From “4 DA 904” to Civic Engagement: AyeDNicole on Jacksonville’s Influencer Culture, Military Families, Black Music, FAMU, Angie Nixon, and David Jolly
By AyeDNicole | October 25, 2026
QUOTE IT UP. ROLL IT UP. LET’S GO.
“And yes, I strongly stand by being a military brat because it’s a lot of things that street brats don’t know. It’s a lot of things that hood brats from Jacksonville don’t fucking know. Even their generations that have been on the same soil and ain’t shake up shit.”
“Where are the niggas with the cash at? Where are they? Not just for me, but where are they for the city of Jacksonville that needs it?”
“You can watch my stories. You can study my outlines. You can send your kids to FAMU. But you cannot manufacture another me.”
“Some of y’all would rather make me an example to help the next bitch out, but don’t even have the tools, resources, or structure to understand what you’re trying to recreate.”
“Y’all can show us food, food, food. But where is the vote, vote, vote?”
“If it ain’t their show, they don’t want to show up. And that’s the motherfucking problem.”
“Black men are not Mandingo fantasies. Black babies are not cultural trophies. And Black women are not somebody’s competition simply because another woman is dating a Black man.”
“Everybody wants to be the main character until it’s time to be part of the community.”
“Before anybody tries to correct AyeDNicole with some little plan involving their connections, their folks over here, and their folks over there, let’s keep it real clean and crisp. Because I ain’t the motherfucking one.”
“I’m the bad bitch in the middle, baby. But the difference is, I’m paying attention to what’s happening around me, not just who’s looking at me.”
1. Jacksonville, Y’all Can Show Up for Everything Else. So Where Were Y’all?
It’s funny to me how Jacksonville’s so-called popular people can show up for celebrity functions, entertainment showcases, restaurant outings, social media productions, and everything else that comes with being seen.
But when it’s time to participate in civic engagement, suddenly I don’t see the same familiar faces.
And I find that mind-boggling.
Now, let me be clear. I’m not saying everybody has to support the same political candidate. That’s the beauty of democracy.
But I am questioning the difference between being socially visible and being civically involved.
Because when I went outside this weekend and had the opportunity to observe the Black culture surrounding Jacksonville’s Northside, I started asking myself some serious questions.
Where are the people who claim to have the money?
Where are the people with the cameras?
Where are the influencers who supposedly have the connections, platforms, and resources to help mobilize their own communities?
“Where are the niggas with the cash at? Where are they? Not just for me, but where are they for the city of Jacksonville that needs it?”
And before anybody gets offended, understand that I’m asking about community investment, not somebody handing me money.
I’m asking where the economic power is when grassroots organizations need resources, when voter education needs promotion, and when Black communities need people who can do more than take pictures.
2. “4 DA 904”: Jacksonville’s Forgotten Music Culture and the Crab-in-the-Bucket Mentality
Now, let me explain something about my song “4 DA 904.”
When I incorporated a mix of Lil Brad’s music into my creative work, it wasn’t simply about making another Jacksonville-inspired record.
It was to prove a point.
Jacksonville has a musical history, underground culture, and generations of artistic contributions that I believe haven’t received the preservation, investment, and recognition they deserve.
And sometimes it takes somebody who wasn’t born in the city to recognize what has been sitting right in front of everybody.
“Y’all didn’t put enough effort into preserving some of the music culture that was left behind. But when somebody who wasn’t technically born in Jacksonville comes along and creatively embraces it, now it’s a motherfucking problem?”
That’s the difference I’ve noticed between Jacksonville and Atlanta.
Atlanta has its own issues, but one thing I’ve observed is a stronger visible infrastructure connecting its music history, entertainment businesses, artists, and cultural identity.
Jacksonville has talent, history, and opportunities, too.
But in my experience, the crab-in-the-bucket mentality can become so overwhelming that people spend more time questioning who deserves recognition than developing resources that could benefit everybody.
“You cannot keep crying about outsiders while overlooking the history, talent, and opportunities already sitting in your own backyard.”
My song 4 DA 904 represents part of that conversation.
It’s about recognizing a musical foundation, appreciating the culture, and demonstrating how creative work can connect with education, economic development, and civic engagement.
You Cannot Recreate Somebody Else’s Education, Experience, or Identity
I’ve noticed how people sometimes attempt to study another person’s approach, observe their content, and replicate what they believe makes that individual successful.
And baby, let me tell you something.
“You can watch my stories. You can study my outlines. You can send your kids to FAMU. But you cannot manufacture another me.”
And that isn’t disrespect toward Florida A&M University or anybody pursuing an education.
I want more young people to attend HBCUs, earn their degrees, develop professional skills, and create opportunities for themselves.
But attending the same university as somebody else doesn’t mean you automatically inherit their experiences, personality, creativity, or professional judgment.
My background in psychology, business management, finance, student government, corporate treasury, and music has influenced how I analyze situations.
My military upbringing has influenced how I approach service, structure, patriotism, and accountability.
And my preparation for law school is another step in developing those skills.
“Some of y’all would rather make me an example to help the next bitch out, but don’t even have the tools, resources, or structure to understand what you’re trying to recreate.”
You cannot replace actual education with assumptions.
You cannot replace analytical skills with watching somebody’s social media.
And you cannot replace years of professional experience with popularity or personal connections.
“You can’t make another me, baby. You just can’t motherfucking do it. And too bad, so sad, y’all asses got outdid in y’all own fucking city by somebody who knows how to use music, education, civic engagement, structure, real studying, and real analytical skills while preparing herself to enter law. Not the gambling game of bullshit.”
That’s where I call out the fuckery.
3. The Influencers Had Microphones. So Where Were the Microphones?
Jacksonville has no shortage of aspiring influencers, underground artists, content creators, photographers, and personalities who want to be considered important.
Everybody has a camera.
Everybody has a microphone.
Everybody wants an interview.
But when I was outside observing the civic engagement surrounding Angie Nixon’s event, I didn’t personally see the same crowd of prominent local personalities that I regularly see promoting themselves online.
And that stood out.
I cannot speak for everyone’s schedule, political beliefs, or private contributions. Somebody could have supported the cause in another way.
But my observation remains:
“Y’all can find a camera for the club, the gossip, the controversy, and the content. So why can’t more of those same cameras be used to educate people about voter registration, community resources, and civic responsibility?”
That is a serious marketing question.
As someone with a background in business, finance, music, and Florida A&M University leadership, I understand the importance of organizing people around a purpose.
There are real organizational structures, student governance processes, electoral commissions, and community-service responsibilities that require more than popularity.
The culture is not just something to imitate. It is something to understand, respect, and contribute to.
4. Y’all Can Show Us on TikTok and Instagram That You Can Eat, But Can’t Show Up for Civic Engagement? Let’s Talk About It!
Now, here’s another thing about Jacksonville’s influencer culture that I find absolutely hilarious.
Y’all can get on TikTok and Instagram and show us food, food, food.
Eating here. Eating there. Another restaurant. Another plate. Another video.
I’ve seen content featuring a Black man being fed all this food by a Korean woman, showing how they’re outside eating, eating, and eating some more.
And baby, after watching all those videos, I’ve noticed both of them looking bigger over time.
But here’s what I haven’t personally seen from that same content:
“I done seen both of y’all asses outside eating, eating, eating, but I ain’t seen y’all asses outside eating and voting with Angie Nixon or promoting voting, period! That’s the gag!”
Now, I don’t know whether either person voted privately or participated in other community events. But I can speak about the content I’ve seen and the priorities it makes me question.
Because y’all can bring the cameras outside for another restaurant, another plate, and another meal.
But where are the cameras for civic engagement?
Where are the microphones for voter education?
Where is the content supporting community events and the people trying to make a difference?
“Y’all can show us food, food, food. But where is the vote, vote, vote?”
Black Culture Is Not a Fetish, and Black Men Are More Than Content
And yes, there’s a broader cultural conversation I want to have.
I believe there is a difference between genuinely appreciating Black culture and treating Black culture like something you can use to create an identity, attract an audience, or gain social recognition.
That includes how interracial relationships are portrayed online.
“There’s a difference between genuinely loving a Black man, respecting his culture, and building a family with him versus fetishizing Black men and treating Black culture like something you can insert yourself into for attention.”
And I don’t care whether somebody is Korean, white, Latina, or anything else.
My concern is about behavior.
Being involved with a Black man doesn’t automatically mean somebody understands African, Caribbean, Afro-American, or other Black cultural histories.
And having a Black child should never be treated like a cultural achievement or social media accessory.
“Black men are not Mandingo fantasies. Black babies are not cultural trophies. And Black women are not somebody’s competition simply because another woman is dating a Black man.”
I also question content that repeatedly centers a Black man around consumption rather than presenting him as a complete individual with interests, responsibilities, and contributions beyond entertainment.
That’s not to say people can’t enjoy food or make restaurant videos.
But I want to see more dimensions of Black life represented.
Because Black men are more than appetites.
Black women are more than stereotypes.
And Black families deserve more than being reduced to social media narratives.
The Down-to-Earth Disguise and Passive-Aggressive Racism
Now, here’s another issue I want to address.
I’ve encountered situations where people present themselves as down-to-earth, innocent, or completely clueless about cultural issues.
And sometimes, from my perspective, that presentation can become a way of avoiding accountability.
“People will try to play on your mind and make you think they’re just so down-to-earth or so clueless. But sometimes I question whether that innocence is a disguise for how they really treat Black culture.”
That’s where I believe passive-aggressive racism deserves serious discussion.
Because racism doesn’t always present itself through somebody openly declaring hostility.
It can appear through stereotypes, unequal treatment, dismissive attitudes, cultural appropriation, or selective support.
But those patterns have to be evaluated through actual behavior, not assumptions about somebody’s race, relationship, or private thoughts.
And when I see people publicly embracing Black culture while remaining relatively silent about civic issues affecting Black communities, I question that disconnect.
“Don’t sell me the image of being down for Black culture if you only want to be visible when the culture benefits your content.”
Nobody is obligated to support my preferred candidate, and everybody has the right to vote independently.
But I do question the way some influencers selectively participate in community conversations based on what benefits their personal brand.
“If you want to be involved in Black culture, then understand that Black culture is bigger than food, music, dating, and entertainment. There’s history, education, economics, and civic responsibility attached to it, too.”
Let’s Talk About Those Smothered Neck Bone Tacos!
Now, while we’re talking about food, let me tell y’all what I saw when I attended the community event where Angie Nixon was present.
There was a food truck offering smothered neck bone tacos!
And yes, bitch, I said smothered!
“Because when you put that birria on it, it becomes smothered, bitch! Let’s get into the culinary terminology!”
LOL!
But seriously, that could have been an entire TikTok or Instagram segment.
Where were the food influencers?
Where were the microphones?
Where were the people who love reviewing restaurants and making a production out of somebody taking a bite?
Y’all could have interviewed the vendor.
Highlighted the tacos.
Promoted the food truck.
Documented the community gathering.
And used the same creativity that goes into restaurant content to showcase local entrepreneurship.
“Y’all will show us somebody eating for fifteen different videos, but couldn’t come out and put those smothered neck bone tacos on the camera?”
Because if we’re going to promote food culture, let’s also promote the entrepreneurs who bring their businesses directly into community spaces.
If It Ain’t Their Show, They Don’t Want to Show Up
And this brings me to what I believe is the bigger problem with some of Jacksonville’s influencer culture.
“If it ain’t their show, they don’t want to show up. And that’s the motherfucking problem.”
Everybody wants their own camera.
Their own microphone.
Their own interview.
Their own audience.
Their own moment.
And there’s nothing wrong with building a personal brand.
But community participation shouldn’t always have to revolve around somebody being the center of attention.
You can create your own content while supporting an event somebody else organized.
You can interview people.
You can highlight local businesses.
You can discuss voter registration and civic participation without endorsing a particular candidate.
You can still maintain your own identity.
“Everybody wants to be the main character until it’s time to be part of the community.”
And that’s the mentality I want Jacksonville to examine.
5. And What About David Jolly? Civic Engagement Doesn’t Stop With One Candidate
And what’s even sadder to me is that this conversation doesn’t begin and end with Angie Nixon.
What about David Jolly?
I’m a Black woman who has made her own decision to vote for David Jolly for governor of Florida.
That’s my personal political choice, and I’m entitled to express it.
But I also believe every candidate’s campaign deserves to be evaluated seriously, regardless of race, gender, or political affiliation.
And if Jacksonville’s influencers have the ability to produce events, promote businesses, and organize audiences, why isn’t there more visible effort around substantive political conversations?
“They couldn’t even show up for David Jolly or make sure they’re doing the rallies right for him. But they want to show up and try to learn off of Black people.”
That’s how the situation looks to me from the content and events I’ve personally observed. I can’t establish who attended every rally or how each campaign organized its outreach.
But the larger question remains.
Why do some people appear so eager to participate in Black entertainment and cultural spaces while showing less public interest in the economic, educational, and civic issues affecting those same communities?
And this is where I have to address something else.
“We keep letting people in to learn from what we started, but when the culture gets copied without the responsibility, the respect, or the structure, we end up right back in the fucking hole.”
That’s a criticism of cultural exploitation and organizational behavior, not a claim that people of any particular ancestry are incapable of genuine participation.
And it doesn’t matter whether somebody is Black or white.
I believe everybody who benefits from a community should consider what they’re contributing to it.
As a Black woman, I’m particularly concerned with how Black women, Black institutions, and Black cultural contributions are treated.
That’s why my experience meeting Angie Nixon matters to me.
And that’s why my personal voting decision regarding David Jolly matters to me, too.
“White folks and everybody else need to get their own civic responsibilities right, too. Stop being all up in Black people’s business trying to learn the culture while overlooking the responsibilities in your own communities.”
Because genuine cultural exchange is different from extracting somebody else’s ideas, identity, or labor without respect.
And political engagement should not become another popularity contest.
If you’re interested in David Jolly’s campaign, learn about his proposals, attend an event if you choose, and ask serious questions.
If you’re interested in Angie Nixon’s campaign, do the same.
If you support somebody else, engage with the issues and make an informed decision.
But don’t confuse watching Black people with understanding Black leadership.
“You can’t study Black culture through Instagram and think you’ve mastered the responsibilities that come with community service.”
And baby, that’s where I call out the fuckery.
6. It Was Nice Seeing Lil Duval, But Where Was the Bigger Promotional Push?
Now, let me also say this: it was nice seeing Lil Duval outside supporting the event.
I appreciated seeing him perform, and I think he did a decent job with what he brought to the stage.
But respectfully, I believe there was an opportunity for a much stronger promotional push surrounding the event.
You can absolutely highlight Lil Duval as the performer while still making the civic engagement mission the main attraction.
Because the real opportunity was bigger than one performance.
“We could have had more cameras, more young people, more grassroots involvement, and more creative ways to get Jacksonville excited about voting.”
And I’m not going to lie, watching him perform his familiar hit reminded me of seeing Chameleon perform what I considered her one-hit throwback.
I had to chuckle a little.
“I’m like, dang, that’s all you got? LOL. But okay, at least you showed up!”
And that’s where I separate my entertainment critique from my appreciation for civic participation.
I would have loved to see a stronger connection with Edward Waters University students, more HBCU representation, more collegiate apparel, and more opportunities for young Black creatives to participate in the production and promotion.
I didn’t personally observe much of that during my time there, although I cannot speak for every aspect of the event’s planning.
And yes, I noticed the all-black outfit.
As an artist who appreciates cultural symbolism, spirituality, and historical Black artistic traditions, I pay attention to how people present themselves.
But clothing alone doesn’t tell me someone’s understanding of Hoodoo, Vodou, patriotism, or Black cultural history.
“You can dress the part, but what I want to see is the community engagement that goes along with the presentation.”
That’s my point.
Jacksonville has an opportunity to do so much more when it comes to integrating Black entertainment, collegiate institutions, grassroots civic engagement, and Black women in leadership.
Even within our own communities, there can be this unnecessary expectation that a Black woman’s story, appearance, background, and personality must fit somebody else’s literal interpretation of what leadership should look like.
“Everybody wants the story to match the woman in these overly technical terms, and the actual message goes over their fucking heads every time.”
A Black woman doesn’t have to become a perfectly packaged character for people to understand her qualifications, community contributions, or leadership.
She can be a mother.
She can be an entrepreneur.
She can enjoy hip-hop.
She can laugh, dance, and have personality.
And she can still be serious about public policy, economic development, education, and civic responsibility.
That is part of what I appreciated about Angie Nixon.
Seeing her enjoy the performance while remaining connected to the people around her reminded me that authenticity matters.
“Lil Duval brought the entertainment, and I appreciated that. But imagine what Jacksonville could accomplish if the same energy people put into promoting entertainers was consistently invested in civic education and Black women doing the grassroots work.”
Because the show was cute, baby. But the community deserves the whole production.
7. Angie Nixon’s Team Showed Up, and That Deserves Recognition
One thing I will absolutely give Angie Nixon credit for is having a team that showed up and represented her campaign.
Seeing that community-centered approach in person meant something to me.
“I’m glad Angie has people around her who understand that showing up for civic engagement is bigger than chasing popularity.”
I also appreciated seeing Black and Brown people having opportunities to participate in the campaign’s creative and organizational work.
Because representation behind the camera matters just as much as representation in front of it.
And that’s something Jacksonville’s influencer culture should seriously consider.
8. The Cameras, the Cliques, and the People Who Only Show Up When They Control the Room
Jacksonville has personalities and social circles that seem to place enormous importance on who knows whom, who gets invited, and who controls the narrative.
And I’ve personally had experiences that make me question how some people use their cameras, connections, and influence.
Whether we’re talking about Rique, Rick Bentley, Emily Perry, Tia Coleman, Michael Jenkins, or anybody else whose name has come up in my experiences, my broader concern is about accountability.
I did not personally see these individuals at the event. That observation alone does not establish what they support politically or what they may have contributed elsewhere.
But it raises a question about the larger culture of visibility.
“Why does everybody want to control the room, but not everybody wants to contribute to what the room actually needs?”
I also question whether racial and cultural differences sometimes become excuses for people to avoid unfamiliar communities.
Not every white woman, Latina, Afro-Latina, or Black woman thinks alike. And nobody should be judged simply because of their ethnicity.
But anyone claiming to care about Jacksonville should be willing to understand communities beyond their usual social circles.
Moncrief and the Northside should not become places people only discuss when there’s controversy, redevelopment, or a photo opportunity.
These are communities with people, businesses, history, and futures worth investing in.
9. Jacksonville’s Redlining Mentality: What About the Military Brats Who Want to Contribute?
Now, since Jacksonville wants to keep drawing these imaginary red lines around who’s from the city, who’s accepted, who’s popular, and who’s allowed to contribute, I have another question.
What about the military brats?
What about the children who weren’t born in Jacksonville but grew up there because their parents served this country?
What about the people who want to contribute, learn, build relationships, make friends, and genuinely help the communities they grew up around?
Because apparently, being from Jacksonville has become a birth certificate competition for some people.
“So because my birth certificate doesn’t say Jacksonville, Florida, that means I can’t contribute to a city I grew up in? Baby, what kind of dumb-minded technicality is that?”
I’m a military brat.
My upbringing taught me that patriotism, service, and community aren’t limited to where you were born.
Military families relocate. We adapt. We make friends. We learn different cultures. We contribute to communities that may not be our original hometowns.
That’s part of our experience.
And if Jacksonville has a problem accepting that perspective from me, then what message does that send to other military children living in the city?
Are they supposed to remain outsiders forever?
Are they only welcome when somebody needs their money, their labor, their connections, or their support?
That’s where I believe Jacksonville has some serious cultural growing to do.
10. The Inner Circle Doesn’t Own the City
It’s funny watching certain social circles decide who deserves opportunities based on popularity, personal relationships, and who they believe belongs in their inner circle.
Some people have damaged their own relationships, financial opportunities, and professional connections, yet still want to act like they’re the gatekeepers of Jacksonville and its relationship with Atlanta.
“Y’all can go up for whoever y’all want. But don’t confuse your little inner circle with ownership of an entire city.”
I’ve observed how some people promote their friends while dismissing outsiders who may have legitimate ideas, professional experience, or resources to contribute.
And when those outsiders happen to be educated Black women with military family backgrounds, the resistance can feel even more personal.
Jacksonville has a rich Black history, but I believe parts of its social culture have become caught between internal gatekeeping and the racial inequalities that continue to affect Florida.
“Some of y’all have been hoodwinked by your own and whitewinked by the racial bullshit surrounding you, and now you can’t even recognize when somebody genuinely wants to help.”
That is my criticism of the mentality, not an indictment of every person in Jacksonville.
11. FAMU Taught Me That Leadership Is More Than Popularity
As a Florida A&M University graduate who participated in student leadership and electoral processes, I understand the difference between watching leadership and actually doing the work.
You can imitate the clothes.
You can imitate the marketing.
You can imitate the social atmosphere.
But you cannot imitate the experience of having to understand governance, accountability, budgets, organizational responsibilities, and the consequences of decisions.
“You can observe FAMU culture from the outside, but that doesn’t mean you’ve experienced what it takes to lead within it.”
And that’s where I have to remind people:
“That’s not what Rattlers do, baby. We don’t just sit around watching the culture and trying to figure out how to benefit from somebody else’s work. We learn, we organize, we study, and we understand the responsibility that comes with leadership.”
I’m speaking about the values I developed through my own FAMU experience, not claiming every graduate thinks or votes alike.
That is why my passion for civic engagement extends into my future law school plans and the frameworks I’m developing for business, Black arts, and community development.
I’m not interested in being popular just to be popular.
I want to understand how resources can be organized lawfully and responsibly to create lasting opportunities.
And I want the same level of accountability from anybody claiming to represent Jacksonville.
12. Why I Believe Better Civic Structures Matter
This is exactly why I’ve been developing frameworks for civic engagement, Black arts, educational opportunity, and community-centered governance.
Through my relationships with trusted individuals connected to Florida A&M University, I hope to explore how those frameworks can be developed responsibly, with appropriate institutional participation and lawful oversight.
When I discuss healthy organizational divisions, I’m referring to voluntary, culturally focused structures that allow communities to address specific needs without discrimination or exclusion.
Not racial separation under the law.
Not controlling other people.
Not replacing the United States government.
But developing lawful, accountable spaces where Black and Afro-descendant communities can organize resources, preserve culture, support education, and participate in civic decision-making.
Those structures should also welcome military families and others who genuinely want to contribute, regardless of birthplace.
Because real patriotism requires recognizing that Americans can belong to more than one community.
Romans 12:16 (KJV): “Be of the same mind one toward another. Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate. Be not wise in your own conceits.”
13. Final Reflection: I’m the Bad Bitch in the Middle, But I’m Asking the Questions That Matter
At the end of the day, I enjoyed the event.
I enjoyed seeing Angie Nixon.
I appreciated her team, her energy, and the opportunity to observe grassroots civic engagement firsthand.
But I also walked away with questions about Jacksonville’s entertainment culture, influencer economy, and the willingness of people with resources to support community-centered initiatives.
And I’m going to keep asking those questions.
“Where are the niggas with the cash at? Where are the cameras? Where are the resources? And when are we going to stop confusing popularity with actual community investment?”
I’m not asking everybody to support the same candidate.
I’m asking people to recognize that democracy, economic development, education, and community engagement deserve serious attention even when there’s no celebrity standing in the room.
And if someone can move to Jacksonville, spend money in Jacksonville, work in Jacksonville, raise children in Jacksonville, and support Jacksonville’s economy, why should that person be treated as less deserving of community participation because of where they were born?
“I’m a military brat, baby. My patriotism doesn’t begin and end with a birth certificate. And my ability to serve a community doesn’t require approval from Jacksonville’s popularity committee.”
I’m preparing for more than an entertainment career.
I’m preparing for law school, for business leadership, and for the responsibility of understanding how political, psychological, and legal systems affect everyday people.
I don’t need to control Jacksonville.
I don’t need everybody to like me.
And I certainly don’t need to participate in every popularity contest.
“I’m the bad bitch in the middle, baby. But the difference is, I’m paying attention to what’s happening around me, not just who’s looking at me.”
And before anybody tries to correct AyeDNicole with some little plan involving their connections, their folks over here, and their folks over there, let’s keep it real clean and crisp.
“Because I ain’t the motherfucking one. You can study the blueprint, but you still have to build your own foundation. And baby, you cannot make another AyeDNicole.”
Because nobody owns the right to care about a city.
And nobody should have to be born somewhere to help make it better.
Popularity gets attention. Service creates impact. And genuine leadership requires more than being seen.
And as for my experience at the event, I’m ending where I started:
“Y’all should have been outside for Angie Nixon. That’s my conclusion, baby.”
Quote it up. Roll it up. Let’s go.
— AyeDNicole
Artist | Entrepreneur | FAMU Alumna | Corporate Finance Professional | Pre-Law Aspirant | Civic Engagement Advocate