Hey honeys and hustlers,

Grace is something we should extend to others more often. And by "we" I mean me. I previously wrote an article about Pinky Cole's Slutty Vegan ownership debacle, and I think there's room for more heart in this conversation. The conversation has now expanded to include Fawn Weaver, the owner of Uncle Nearest. We love to dissect success stories. We analyze business models, scrutinize leadership decisions, and debate marketing strategies. It's how we learn.

But somewhere in our pursuit of understanding what went wrong—or what could go wrong—we forget something crucial: these are real people building real businesses, often for the first time. Pinky Cole didn't wake up one day with an MBA and a foolproof plan to scale a vegan empire. Fawn Weaver didn't inherit a playbook on how to become the first Black woman to own a major spirits brand. They're figuring it out as they go, just like the rest of us. They have my support and true belief that things will work themselves out, and the stories that follow will be one for the books (that I know they'll eventually write).

There's a particular pressure that comes with being the first, especially as a woman of color in industries that weren't built with you in mind. Every misstep becomes a case study. Every controversy becomes a cautionary tale. The grace period that others might receive? It's significantly shorter—if it exists at all. When Pinky Cole faced scrutiny over ownership stakes in Slutty Vegan, the conversation quickly turned to what she did wrong. When Fawn Weaver's business practices were questioned, the analysis was swift and unforgiving. But how often do we extend that same critical lens to their male counterparts? And more importantly, how often do we remember that mistakes are part of the entrepreneurial journey?

We celebrate the success and inspiration porn. We admire entrepreneurs who take risks, do things differently, garner a lot of press, and seemingly always know the right thing to say. We share quotes about failure being a stepping stone to success. But when women—particularly Black women—stumble in their entrepreneurial journey, suddenly the narrative shifts. The grace we claim to believe in evaporates.

You can't champion entrepreneurship while simultaneously expecting perfection from entrepreneurs. You can't encourage people to take risks and then crucify them when those risks don't pan out exactly as planned. This is for you and me.

Extending grace doesn't mean abandoning accountability. It doesn't mean we can't have conversations about business ethics, ownership structures, or leadership decisions. What it means is approaching these conversations with the understanding that:

We have a role to play in shaping these narratives, and I particularly feel I could’ve used my platform better, even with the nuance I tried to hold in my critique. We can choose to be part of the problem—adding to the noise, the judgment, the pile-on—or we can be part of the solution. Being part of the solution means:

I wrote critically about Pinky Cole's situation because I believe in holding businesses accountable. I still do. But I also believe in balance—in remembering that behind every business decision is a human being trying their best with the information and resources they have.

Fawn Weaver, Pinky Cole, and countless other Black women building businesses deserve our support, our constructive feedback, and yes, our grace. Not because they're perfect, but because they're brave enough to try something most of us never will. There are so many Black women who have been forced out of their jobs this year that may be entering entrepreneurship as a means of survival; they will make mistakes. If we want more women—more Black women specifically—to step into entrepreneurship with confidence (I do!), we need to create an environment where it's safe to learn, grow, and build community. That starts with grace. And it starts with us.