A woman becomes a performance that must keep winning, because the moment she stops performing, the room changes temperature. The love feels conditional. The admiration becomes fragile. The relationship begins to feel like an audition where the role is “easy.” What Bogutskaya helps name, without asking for permission, is that many “unlikable” women are simply women who are done paying that price.

The recent documentary produced by 50 Cent didn’t just revisit the rise and fall of a cultural icon. It pulled back a curtain many of us didn’t even realize we were staring at for decades. Watching it, I was reminded of The Wizard of Oz , not because of villains or heroes, but because of illusion. Smoke. Sound.

In Heroes, much of the story revolves around DNA and evolution. The idea is that human beings are coded for more, and one day, those hidden codes “switch on.” For me, watching the show felt like remembering something I already knew. It was as if my own DNA was whispering: 

You too have gifts. Pay attention.

The Marvel Universe has always fascinated me, not only for its dazzling visuals or complex characters, but for the deeper truths hidden beneath the action. Every hero’s journey in Marvel is, at its core, a spiritual awakening. Whether it’s Black Panther connecting to his ancestral realm, Wanda Maxim off learning to face the chaos within, or Doctor Strange surrendering to the unknown, these stories speak to something timeless: the remembrance of the supernatural self.

But The Craft isn’t just about witchcraft. It’s about what happens when women remember who they are. When they stop apologizing for their magic. When they realize that pain can be alchemized, that wounds can become portals.

Cameron enters a world where winning comes at a price most of us will never understand. Behind the glamour, the press conferences, the rings and the trophies, there’s an economy of power that demands sacrifice. Literal sacrifice.

Long before I ever held a crystal or walked into the spiritual section of a bookstore, I was watching The Craft on a rainy night, completely captivated by four teenage girls who weren’t just misfits, they were magic. Their power wasn’t metaphorical. It was ancestral. Elemental. Real.

Somewhere between their spells and their shadows, I felt a flicker of something inside me.

Eve’s Bayou (1997), Kasi Lemmons’ haunting Southern Gothic debut, unfolds in a prosperous Creole community in Louisiana during the 1960s.