Founded in 2025

becoming, belonging, and the beauty of being in-between

negrowish was born out of survival — and the quiet, complicated process of turning survival into self-discovery.

For most of my adult life, I’ve lived in motion. Working. Adapting. Performing. Trying to keep up with a version of success that looked good on paper but often left me feeling invisible to myself. Like a lot of people I know, I was trying to make a living and make meaning at the same time — and somewhere in between, I started to lose sight of what I actually wanted to say.

This project began as a personal journal. Notes in my phone. Unfinished essays. Late-night thoughts I couldn’t name out loud. But over time, I realized what I was writing about wasn’t just me — it was the experience of becoming while Black, ambitious, creative, and still trying to breathe under the weight of expectation.

The name negrowish came from that tension.

It’s a word that holds multitudes — part satire, part reclamation, part mirror. It’s about the “ish” in identity: the blurred edges, the contradictions, the ways we move through spaces that were never designed for us but now can’t exist without us. It’s about the beauty and exhaustion of navigating the world while constantly shapeshifting — professional, creative, Black, human.

It’s not about having all the answers. It’s about asking better questions.

What does belonging look like when you’ve spent years performing to earn it?
What happens when survival mode becomes your comfort zone?
What does softness mean when you’ve only ever been taught to be strong?
What does creativity look like when you’re tired but still dreaming?

negrowish lives in those questions.

It’s a collection of essays, reflections, and cultural observations written from the middle of becoming — not after success, not post-healing, but right here in the messy, meaningful in-between. Some pieces are personal; others are broader, about what it means to move through a world that both celebrates and misunderstands Blackness. But all of them come from the same place: the desire to make sense of myself while making peace with the process.

For a long time, I treated my creative work as something I’d return to “when life calmed down.” But life never really does. There’s always rent. There’s always responsibility. There’s always another job, another chapter, another plan B. And yet, even in that chaos, there’s still a need to create — not for validation, but for survival of a different kind.

negrowish is where I’ve decided to stop waiting.

It’s where I write from the space between ambition and identity. Between corporate polish and personal truth. Between who I was taught to be and who I’m still becoming.

This isn’t a brand or a performance — it’s a record. Of growing up. Of softening. Of trying again. Of learning that being “ish” doesn’t mean being incomplete. It means being infinite.

So if you’ve ever felt like you were figuring it out in real time — still healing, still hustling, still becoming — then you’re already part of this story.

Because negrowish isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us who are learning to exist in our fullness, one essay at a time.