Childish Gambino Likes Endings
Essay: On Impost(e)r Syndrome, Evolution, and Endings
We all knew Donald Glover would be a different type of hip-hop artist. Just look at his name. If you research how most reputable rappers get their stage names, you may read stories of them earning their name from an old childhood story or a respected mentor in the game. If you type your name into the Wu-Tang Name Generator you will enter the Wu-Tang and leave with your Wu-Tang name; mine is Fearless Warrior. Donald Glover’s was Childish Gambino.
Yes, I once dreamed of one day becoming a rapper, and I’m certain the many other children of hip-hop young and old dreamt the same at some point. I knew friends who gave it the old college try, while quite literally in college, and let’s just say Intro to Economics wasn’t the only thing they failed. As for me, I unabashedly rocked a couple of cyphers with my college friends, channeling Biggie-esque flows, rhyme schemes mimicking Snoop Dogg, and lyrics containing nothing but lies. Upon hearing my lyrical miracle friends in the circle, I quickly knew my rap dreams weren’t meant to be, but it didn’t stop me from turning into ColeX – my given rap name – when it was time to rhyme:
I got my mind on my money / Money on my mind / Put the nine to your tummy / Blow your tummy out your spine.
I didn’t have money. I didn’t have a nine. And I wouldn’t hurt a gnat. I rapped those four bars over the “Warning” instrumental in my college friend’s dorm room, oohing and ahhing as we each took turns spittin’ our rhymes. We played the rapper part. A bunch of imposters playing pretend in the safety of the world we created. Most rappers are pathological liars anyway.
Trying for laughs when we feel out of place is a symptom of the human condition; the same can be said for telling untruths. Our little white lies are strapped on as innate defense mechanisms for protection because this world is scary. In passing we say to our beloveds, I’m doing good, but the statement can mean many different things. Perhaps we show up as imposters on day one, perpetually learning ourselves, deceiving our past and present as we enter each new world we step afoot in. And that is fine, as long as we know tears and truth are waiting around the corner to hug you. And that is fine too, because as long as we can learn how to properly use our laughter to heal, deceive oppressive systems, and shed tears at our hearts' consent, we gather toward connecting truth to love. After all, it is how one uses the tools in their possession that truly matters.
In 2004, Gambino also rapped in a college friend's dorm, not to a hip-hop instrumental, but to the sounds of choppy bucket drumming and guitar rifts playing “Back in Black” by the rock band AC/DC. Visually speaking, it’s a hilarious sight to imagine. Gambino, presumably the only Black guy in the room, trades bars with NYU Tisch School of the Arts finest, Chaz Kangas. Gambino raps while a group of ladies crowd the doorway watching in amazement as he freestyles. But even if you’ve followed his career from afar this Gambino origin story made sense. It didn’t matter what Gambino rapped about to the particular audience in that NYU rec room, he was exotic. His sporadic flow intrigued them, his punchlines made them giggle, and coupled with his melanated skin, they were in love.
Out of all the generations, my generation seems the most familiar with the term imposter syndrome. A term that propelled a pandemic in its own right, along with its close cousins anxiety, burnout, and depression. (Even the word “imposter” doubts itself with its dual spellings.) To be liked, or not to be liked, is the millennial question. Get in where you fit in, is the M.O.
During my first few job interviews after grad school, I couldn’t help myself from stating a false truth – I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. I hoped that the deceptive statement would land me the job although it couldn’t be further from the truth, a truth I hadn’t realized because being a part of something bigger than myself required sacrifice. Sacrifice is not undesirable if it benefits the things or individuals we love, and a job, by definition, can never appreciate a person’s sacrifice. It will take whatever is required of them and more, regardless of one’s willingness to offer up themselves. The powers that be tell you what they’re looking for – a good fit. Being a part of something bigger than yourself isn’t a crime, the crime is feeling like a fraud during the journey.
In early 2010s mainstream hip-hop, fitting in was a requirement. Besides catchy hooks and erratic rap flows, a hip-hop artist would also need a co-sign or big-up from a hip-hop OG, membership in a hip-hop collective or group, a minimum amount of street cred, influential fashion sense, a vibrant regional sound, and a major city to represent. So, how could Donald Glover, a Jehovah’s Witness military brat with an unkempt mini-afro from Stone Mountain, Georgia become Childish Gambino? From hip-hop fans who went to the school of Jay-Z or 50-Cent, Gambino was akin to a non-fictional version of Papa Doc from 8-Mile – “This guy's a gangster? His real name's Clarence/And Clarence lives at home with both parents.” Gambino was far from a gangster and wasn’t trying to be one.
On Jul 24, 2012, Noisey, a music subsidiary of Vice Media, decided to put Childish Gambino and Chief Keef on camera for a conversation between two musicians. Keef, from South Side Chicago, was coming off of his summer drill hit, “I Don’t Like”, and Gambino was fresh off the release of his sixth mixtape Royalty. It was internet gold. I think you can guess which of these rappers wore short shorts, sitting criss-cross applesauce on a chair, and which one garnished a fat Fendi belt buckle while slumped back into his chair to show his Ralph Lauren boxers. The segment was edited perfectly to show how different these two artists' personalities were, filled with stale mannerisms and awkward pauses. Gambino tried his best to keep the conversation going, even admiring Chief Keef’s tattoos. “To me Chicago and Atlanta [are] the same shit,” Keef interjected. “I’m from Atlanta,” Gambino exudes, “I’m from Stone Mountain.” After all the awkward pauses the shared connection of being from a Black city united them for a moment.
One of the more important questions in our diaspora is where you from? It’s loaded on many levels because the answer could very well depend on who’s asking the question. And while I believe certain important questions should hold less weight in our society, the answer to this specific question provides important information in return. The amount of processing Black people compute after we hear the answer rivals ChatGPT. Group that geographical answer with an answer to, what church you go to, or naming the surnames of your people, and folk might be considered kin – regardless.
Claiming a city is a serious business, and for the non-gang affiliated, area codes become the set we are from. In terms of repping where you’re from, no city gets scrutinized more than Atlanta. Oh, you’re from Atlanta, what part? I’ve heard almost all the adjacents from my students: Conyers, Roswell, Marrieta, Lawrenceville, Smyrna, etc. Atlanta native and rapper Omeretta The Great addresses this in her freestyle Sorry Not Sorry, listing the many areas near the city that are not Atlanta. She also speaks on the imposters:
Y'all come to the city, get a feel for this air (Uh)
And don't wanna go home, I know you love what it taste like (You love what it taste like)
But it ain't too fair, we had to live up in these trenches (Woo)
Y'all went back to the 'burbs when it got up on them late nights
Look, we really ran through these streets, we ain't never get a break
So when we speaking on Atlanta, I don't play, right? (I don't play)
I once suffered from the “New New disease” of wanting to so badly be hood adjacent, only to be reminded that I have a Picasso in my house – the Picasso being a home and environment that allowed for the least amount of negative outside factors to impede or affect my overall well-being. Because why would I crave to be in a space where the negatives outweigh the positives?
Through his music, Gambino leaned into his “rich boy” alter ego and I say alter ego because he didn’t grow up rich by tax bracket standards but a Black boy from the suburbs was rich, especially by Bankhead standards. On track 4 of his debut album Camp, he raps: “No matter how far the hood seems / We all still got hood dreams / I always wanted to get picked on the cool team / But alone is exactly how I should be.”
Being truthful about where I come from directly impacts imposter syndrome. The truth, it could be limiting or liberating, but at least I invite the chance to be honest with myself and others. They don’t tell us that a person could be from many places. Rakim told us, “Cause it ain't where you're from, it's where you're at.”
‘Bino challenged the hip-hop status quo with his appearance and music. He wasn’t concerned with fitting in; he already tried that with a different audience once.
Before Gambino released his debut album, Donald Glover was hired by Tina Fey as a writer for the NBC sitcom 30 Rock at just 23 years old. He became a part of something much bigger than himself. It was an Emmy Award-winning show with an ensemble cast of comedians. He was the only Black writer on the show. “It definitely didn’t feel like I was supposed to be there,” Glover told GQ Magazine. “I used to have stress dreams every night where I was doing cartwheels on the top of a New York skyscraper with the other writers watching me.” Then he learned he was a diversity hire.
The feeling of only being chosen because of a marginality. The realization of understanding it will be an uphill battle from day one. Black people trying to fit in or wondering if they’re a good fit.
My 70-year-old dad admittedly still finds it taboo when he’s the only Black person in a space. I only recognize it when I don’t know anyone around me. During my dad’s time, his Black peers were taught that they would have to work twice as hard to be equal to their white counterparts. In my time we have DEI initiatives that over-promise and under-deliver. I used to think there was irony in that a system put in place to advance Black people and other marginalized communities was never built to last, but this is America.
After leaving 30 Rock, he was heralded for his character, Troy, on Community. Donald Glover was the only guy at the time acting on the silver screen, rapping at the Rock The Bells festival, and performing comedy specials in the same year. He was hailed a future “triple threat” by culture publications, and then after 5 seasons, he decided to leave the show with many people questioning why.
In a 2013 Instagram post, Donald Glover addressed his departure from Community and further expressed his existential feelings at the time. His words written in all-caps on Residence Inn Marriot sticky notes, he shared:
“I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid my parents won’t live long enough to see my kids. I’m afraid my show will fail. I’m scared my girl will get pregnant at not the exact time we want. I’m scared I’ll never reach my potential. I’m afraid she’s still in love with that dude.”
“I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I’m afraid people hate who I really am. I’m afraid I hate who I really am. I’m scared people will find out what I masturbate to. I’m afraid I’m here for nothing. I feel that this will feel pretentious.”
“I didn’t leave Community to rap. I don’t wanna rap. I wanted to be on my own. I’ve been sick this year. I’ve seen a bunch of people die this year. This is the first time I’ve felt helpless. But I’m not on that. Kept looking for something to be in with. Follow someone's blueprint. But you have to be on your own.”
“I got really lost last year. But I can’t be lonely tho. [Redacted] cause we’re all here. We’re all stuck here. I wanted to make something that says, no matter how bad you f*** up, or mistake[s] you’ve made during the year, your life, your eternity. You’re always allowed to be better. You’re always allowed to grow up. If you want.”
Musicians are consumed constantly and often incompletely. I can count on one hand the amount of hip-hop artists I’ve rocked with since their debut. Either our taste changed or the recipe changed or both. Along the way growth occurs and we must reconcile it’s mostly never for the fans’ benefit. We didn’t see much from Gambino for the next two years after his second full-length project, Because the Internet, until we did, and when we did, it was evolution personified.
The 2010s were full of rappers who had everyone and their mama thinking they could sing, myself included. Those talky-singing choruses had us in a chokehold and I thought I was a good singer, singing, “Hold On, We’re Going Home”, and like the rapper who sang that chorus who Glover was often compared to, he was also known for his inconspicuous vocals. First, we heard it on the chorus of “L.E.S.” from his first album and then again the chops leveled up on “Urn” from his second album. But Glover’s evolution as a singer was made clear when he re-appeared to the world as Childish Gambino on Like A Version, an Australian radio program known for featuring artists’ covers of songs.
Gambino covered the R&B classic “So Into You” by Tamia, and it’s not a talky-singing song. Surrounded by his band members, including long-time friend and producer Ludwig Göransson, he was a part of something bigger than himself at that moment. And isn’t that the essence of being a part of something bigger? The ability to take a risk with your friends backing you up, knowing they’re still beside you at the end of the song. I feel that safety within my writing community, the Writing Boys. When my imposter syndrome rears its head to challenge my writing skills, I’m reminded of the words from fellow Writing Boy, Alex Lewis, “You don’t have to write for a major publication to be a writer. You don’t have to write a book or even want to write a book. Your writing journey doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. Just keep writing and see where your journey takes you.”
His cover of “So Into You” wasn’t flawless but it was timeless. It was a foreshadowing of what was to come from Childish Gambino. He told us in his letters he didn’t want to rap. On December 2, 2016, he released his third project, an R&B funk album. His third album “Awaken, My Love!”, was anchored by chart-placing single “Redbone”, featuring a stunning vocal performance, people questioned if he was truly singing or if his voice was pitched up. It was all him. If I heard the album before listening to his previous work, I would’ve thought his artistic motif was to replicate sounds from the Bootsy Collins 70s funk era (similar to how Sacred Souls borrow sounds from the Hitsville U.S.A era). It was unexpected, exciting, and daring. It was all him.
As Childish Gambino evolved, so did Donald Glover. The same year he released his third album, he premiered his FX television series Atlanta. Glover didn’t just create the FX series, but he also directed, starred, and wrote many episodes on the show. “Glover made it a priority to hire an all-Black writing staff to accurately capture Black culture and the Black experience throughout the series—and it worked,” said Karla Rodriguez. “Diversity in writing rooms, let alone having an all-Black writing room, is rare in Hollywood, but it made all the difference on Atlanta.” The show was based on how Glover saw the city of Atlanta.
Something happens when we are honest with ourselves and honest about our work. The feeling of despair evaporates, and the road we’re on evens out. We come to terms with belonging where our bodies occupy, peering out of clearer lenses to know what’s good for us; knowing what you and I are good for.
My generation is beating imposter syndrome because of endings. Whether you end the bout against your self-doubt or time does what it does best, I promise you, it will end. My perspective is needed to mold the environment around me, wherever I am until it’s not, then I carry along, I’m still me.
When Glover was asked about his departure from Community, he told a reporter, “I just like endings. I think everything should have death clauses in them like humans have death clauses,” he continues. “It's important that things end. It forces events to progress... It wasn't like I wanted to run away from it.”
In 2024, Donald Glover announced he was retiring the Childish Gambino moniker – Atlanta ended in 2022 – but it doesn’t mean he’s retiring from music altogether. His fifth and final album, Bando Stone & The New World encompasses all the things that made Gambino who they were – an alternative rapper, with a punk emo flare, who could sing falsetto runs like Marvin while delivering punch lines that would make Weezy smile.
Fittingly enough, Bando Stone & The New World accompanies the unreleased film he created of the same name. Donald Glover and Childish Gambino together for one last run. All to say, oh imposter syndrome, you made me who I am today, thank you. The truth is, he’s not Childish Gambino any longer, but he always will be.
©Cole Henderson. All Rights Reserved.
I'm someone that resists endings and resists release, so thank you for this beautiful piece that helped me consider and ending as a spacious evolution. Moreso, a brave act of trusting what we cannot fathom, but trusting that it will be aligned with us because we are exactly where we are meant to be.
Brother I don’t say this lightly: this is by far your best work. And it’s truly just the beginning. I’m so proud of you. The time you sat with this was well worth it.