Dr. Karri Bryant Dress Backlash Is Why People Don’t Do Church

Church folks really make my a– ache. And before you start clutching your pearls or crucifying me, let me finish. Last time I checked, God was the only judge. Yet church folks stay lined up like they are waiting to buy a pair of retro Jordans—finger-wagging, policing appearances, and judging how women specifically show up. Really loud. Really wrong. And with zero self-awareness.

That’s the energy that showed up when Dr. Karri Bryant attended the UNCF Atlanta’s Mayoral Mask Ball in a lace dress that sent the internet spiraling. Let me be clear because facts matter: the dress was elegant, fitted to perfection, and yes, sexy. It was also fully lined with flesh-tone fabric and revealed absolutely nothing. No indecency. Just a beautifully dressed woman supporting higher education and offering up a prayer that would have had the doors of the church wide open.

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Instead of the saints and the sinners—because y’all had the nerve to be talking too—focusing on scholarships or Black excellence, you launched a smear campaign. Clearly, curves mattered more than the mission and the millions that were raised that night. Or maybe it was the lace, but it damn sure wasn’t grace. Grace clocked out early.

Here’s where it got laughable: the dress was purchased by her husband, Pastor Jamal Bryant. The same man many of these critics trust to preach, organize, and mobilize. The same man we trusted to energize a historic boycott against Target. You mean to tell me you trust him to elevate the Body of Christ—but not to appreciate the body of his own wife? Oh, OK! Make it make sense.

When did folks decide being a “First Lady” meant dressing like an old maid clutching a church fan. As if marrying a pastor requires a woman to abandon every bit of herself, style, sensuality, and self-expression. Newsflash: being a First Lady does not mean you have to look frumpy or decades older than you are—especially when you are young, brilliant, and beautiful.

Dr. Karri Bryant did not embarrass the church; the church’s reaction did. And it also created another moment in which the imperfect felt judged and unwelcome. Yes, that moment made other women like Dr. Bryant second-guess fellowshipping with the holy-rollers, and I do not blame them.

I love God. I love church. But the idea that faith requires me to dress like I’m 60 and allergic to style will never be my ministry. I am not wearing the brunch catsuit to service, but I will pop style and wear a bold red lip. If God is not pleased, I trust He’ll let me know. Although I am pretty sure He has bigger fish to fry. What He does not need is a Deaconess with two kids out of wedlock, Hennessy on her breath, and a sailor’s vocabulary attempting to do His job. So, sis, please take a seat.

And let me be clear: even if Karri Bryant were not married to a pastor, it still would not be our business. If she were just another woman of God like me or you, her relationship with God would remain hers alone. Not the church’s. Not the comments section’s. Policing women’s bodies—especially Black women has never been about righteousness. It’s about control, projection, and insecurity.

Unfortunately, this moment proved that church folks can shout up and down the aisle, speak in tongues and quote scripture but they are not all delivered from the ways of the world. The conversation about that little black dress prove how uncomfortable people get when a woman refuses to shrink, spiritually or physically—to make others feel holy.

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