The New Yorker - USA (2021-11-29)

94 THENEWYORKER,NOVEMBER29, 2021

on television

LADIES’ NIGHT

Season 5 of “Insecure,” on HBO.

by doreen st. félix

ILLUSTRATION BY TYLER MISHÁ BARNETT

W

hen the series finale of “Insecure”
airs, next month, on HBO, it will
mark the end of a fascinating decade
for Issa Rae, television’s heretic maven.
In 2011, Rae débuted a YouTube series
called “The Misadventures of Awkward
Black Girl,” a rogue comedy of humil-
iation that attracted a cult following of
young Black Internet addicts. (A stoner
college freshman at the time, I was a
proud member.) Rae played J, an angsty,
alternative version of herself, who lived
in Black Los Angeles, where she strug-
gled to navigate work, friendship, and
romance. An awkward public presence,
she vented by writing aggressive raps in
private. Her maladjustment was distinct

from that of the contemporaneous blip-

ster or blerd, who felt that he was spe-

cially persecuted because of his tastes;

J’s awkwardness was personal, and what

made “A.B.G.” click was her wry, out-

landish subjectivity. She was more Larry

David than Moesha.

“A.B.G.” became an example of the

kind of art that Black writers could cre-

ate if they sidestepped the traditional

models of television-making. The Inter-

net afforded Rae creative freedom, but

it came with financial constraints: al-

though fans funded the production of

the show via Kickstarter, it was impos-

sible for the series to turn a profit. And,

besides, the box was still king. Like her

contemporaries Ilana Glazer and Abbi
Jacobson (“Broad City”) and Katja Blich-
feld and Ben Sinclair (“High Mainte-
nance”), Rae turned her Web series into
a network deal. She would create an HBO
show with Larry Wilmore, and star in
it as well. Eventually, the trades shared
the title of the project—“Insecure.” The
artist faced an interesting dilemma: How
do you preserve and transfer to an es-
tablished medium the gonzo vibe of art
made for online consumption? Or, bet-
ter yet: Should you?
Rae, smartly, adapted to her new home.
When “Insecure” premièred, five years
ago, “A.B.G.” fans searched for the con-
nective tissue. An actor or two from the
Web series popped up, in minor roles.
The rapping became interior monologue.
The milieu was still Black L.A., but the
aesthetic, pioneered by Melina Matsou-
kas, then a music-video director for Be-
yoncé and other artists, had been glammed
up. “A.B.G.” was lo-fi; “Insecure” was
Instagram pretty. The characters were
still twentysomething and struggling to
have it all, but they were decked out in
designer clothes while doing so.
J was gone, and in her stead was Issa
Dee, a millennial similarly frustrated
by her professional and romantic ruts,
which were clearly of her own creation.
The explicit allusion to Rae’s name sug-
gested a stronger link between alter ego
and artist. Issa’s social world was more
realized, sprawled out, bougier. (And
hotter: “Insecure” will be partly remem-
bered as a shrine to graphic hetero sex.)
Some of “A.B.G.” ’s acid humor came
from J’s disdain of her snide, “light-
skinned bitch” colleague, Nina. “Inse-
cure” has explored the vicissitudes of
friendship—in particular, the prickly
and passionate bond between Issa and
her best friend, Molly (Yvonne Orji),
an edgy corporate lawyer who can’t sub-
mit to love. Across its five seasons, “In-
secure,” an ever-changing and imperfect
exploration of modern Black adulthood,
has always been at its most acute when
it focusses on their relationship.
I love “Insecure.” But I have also found
it exasperating. Maybe it’s my stubborn
“A.B.G.” allegiance. I wanted “Insecure”
to lock into a tone as quickly as its pro-
genitor did. The early episodes felt tyr-
annized by their tight, half-hour struc-
ture. Although the music supervision
The series is at its best when it focusses on the bond between Issa and Molly. was inspired, I tended to find the needle