What celebration means—and what it doesn’t.
There’s something I keep noticing, and I’m saying it carefully because it deserves care.
We are loud, and rightfully so, about supporting Black-owned businesses. We share the lists. We repost the graphics. We say the names. And yet, when you look closely at many small Black-owned brands—especially the ones building in real time, without celebrity amplification or venture backing—the actual customer base often doesn’t reflect the community that champions them.
That isn’t an accusation. It’s an observation that isn’t a feeling isolated to one founder. The numbers tell a similar story.
According to recent U.S. Census data, Black-owned businesses make up only a small share of all employer firms in the United States, roughly 3–3.4% of total businesses, despite Black Americans being about 14% of the population. While there are millions of Black-owned enterprises, most are non-employer businesses—meaning they do not have paid staff. The deeper inequality shows up in revenue and longevity: Black-owned firms are significantly underrepresented in overall business receipts and face steeper barriers to capital, which contributes to lower survival and growth rates compared with the national average.
As a Black woman building a small business from the ground up, I’ve had to confront a difficult truth: visibility does not automatically translate into sustained support. Applause does not equal purchase. Promotion does not equal partnership. And the gap between those things can be wide.
There is also another layer that is harder to name.
Many of us who build businesses that center thoughtfulness, aesthetics, cultural nuance or slower living find ourselves in an odd position. We are told our work matters. We are told we are needed. But identifying who is actually prepared to invest in what we are building is less straightforward. Are we building for “the community”? For a specific income bracket? For people who value intention over convenience? For those who say they want change but still default to familiarity when it’s time to spend?
The market does not respond to sentiment. It responds to behavior.
And behavior is shaped by history. Black communities in America have carried disproportionate economic strain for generations. Disposable income is not evenly distributed. Risk tolerance is not evenly distributed. Trust is not evenly distributed. Supporting small businesses is a beautiful idea. It is also a financial decision. For many, it is not always the first priority.
That reality doesn’t negate the value of what we build. But it does complicate the narrative.
The conversation around “support Black-owned” often assumes a seamless alignment between identity and customer base. In practice, it is more complex. Some Black-owned brands rely heavily on non-Black consumers. Some Black consumers prioritize price over principle because they have to. Some of us are still learning how to articulate who our work is actually for.
None of this is betrayal. It is economics. It is culture. It is habit. It is access.
Building a business as a Black woman requires clarity beyond inspiration. It requires asking harder questions: Who is my work serving? Who can afford it? Who believes in it enough to return? Where do I build trust that is not just symbolic but sustained?
These are not resentful questions. They are strategic ones.
If we want Black-owned businesses to thrive long-term, we have to move past slogans and into infrastructure. Into repeat customers. Into shared economic literacy. Into honest conversations about money, value and priority.
I’m still building. Still refining. Still learning who I am actually speaking to and who is prepared to walk with me. That process is humbling. It is also necessary.
Promotion is a start. Partnership is the work.
And the work is what sustains us.
With Care.
Tasha Monroe
Founder, Simply Edyn & Co.