This summer, Essence Festival—once heralded as the crown jewel of Black cultural celebration—has become the eye of a storm. For three decades, it’s been the rare institution that blends joy and politics, wellness and worship, celebrity and community. But this year, something cracked. And it’s not just the festival that’s under scrutiny—it’s the infrastructure of Black trust itself.
Online, the criticisms have reached a fever pitch. Artists arrived late and were underwhelming. Activations were disjointed. Longtime vendors and voices were missing. Some attendees reported confusion and disorganization. Others simply said the soul was gone. But the backlash didn’t stop with event critique. It quickly turned into something more volatile—and in some cases, dangerously misinformed.
The Misinformation Campaign Against Caroline Wanga
Nowhere is this more evident than in the online attacks directed at Caroline Wanga, the CEO of Essence Ventures. Across Instagram, Threads, and comment sections, Wanga was accused of “overhauling the festival,” “erasing Black American heritage,” and “selling out” to outside interests. Her African heritage was even weaponized in the discourse, with assumptions that she prioritized other diasporic identities over Black American culture.
But here’s what many failed to mention—or outright ignored: Caroline Wanga was not involved in the planning or execution of this year’s Essence Fest. She was on leave. That fact was confirmed by Essence in public statements. Still, her name trended. Her image circulated in critiques. Her leadership was torn down over a festival she had no hand in producing this year.
As user @lsmith23 wrote in one of the most widely shared posts defending Wanga:
I’m not going to be quiet while y’all tear down this Black woman… She is an incredible human being who champions Black Culture, Black Business, and Black People in EVERY ROOM SHE IS IN. What’s particularly striking is the contrast between how we treat Black-led institutions and how we respond to mainstream corporate ones. I hate how our people have so much grace for brands and corporations that don’t give a damn about us—but are ready to destroy our own when we fall short. We give endless grace to Gucci after racist imagery. We still wear Lululemon even after its founder dismissed Black customers. But when a Black-owned institution stumbles? We drag it. Publicly. Relentlessly. This isn’t accountability. It’s self-destruction.
Wanga responded with a social media post clarifying that she had no involvement in this year’s Essence Fest planning, stating her leave began before any operational decisions were made. “My holistic career experiences amidst the current socioeconomic climate have NO PROVEN ROLE in the current state of affairs within the company and its supporters,” she wrote.
Addressing the personal attacks and assumptions tied to her heritage, she added:
“I encourage debate and discussion… absent of sensationalized slander without proof, lies without legal defense, and character concoctions that give way to conviction and correction.”
Her post served as both a call for nuance and a firm rejection of what she described as “defamation smoke” masquerading as accountability.
From Community Legacy to Corporate Optics
Then there’s Target. The retail giant’s continued sponsorship of Essence Fest has raised eyebrows. In a year when Target made headlines for scaling back Pride merchandise in response to conservative backlash and quietly divesting from DEI commitments as a bow to Trump’s administration’s anti-DEI movement, its presence on the Essence Fest main stage felt tone-deaf to some.
“Why are we letting corporations publicly perform allyship while actively defunding the communities they claim to support?” one viral post asked.
This isn’t about being anti-corporate. Festivals need funding. But when brand optics outweigh community outcomes, the soul of a cultural institution becomes transactional. And when high-dollar sponsors are prioritized over legacy vendors, small Black businesses, and grassroots creators, the disconnect grows deeper. And therein lies the deeper wound: Black institutions like Essence are stuck between corporate dependency and community accountability, while lacking the capital, cushion, or consistency afforded to white-led counterparts.
This year’s Essence Fest took place in an openly hostile economic and political environment for Black advancement. Since the backlash to DEI initiatives began in 2022, corporate sponsorships have dried up. Brands that once raced to pledge millions to Black causes after the George Floyd uprisings have now gone silent—or worse, reversed course, especially in this Trump era of retaliating against institutions that forge ahead on continuing DEI initiatives.
Factor in global inflation, declining consumer confidence, and the persistent underfunding of Black-led institutions, and the picture becomes clearer. The Essence team is expected to deliver a world-class experience under world-class pressure—with none of the resources that similar festivals enjoy. Yet when they falter, the punishment is swift and public.
Cultural Critique or Cannibalism?
Some of the critiques are valid. But some of them are a masterclass in misplaced outrage. Online critiques described the programming as scattered, and local vendors noted that longtime partnerships have been deprioritized in favor of more corporate-friendly setups, although sentiments by actual attendees varied.
These issues deserve attention. They merit a response. But they also exist within a broader reality: the exhaustion of trying to build, scale, and evolve Black institutions within a country that systematically opposes them. This is a reminder: public critique, when weaponized without fact-checking or care, becomes its form of harm.
We should be clear: Essence Fest remains an extraordinary achievement. It is hard to pull off a festival of this magnitude—logistically, financially, and emotionally. Morgan DeBaun, founder of AfroTech, notes that Essence is five times the size of her own conference and takes years to plan. This work is not for the faint of heart.
But size alone isn’t enough. Essence must choose between being a symbol or a service. Between being globally “Black” and being culturally grounded. The answer isn’t one or the other—it’s the both/and. But that requires listening, humility, and accountability.
The Bottom Line
We cannot demand that Black-owned institutions move with the excellence of well-funded corporations while denying them the resources, time, or grace to evolve. We cannot scream “representation matters” and then drag our representatives the moment something doesn’t go our way.
We cannot fight white supremacy and anti-Black capitalism while turning around to fight each other. Essence Fest is not perfect. But it is ours. It deserves our truth, our pressure, and our protection—in equal measure.
Let’s hold Essence accountable. But let’s also hold each other tenderly. Because this culture we’re defending? It’s not just a product. It’s a people. Essence Fest is at a crossroads. But so are we. The question isn’t just about what kind of festival we want—it’s about what kind of community we’re becoming.
Do we want a culture that calls in or calls out? Do we want institutions that evolve—or ones we discard the moment they falter? Do we reserve our sharpest critiques for white-led systems—or for ourselves?
Essence Fest didn’t erase Black American culture this year. But many of us erased context, erased nuance, and erased one of the few Black women at the helm of a major cultural platform. That’s not accountability. That’s harm. This year, Essence stumbled. So did the community watching it. But if there’s anything this festival has taught us, it’s that Black culture is resilient. That Black leadership is imperfect but necessary. That critique should come with care—and that rebuilding is always possible.
Before we cancel, let’s consider: Are we feeding the culture war, or fighting for cultural stewardship? Because the true test of a community isn’t how loudly we celebrate ourselves at our best. It’s how we show up when we’re messy, misunderstood, and still figuring it out.
