When the Hanifa drama was unfolding on social media several weeks ago, I remained silent, because I understand businesses go through growing pains.
A bit of backstory: during Black Friday, Hanifa did a site-wide sale where you were able to buy discounted items via pre-order, with orders expecting to ship late December or early January. Did I take advantage of the sale? Absolutely.
But then many of us were hit with emails saying shipments were delayed, didn’t receive emailed responses to inquiries, didn’t get emailed updates, and then had to rely on a video the founder, Anifa Mvuemba, posted on January 12th addressing the concerns. In the video, she shared that she was currently on maternity leave after having her baby boy about a month prior, and said “I am truly truly sorry to anyone who feels frustrated, angry, disappointed and confused. This was not our intention and I hate that this is your experience.”
Now, it’s February. Still a month following that video, I’m left with no order (along with many other customers), no shipment tracking in sight, and of course, have several awards shows (past and present) that I intended to wear these clothes for. After spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars, with no products or updates in sight.
Do I understand what it’s like to run a small business? I do. I’ve been there myself (please check the credentials, in fact). And while I still feel sympathy, I’m also well aware that this could have been handled in a myriad of better ways.
And look, I get it. Running a business is hard. Running a Black-owned business in an industry that historically hasn’t made space for us? Even harder. The barriers to entry are higher and the resources are often scarce. And the margin for error feels nonexistent when you’re constantly being compared to brands that have had generational wealth and infrastructure backing them from day one.
The numbers are rough, so I get it! Black-owned businesses make up just 3.3% of all U.S. businesses, despite Black Americans representing 14.4% of the population. In fashion specifically, the challenges are even steeper. Less than 1% of venture capital funding goes to Black founders, and only 4% of Black-owned businesses continue operation after three and a half years, compared with 55.5% across all businesses. These numbers clearly represent real systemic barriers that make success exponentially harder for Black entrepreneurs.
But at what point does our commitment to supporting Black-owned businesses cross over into accepting subpar customer service? When does our grace become an excuse for practices that we would absolutely drag a mainstream brand for?
Because let’s be honest, if this were Zara or H&M or even a smaller non-Black owned boutique, we’d be in their mentions relentlessly, filing chargebacks and warning everyone we know not to shop there. I know, because I’ve done it (lol). But because it’s one of ours, we bite our tongues and make excuses about small teams and limited budgets and the struggle of being a Black entrepreneur in a white-dominated space.
And yes, all of that context matters. It really does. But it can’t be the only thing that matters.
I’ve spent years intentionally redirecting my dollars to Black-owned brands. My closet, my skincare routine, my home goods, even where I eat when I can. Hell, it’s even a part of my job. At ESSENCE, my mission every day is to shine light on the beauty and brilliance of Black entrepreneurs. Supporting us isn’t performative for me, it’s a core value. I believe in what we create, and in our ability to innovate and build something from nothing and make it beautiful.
But belief without accountability isn’t support, it’s actually doing a disservice. Because when we refuse to hold Black-owned businesses to the same standards we hold everyone else, we’re essentially saying we expect less from them. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to operate from a place that assumes we can’t deliver excellence. Because I know we can, I see it everyday. But only when we’re pushed to.
I think a hard lesson learned in this situation is that good business practices aren’t subjective. If you’re going to take someone’s money, especially hundreds of dollars (my hundreds of dollars), you owe them transparency and updates before being called out for the lack thereof. You also owe them the respect of responding to their emails and not leaving them in the dark for weeks on end, scrambling to figure out if they’ve been scammed or if their order is even being processed.
I also think about the customers who probably had even less flexibility than me. I saw people online say that they specifically saved for that Black Friday sale. Or others who needed those pieces for job interviews or weddings or once-in-a-lifetime events (one girl even noting she ordered hers in time for Valentine’s Day, which is next week). What about them?
In the video, the founder mentioned that items were stuck in transit due to customs issues. And while I understand that customs can be unpredictable, especially now during these trying times, I think we need to ask a bigger question here. This brand has been around for years now, and yet they’re still only able to ship products to consumers that are on pre-order. That means they don’t have inventory in stock, right? They’re manufacturing everything after the fact.
I’m not saying that to tear them down. I’m saying it because after all these years of growth and visibility, shouldn’t there be systems in place? Shouldn’t there be enough working capital or infrastructure to have at least some stock on hand, especially for a major sale? Or at minimum, shouldn’t the communication around timelines be clearer if you know manufacturing and customs are going to be variables?
And I know the funding challenges are real (I’ve experienced it as a founder who raised millions in venture capital). In 2023, funding for Black-owned businesses plummeted by 71%, falling to $705 million, the first time since 2016 that this figure dipped below $1 billion. Not to mention, 50% of Black business owners applying for a loan, line of credit or merchant cash advance are denied, compared to 18% of white business owners. These disparities make it incredibly difficult for Black entrepreneurs to access the capital they need to scale properly, invest in infrastructure, or weather unexpected challenges.
But that’s exactly why transparency and communication become even more critical. When you’re working with limited resources and tighter margins, keeping your customers informed isn’t optional. It’s how you maintain the trust that keeps people coming back, that turns one-time buyers into loyal supporters who understand when things get tough.
And I think this is where we need to get comfortable with nuance. You can support Black businesses and still demand better. You can root for someone’s success while also calling out where they’ve dropped the ball. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.
Part of why I stayed quiet initially was because I saw how brutal the comments were getting. There’s definitely a segment of people who seem to take joy in watching Black businesses fail, who are overly harsh in ways that feel racially motivated. I didn’t want to pile on.
But my silence didn’t help anyone. It didn’t help the other customers still waiting in February for orders they placed in November, didn’t help the brand learn and grow, and it definitely didn’t help me get my order. But I’ll keep shopping Black-owned. That’s not changing. But I’m also going to keep my standards exactly where they’ve always been. High.