatekeeping, then, becomes a form of resistance. It’s about saying, No, not everything is for everyone. Some things are for us, by us, with us. It’s about preserving the integrity of the sacred knowledge that has been passed down through generations, whether that’s a family recipe, a haircare routine, or the unspoken rules of girlhood.
I want to reiterate that when I choose to share something with my chosen people, it’s not just a transaction, it’s a bond. It’s a piece of me that I’m entrusting to them with the understanding that they’ll cherish it, respect it, and maybe even pass it along to someone else in time.
Earned, Not Demanded
Sharing isn’t the default. It’s earned. And it should be earned.
When I think back to those girlhood lessons, how my auntie taught me how to wrap my hair at night, how my mom explained the “dab, don’t rub” rule of perfume, or how my cousin slipped me her favorite lip gloss and said, “This color is you," none of it came because I asked. It came because I was ready. Because I had been let into their circle in a way that made that sharing sacred.
The beauty of gatekeeping is that it allows us to foster intentionality and intimacy in our connections. It says, I see you. You’re one of us. Let me share this with you, not because you demanded it, but because you’ve shown that you value it.
So, no, I’m not anti-sharing. But I am pro-intentionality. I believe in the sanctity of our lived experiences and the knowledge we gain along the way. I believe that not everything is for everyone, and that’s okay.
Because when you’re in community with me, what I share isn’t just information. It’s love.
Comments