If you’ve watched the latest season of Selling Sunset, you might have walked away confused about why a gesture of kindness could spark a meltdown, or how a simple seating card could bring a grown woman to tears. But beneath the glitter of the Oppenheim Group and the show’s well-lit drama lies a workplace dynamic that is painfully familiar to Black women.

This season, the tension between Chelsea Lazkani and Mary Bonnet is less about miscommunication and more about something the show never names directly: the way whiteness becomes both the protagonist and the invisibilized antagonist.

The heart of the story this season, the one aching to be recognized, is the dynamic between Chelsea and Mary. It’s a masterclass in how whiteness gets weaponized, even unintentionally, especially when a Black woman refuses to make herself small.

As Chelsea experiences insidious misogynoir all season, the cast also tiptoes around Emma Hernan’s MAGA boyfriend with a protectiveness they’ve never extended to Chrishell Stause and her queerness,

The Skirt, the Open House, and the Policing of Black Women’s Presence

The seeds of Chelsea and Mary’s tension go back to Season 8, when the two co-listed a property. Chelsea arrived late to the open house, but Mary’s reaction telegraphed something deeper. Rather than simply addressing the tardiness, she went after Chelsea’s appearance, telling Jason and Brett:

“What is she wearing? It’s not professional. Her butt and her hoo-ha is out.”

Chelsea’s skirt was fashionable, form-fitting, and completely in line with the over-the-top, glamorous, sexy outfits that all of the cast are seen wearing on the show. But it suddenly became a liability because of who was wearing it. This is a pattern many Black women recognize:
When white women set the standard, professionalism becomes a racial boundary.

• Your clothing is too bold.

• Your tone is too blunt.

• Your presence is too much.

It’s never said outright. It’s always delivered as “concern.” But what is the concern if not a polite container for control?

The Flowers After the Burglary: When Good Intentions Become Conspiracy

In Season 9, after Mary’s home was burglarized, Chelsea sent her flowers: a gesture that would be read as thoughtful in almost any other context. But when the flowers arrived during filming, Mary spiraled into suspicion. Instead of receiving it as empathy, Mary questioned whether Chelsea and production had timed it for the cameras. She suggested there was “some working together on their side” because the delivery felt “too convenient.”

What struck me was how quickly Chelsea’s kindness was reframed as manipulation. Black women often find their intentions stripped of innocence in all-white spaces:

• Helpfulness becomes strategy.

• Directness becomes aggression.

• Emotional expression becomes volatility.

• Vulnerability becomes weakness.

Where white women are granted nuance, Black women receive scrutiny. Where white women are believed, Black women must defend their motives. Chelsea’s compassion became a storyline, but not the one she intended.

The Dinner Seating Card: White Tears as a Power Move

Later in the season, at a cast dinner, Mary spotted Chelsea’s name on a place card and burst into tears.

Let me pause here. Chelsea’s name — her mere presence in a room she had every right to be in — brought Mary to emotional collapse.

This is not about Chelsea. This is about what Chelsea represents in a white-centered space. Mary had been through something traumatic, and trauma deserves care — but white women’s tears have a long, devastating history of reshaping narratives so that they center around the emotional comfort of the white woman and displace the blame onto Black women.

In the workplace, those tears often become:

• A shield against accountability

• A deflection from harm named by a Black colleague

• A mechanism through which the white woman reclaims moral innocence

When Mary cried, the room’s emotional energy reorganized around her. Without even being in the room, Chelsea became a disruption to fix rather than a colleague to understand. Even on a reality show, white women’s emotional safety becomes the unspoken priority.

Chelsea is Not Just a Cast Member. She is an Archetype.

When I speak with Black women in all-white workplaces, I hear the same stories.

“I tried to help and somehow I became the problem.”
“I named what I saw and they called me aggressive.”
“Her tears ended the conversation. Mine ended my credibility.”

Chelsea’s experience is not unique because it is televised. It is unique because millions of people witnessed what Black women experience every day. She enters a space shaped by whiteness and is expected to conform to norms that exclude her. She is expected to soothe discomfort that she did not create. She is expected to carry the emotional weight of interactions that others misinterpret or weaponize.

White women are treated as the truth while Black women are treated as the interpretation. Intent does not build these systems. Impact does. And the impact is clear. Chelsea is penalized simply for being a Black woman who refuses to shrink.

The Lesson the Show Refuses to Name

Selling Sunset had the opportunity to explore race and power in a meaningful way. Instead, the show avoids the conversation entirely. That avoidance is, itself, an answer. It mirrors organizations that claim to value diversity but quietly reinforce the comfort of whiteness.

Black women often say their most painful workplace experiences are not the outbursts. They are the silences. The things everyone saw but no one said. The moments where they were expected to absorb harm to preserve someone else’s ease.

Chelsea’s experience is a familiar story. It is the story of being misread and misjudged not because of your actions but because whiteness responds to you before you even speak. Selling Sunset did not intend to be a case study in racial microaggressions.

Yet here we are.

A workplace will always show who it is built to protect. A workplace will always show who it expects to bend. Chelsea did not bend. And that alone turned her into the conflict.

For the last few weeks, Wicked has taken the world by storm. Its themes of bravery, belonging, social rejection, and inequality have sparked a host of important conversations across social media.

There is so much to glean from Wicked’s compelling and engaging storytelling. From Elphaba’s ostracization from her peers, we see the tragic reality that people try to increase their sense of popularity and belonging by “othering” those who are different from them. Wicked also invites us to consider how we, as a collective society, decide what is good and what is evil.

From race to gender to sexuality to religion, there’s so much to explore concerning Wicked’s powerful themes. However, I think one of Wicked’s most practical lessons is the cost and power of allyship.

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Conditional Allyship

In Wicked, Glinda and Elphaba become an unlikely duo. Their relationship begins when Glinda bullies Elphaba for her differences while secretly envying Elphaba’s magical powers and unflappable sense of self.

Eventually, Glinda and Elphaba form a true friendship and with Glinda’s support and care, Elphaba becomes socially accepted and builds new community. However, Glinda’s friendship with Elphaba is conditional — it can only exist so long as it does not challenge Glinda’s social status and approval.

In the end, when Glinda’s support of Elphaba begins to chip away at Glinda’s social standing within Oz, Glinda chooses to reject Elphaba in favor of staying in the good graces of the Wizard.

This is conditional allyship, a type of allyship that only exists so long as the ally feels systemically protected.

Conditional allyship often leaves marginalized people and communities in the lurch when the going gets tough.

Some examples of conditional allyship are:

1. Many NFL players refused to kneel alongside Colin Kaepernick because it would challenge their careers.

2. Organizations and individuals denied the genocide in Palestine in order to maintain money, power, and social standing.

3. In workplaces, conditional allyship can look like not calling out an incident because it may change how one’s boss or colleagues see them. When dominant colleagues, particularly white colleagues, stay silent to protect their social standing, harm is reproduced.

There are many forms of conditional allyship. When we stay silent in the face of injustice in favor of protecting our sense of status, we are being conditional allies.

Moving Towards Unconditional Allyship

The reality is that allyship CAN be scary. It is scary to stand up and say “this is wrong” especially when it can challenge our sense of belonging and social standing.

Yet, we must remember that marginalized people must do this brave work every day. When we choose to shrink away from conflict due to our own fears, we are creating a world where those harmed by systemic injustice must also muster the bravery to combat it alone.

This is unjust.

Unconditional allyship is the practice of committing ourselves to fostering a justice-centered and inclusive world, even when it costs us something. When we lose clout as a result of our allyship, we have truly lost anything!

Instead, we have gained a deeper connection to our values, integrity, and the humanity we share with others. True allyship enriches our lives by aligning our actions with our principles and by standing in solidarity with those who face injustice. It builds authentic relationships, fosters trust, and contributes to a legacy of equity and collective liberation.

Examples of unconditional allyship:

1. Professional soccer player Megan Rapinoe kneeled, before every single soccer game in solidarity with Black communities.

2. College basketball Hailey Van Lith calling out the media for their treatment of her Black teammates.

3. Justin Baldoni constantly speaks up for women’s rights and experiences via his podcast.

In the examples above, each ally was willing to lose power and social status in order to show up for others!

Want to be an unconditional ally? Here are some reflection questions to consider!

• Why do I want to be an ally, and what motivates me to take action?

• Am I willing to engage in allyship even when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable?

• How do I define success in my allyship?

• How do I make my allyship growth-centered and not perfection-centered?

Thanks so much for reading!!

Here’s what I am up to this winter:

1. Finalizing a major focus group study with a large institution concerning employee well-being.

2. Running an open workshop on Race, Religion, and Policy. Sign up here!

3. My books are open for the Winter/Spring and I’d love to work with you or your organization. To work with my organization, send me an email at admin@ciarrajoneconsulting.

Breaking Down the Exit Poll Data

The exit poll data for the 2024 election is sobering:

As the data demonstrates, Black communities overwhelmingly voted for Harris. Asian and Hispanic/Latino communities proved to be much more split but both identity groups still broke for Harris overall.

When broken down by race and gender, the following data is revealed:

Powerfully, the data shows that Black women overwhelmingly voted for Harris and Latino women heavily favored Harris in this election cycle. Moreover, we do see that though Latino men broke for Trump, 43% of Latino men still favored Harris. Further, 77% of Black men cast their ballot for Harris.

This data demonstrates to me that Black Americans still have political allies, but our collective organizing may need to become more targeted and specific.

A Legitimate Sentiment of Political and Social Isolation

As a Black Queer Woman specifically, the exit poll data leaves me with sadness, frustration, anger and deep curiosity.

I, like many Black women, feel politically abandoned. Trump’s election symbolizes a nation that has chosen to invisibilize and erase Black women’s lives and well-being.

Further, I believe Trump’s election represents a troubling cultural shift towards toxic nationalism that is situated in an ideology of American supremacy. Trump’s election does not just leave Black women vulnerable to systemic harm, it also brings along with it implications for war and continued genocide abroad. Perhaps most concerningly, this election reveals that more and more People of Color are bought into the idea of a post-racial America.

Yet, I am far from hopeless and I am not ready to give up on the possibility of coalition building across identity lines. I still believe that there are a large group of Americans who desire to fight for justice and systemic change.

Instead of drawing vast conclusions from the exit poll data, I am left with many questions:

1. How do we acknowledge and honor the unique pain and vulnerability that a Trump presidency places on Black women?

2. What new terminology may better address the interconnected nature of systemic inequality while also acknowledging the distinct nature of oppression that Black communities experience?

3. What does solidarity between Black Women and Latina Women look like in the wake of Trump’s election?

A Wake-Up Call for Workplaces

Workplaces can respond to this crisis by ensuring they have safe and inclusive policies and practices in place for vulnerable community groups. This includes:

• Reproductive Healthcare Policies: Ensure comprehensive coverage and confidentiality for healthcare decisions. This is imperative for LGBTQ+ staff members.

• Anti-Racial Discrimination Policies: Enforce zero tolerance for bias and offer regular anti-racism training. The Trump administration is anti-DEI, but workplaces can maintain this commitment.

• Equitable Hiring Practices: Reduce bias through diverse hiring panels and fair compensation audits. Pushback against the idea that inequality no longer exits, bias is still alive and well and must be addressed rigorously.

• Grieving and Healing Spaces: Provide resources for employees to process emotions and access mental health support.