By Adreanna

Okay, let’s talk about that Threads post. You know, the one that set off a little firestorm? “I don’t want career advice from anybody that isn’t a Black woman.” Yeah, that one. Cue the raised eyebrows, the “problematic” comments, and the general air of “Did she really just say that?”

And honestly? I get it. At first glance, it sounds exclusive. Like I’m building a career fortress with a “No Entry” sign for anyone who doesn’t fit a specific profile. But here’s the thing: preferences aren’t prohibitions.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

Openness vs. Preference: It’s Not a Contradiction

Let’s start with this: There’s a difference between having a preference and being closed off to other perspectives. Too often, people assume that choosing to seek guidance from a specific group means rejecting everyone else—but that’s not the case. Preferring career advice from Black women doesn’t mean I dismiss insight from others; it simply means I prioritize wisdom from those who have firsthand experience navigating the same obstacles I face. It’s about alignment, not exclusion.

So, to clarify:

• I am open to feedback from anyone with skill, knowledge, and experience. I believe in learning from diverse perspectives.
• I have a preference for career advice from Black women. Because they understand the unique challenges I face.

Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s like preferring your mama’s mac and cheese over boxed Kraft. Other versions exist, but they don’t hit the same.

The Nuances of Navigation

My preference for career advice from Black women isn’t about shutting anyone out—it’s about seeking guidance from those who truly understand the challenges I face. It’s about mentorship from people who don’t just have the technical skills but also the cultural competence to help me navigate spaces that weren’t built with me in mind.

It’s like getting your hair braided.

If you have natural 4C, low-porosity hair, when it’s time for a protective style, who do you trust with your scalp? The stylist fresh out of cosmetology school, who technically learned to do all hair types but rarely works with yours? The self-taught braider from YouTube Stylist University, who has the passion but not the expertise?

Or do you go to someone who understands the assignment—who knows how to detangle without breakage, grip without snatching your edges, and part with precision so clean your scalp looks like a work of art?

It’s not that other stylists are bad. But when it comes to your hair, you want someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. Because experience matters.

And the workplace is no different.

It’s not just about doing the job—it’s about navigating the extra layer of everything. The microaggressions. The assumptions. The constant pressure to prove yourself twice as hard for half the recognition. The exhaustion of seeing your ideas “rediscovered” by someone else or being labeled “aggressive” for simply being assertive.

That’s why I seek career advice from Black women. Because who understands this maze better than someone who’s already walked it? Black women have seen the traps, learned the shortcuts, and built the resilience to keep moving forward.

The “What About the Bad Apples?” Argument

Now, some of you brought up the valid point that not all Black women in positions of power are paragons of virtue. Yes, I’ve seen it too. The “Queen Bee” syndrome, the internalized oppression, the occasional abuse of power. It’s real, and it’s disappointing.

But here’s the thing: that doesn’t negate the value of mentorship from Black women. It just means we need to be discerning. Just like with any other group, there are good mentors and bad mentors.

And frankly, the risk of encountering a bad mentor doesn’t outweigh the potential for finding a truly transformative one. The women who have lifted me, guided me, and shown me what’s possible have been invaluable.

The “Play the Game” Trap

And then there was the classic: “You’re stuck because you haven’t learned how to play the game.” Ah, “the game.” That nebulous set of unwritten rules, coded language, and performative behaviors that are supposed to unlock the doors to success.

Let’s be real: for Black women, “playing the game” often means contorting ourselves into shapes that don’t fit, suppressing our authentic selves, and enduring environments that are fundamentally toxic. It’s about smiling through microaggressions, biting our tongues when our ideas are stolen, and working twice as hard for half the recognition, all while hoping that this time, this project, this promotion will finally be our breakthrough.

But here’s the harsh truth: the game is rigged. It’s designed to keep us running in place, believing that if we just work harder, produce more, and be more patient, our time will eventually come. It’s the corporate equivalent of waiting for a partner who’s “not quite ready” to commit, the “potential” that never quite manifests. It’s like staying in a relationship for ten years while they’re still “figuring things out.” Honey, that’s not a relationship; that’s a hostage situation.

This “play the game” mentality leads to burnout. It traps us in unhealthy environments, draining our energy and stifling our growth. It makes us believe that our worth is tied to our ability to endure, rather than our inherent talent and potential.

Wisdom Beyond the Game

What I seek from Black women mentors isn’t a guide to playing a rigged game. I seek wisdom on how to dismantle it, how to build our own tables, how to redefine success on our own terms. I want to learn how to recognize a bad situation for what it is and make strategic career shifts that align with my goals, not my tolerance for BS.

I want to learn how to say “no” to the extra workload, “no” to the unpaid emotional labor, “yes” to my own well-being, and “hell yes” to opportunities that truly value my contributions. I want to learn how to build a career that’s sustainable, fulfilling, and empowering, not one that’s built on the shifting sands of someone else’s approval. Because real success isn’t about surviving a broken system. It’s about creating spaces where we can thrive.

The Takeaway

Ultimately, my Threads post was about advocating for myself and seeking the kind of mentorship that resonates with my lived experience. It’s about recognizing the power of shared understanding and the importance of finding mentors who “get it.”

So, yes, I prefer career advice from Black women. But I’m not closing the door on anyone. Because at the end of the day, wisdom can come from anywhere. And I’m always hungry for it.

What are your thoughts? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.