On Dec. 25, 2024, Beyoncé headlined the halftime performance of the Christmas Day game between the Baltimore Ravens and the Houston Texans. The performance, which streamed live on Netflix to 27 million viewers, lasted around 13 minutes and featured 11 songs from the music superstar’s latest album, Cowboy Carter. As Beyoncé emerged from a cloud of smoke atop a white horse and the first few notes of “16 CARRIAGES” began, strategically-placed lights and pyrotechnics revealed the show’s elaborate staging and plethora of background musicians, vocalists, and dancers, as the set and costumes combined into the red, white, and blue of the United States flag. Several giant flags, each with a translucent plastic covering, were hung from the industrial walls on either side of the red and white carpet that led Beyoncé into NRG Stadium. She was soon joined by her collaborators (Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts) for their rendition of “BLACKBIIRD.”

Shedding her white rodeo hat and lavish archival Roberto Cavalli feather coat to reveal a white bedazzled bodysuit and matching chaps, Beyoncé launched into an energetic, captivating performance that quickly exceeded my already high expectations. Taking place in Beyoncé’s hometown, Houston, Texas, every detail of the mini-concert extended the themes of its featured album, a triumphant reclamation of Americana by one of the most successful Black American artists of all time. In blending white-dominated musical styles like country and folk music with genres like pop and rhythm and blues, in which more Black artists have traditionally been accepted and embracing the aesthetic of American patriotism, Beyoncé’s eighth studio album highlights the contributions of Black artists to elements of American culture where they have traditionally been overlooked.

However, the superstar’s seemingly wholesale embrace of American iconography is not the revolutionary act that it might appear to be.

Initially, I found Cowboy Carter in its musical and visual aesthetic to be quite empowering—a clear statement from Beyoncé to the rest of the country and the world that Black folks, particularly Black women, deserve to be represented in the music, fashion, and art of the United States. After all, it wouldn’t exist without us. However, the irony of embracing the symbols of a country and culture that has perpetually exploited Blackness for the capital gain of the ruling class (the majority of whom are of European descent) began to bug me more and more as I engaged with Cowboy Carter and the Beyoncé Bowl performance. I felt a serious disconnect from the American pride that Beyoncé was expressing in this album for a number of reasons.

Firstly, the embrace of this American aesthetic feels like an affirmation, albeit a subtle one, of the predominantly white and patriarchal values that these symbols have traditionally represented. Donning a glittery sash and holding an American flag on the cover of the album (and in her grand entrance to the performance), Beyoncé evoked the symbols of beauty pageants, a controversial tradition that ranks women primarily based on their looks. While pageants are steadily declining in popularity across the country, they remain prolific in the American South, a region from which Cowboy Carter draws heavy inspiration. Even though modern pageants have tried to place a higher value on their contestants’ intellect and other talents, they still value good looks predominantly; I’ve yet to see a televised pageant that pits men against each other in a similar way. 

Furthermore, the album title itself is grounded in the patriarchal tradition of a woman taking her husband’s last name. In this case, Beyoncé, the titular cowboy, retains the surname she inherited from her husband, Jay-Z. While Beyoncé’s family values have long been an important part of her public image (her eldest daughter even performed with her at the Beyoncé Bowl), through the red, white, and blue lens of this album’s presentation, there seems to be a shadow of heteronormative patriarchal hegemony that looms large. 

Secondly, as a person who’s Black and American but has lots of familial ties outside of the United States, I’m weary of any artistic proclamation of American values. For example, Cowboy Carter and the whole Beyoncé Bowl performance strongly incorporated the American flag and its colors which, for many in the United States, represent freedom, civil rights, and justice. However, the American flag has also historically been used to justify and glorify vast injustices by the United States government, needless violence, and neocolonialism, which continues across the world to this day. I’m not accusing Beyoncé or any other artist who integrates symbols of Americana into their art as co-signing the deplorable actions of the American government, but it can be difficult to ignore the implications of those symbols and its glorification, especially if you’re not from the U.S. or if you’re American but not a part of the white, straight, upper class that has benefited the most from such policies.

So, I’d been thinking about all of this and planning to write this very article since the Beyoncé Bowl aired back in December. Then, dear readers, Beyoncé launched her campaign with Levi’s on Instagram earlier this week, and everything clicked. I felt disillusioned, like all the empowerment and inspiration I gained from this wonderful album was just some long con for a denim commercial. That’s when I remembered, at the end of the day, Beyoncé is an obscenely rich person who will, first and foremost, get her money up. Not only that, but she has been rich and famous since Destiny’s Child first started receiving international acclaim when she was just 16 years old. While Beyoncé and I are both (very talented and influential) Black women, she isn’t really a person like me, and she hasn’t been for a long, long time.

Don’t get me wrong, Beyoncé’s music still has the power to inspire, empower, and bring attention to the tireless work of Black artists who paved the way for her and other American artists of all art forms and genres. Furthermore, I still think it’s a wonderful thing that Cowboy Carter has made so many Black folks feel like they can be a part of American music, fashion, and art. 

I also don’t want you all to think I’m only picking on Beyoncé. She’s still my girl and she’s not the only Black artist who’s been leaning into this iconography of American patriotism as of late. In fact, Kendrick Lamar took a similar approach (with fewer cowboy hats) to his performance at the Super Bowl LIX halftime show—the most viewed halftime show in history. Lamar, like Beyoncé, employed a slew of backup performers dressed in red, white, and blue, who made (quite impressive) tableaus of the American flag throughout the performance. The performance was punctuated by Samuel L. Jackson, dressed as Uncle Sam, providing satirical commentary of the performance in real time. While this structure made Lamar’s halftime show more self-referential and directly critical of American culture than Beyoncé’s, I don’t think it was much more subversive than hers. 

Critically, at the moment for which we all waited with baited breath, Lamar sang his 2024 smash hit “Not Like Us” and the entire stadium (and I’m sure many fans watching at home) helped him absolutely demolish Canadian rapper Drake, who the diss track is about. The song, which dismisses Drake as a poser in the rap industry (along with other allegations), gained a new meaning as it was performed at the apex of this event that is such an integral tradition in American culture. It seemed to also disparage Drake’s credibility because he’s not American. I don’t think that this was Lamar’s primary intention with his track, but, in the moment that the song was being performed at a very American event with Lamar surrounded by performers draped in red, white, and blue, it was indicative of the xenophobia that American patriotism necessitates in order to be an effective way to bring people together.

Black art, especially Black music, has always been critical to the way I view myself as a citizen of a country that doesn’t always seem to value me. There is something to be said for Black artists taking up the mantle in finding ways to include Black art in cultural dialogues around what it means to be an American. However, ultimately, rich Black artists (like Beyoncé or Lamar) embracing the aesthetic of Americana is not going to change the systems that continue to exploit Black labor for the gain of the wealthiest individuals, while disproportionately imprisoning and killing Black folks across the country with police violence and mass imprisonment. 

Sulan Bailey can be reached at sabailey@wesleyan.edu.