
Queer theology is inherently fueled by the divine feminine—by wisdom, by embodiment, by the refusal of rigid binaries. When you look at both Doechii and Tyler, the Creator, you see artists who are not just queering identity, but queering the very lines between sacred and secular, self and other, human and divine. Their artistry is a kind of theology, one that exalts Black womanhood as divine wisdom and unshackles spirituality from the constraints of empire.
Tyler’s latest album, Chromocopia, makes this plain. The guiding voice of wisdom, the one putting him on game, is a Black woman. She is the oracle, the teacher, the keeper of sacred knowledge. This is not accidental—it is ancestral. It is the hush harbor’s whispers remixed into contemporary form. The divine feminine, the wisdom tradition of Black women, is central to Tyler’s evolution, mirroring the theological truth that Black women have always been the ones holding, shaping, and passing down the wisdom that sustains us.
Doechii carries this same truth in her music, collapsing the sacred and the profane in a way that only Black artists truly can. She can rap about fellatio and speak in tongues in the same breath, because she understands—intuitively and artistically—that holiness is not about purity but about presence. This is the work of queer theology: refusing the Western Christian impulse to compartmentalize, to divide the world into sacred and secular, to declare some things clean and others unclean. Instead, Doechii moves like an oracle, like a priestess, like a griot, showing us that the erotic and the ecstatic are not opposites, that the body is not at war with the spirit, that Blackness and queerness are not hindrances to divinity but expressions of it.
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