Shaboozey’s Turquoise Met Gala Moment: Katt Williams’ Ritual Warnings Resurface Amid Emasculation Echoes

The flashbulbs popped like distant gunfire on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art last Monday night, May 5, 2025, as Shaboozey— the Virginia-born crooner whose “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” had folks two-stepping all summer long—made his grand entrance into the Met Gala’s gilded whirlwind. At 29, Collins Obinna Chibueze, better known as Shaboozey, was no stranger to turning heads. His blend of hip-hop swagger and country twang had catapulted him from indie obscurity to Billboard’s summit, with his 2024 album Where I’ve Been, Isn’t Where I’m Going still clinging to the charts like a well-worn Stetson. But under the theme “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style”—a nod to Monica L. Miller’s deep dive into Black dandyism from the 1700s onward—Shaboozey’s custom Robert Wun moiré suit in electric turquoise, complete with cascading bead chains, a slanted black hat, and matching grillz, didn’t just dazzle. It divided. And in the hours that followed, as red carpet recaps flooded feeds, one name clawed its way back from the fringes: Katt Williams. The comedian’s long-simmering warnings about Hollywood’s “humiliation rituals” suddenly felt less like fringe rants and more like a spotlight on the very stage Shaboozey had just strutted.

Let’s rewind the reel a bit. Shaboozey arrived poised, if a touch reserved, his suit shimmering like a desert mirage under the hotel lights hours before the gala. “Feeling amazing,” he told a reporter with a quick grin, dodging the designer’s name like it was small talk at a honky-tonk. But the clips—grainy iPhone grabs of him shifting weight, tugging at the cropped jacket, eyes darting like a colt in a thunderstorm—went viral faster than a TikTok reel. “He looks trapped,” one X user posted, racking up thousands of echoes. “Turquoise for transformation, beads like chains—ritual vibes.” By dawn, #ShaboozeyRitual was trending, pulling in Katt Williams clips from his explosive January 2024 Club Shay Shay sit-down and his February 2024 Joe Rogan marathon. Fans weren’t just memeing; they were connecting dots, from Shaboozey’s fidgety poses to Williams’ gravelly gospel: “Show me one person that ever wore a dress in Hollywood unsuccessfully. That’s how you understand what a ritual is.”

Katt Williams Breaks Silence On Shaboozey Met Gala Ritual | HE SOLD HIS SOUL

Williams, the 52-year-old comedy firebrand who’s dodged more industry curveballs than most, has been dropping these truth bombs for years. Back in 2013, promoting Scary Movie 5, he shrugged off the “dress drama” as old hat: “Some of us are against the Illuminati and we are against the Illuminati at our own detriment.” Fast-forward to 2024, and his three-hour Rogan roast of Tinseltown turned prophetic. “People are too focused on the dress,” he growled, puffing on a joint as Rogan leaned in, wide-eyed. “It’s about symbolism. Does following the ritual work?” Williams traced it deeper, linking the trend to Baphomet—the goat-headed occult icon, often rendered androgynous in lore—to “kiss his ass ring” as allegiance. “Twenty years ago, I knew transgender was gonna be a thing… The earliest I saw that word was Baphomet the Transgender.” Rogan, mid-exhale, could only muster, “Goddamn, we got some good weed, Katt. Jesus Christ.” It was vintage Williams: part philosopher, part prophet, all unfiltered. And with Shaboozey’s turquoise tailoring—evoking spiritual rebirth in some cultural reads, submission in others—the parallels hit like a backbeat.

But Shaboozey’s night wasn’t some occult audition; it was a debut dialed into the gala’s pulse. The Costume Institute’s exhibit, inspired by Miller’s book, celebrated Black tailoring as rebellion—think 19th-century freedmen in bespoke broadcloth, flipping the script on enslavers’ rags. Shaboozey’s look, a collaboration with stylist Anastasia Walker, married his Western roots (fringed jackets at Coachella, mint suits at the CMAs) to high-couture edge: moiré fabric rippling like heat waves over the open range, beads nodding to ancestral adornment. “Bold and daring, but still me,” he told Vanity Fair pre-gala, his calm demeanor a far cry from the “uncomfortable” tags online. Fans rallied quick: “It’s dandyism—Black men created this fire,” one Redditor fired back on r/Fauxmoi, praising the woodgrain hat details. “Polo? Nah, this is peak theme.” Yet the unease lingered, amplified by Williams’ shadow. Why the squirm? Jet lag from his Great American Roadshow Tour kickoff? Or something stickier, like the invisible strings Williams swears pull every rising star?

Prime Video: Katt Williams: Priceless: Afterlife

This isn’t Williams’ first rodeo calling out the industry’s emasculation playbook. Flash back to 2006: Dave Chappelle, fresh off walking away from his namesake show at its peak, spilled to Oprah about a “dress ritual” on Martin Lawrence’s Blue Streak set. “I walk in the trailer—there’s a dress. Wrong room?” Chappelle recounted, his laugh laced with edge. The script had him in drag for a “hilarious bit,” but he clocked the pressure: producers, crew, the director guilting him with “All the greats have done it… Every minute costs money.” Chappelle held firm—”If it’s hacky for the greats, it’s hacky for me”—and a new scene materialized in 10 minutes flat. “Hot damn, how’d you write that so fast?” he quipped. It wasn’t wardrobe; it was a litmus test. Chappelle saw the pattern: Black men, from Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor to Tyler Perry’s Madea empire, funneled into feminine foils. “Why all these brothers gotta wear a dress?” he’d muse. Williams echoed it in 2013: “Big Momma’s House one, two, three… Why pick on poor little Kevin Hart? It was his turn next.”

And Hart? Oh, the irony’s thicker than sequins. In a 2013 interview, he drew a line: “You gotta protect your brand… I haven’t run into [the dress thing]. Boundaries.” Cut to that same year, hosting SNL: Hart in a purple sequined gown as “Pope Quvenzhané Wallis,” the pint-sized Oscar nominee turned pontiff, doing the Dougie in drag. The sketch slayed—Hart’s pint-sized strut had the crowd howling—but his career? Rocket fuel. From Ride Along billions to stadium sells-outs, the post-pope glow was undeniable. Williams clocked it on Rogan: “The evidence will be clear… You fool yourself into thinking there isn’t one.” Hart’s never addressed the flip, but the timeline tempts fate’s finger.

Katt Williams: Priceless: Afterlife' debuts Saturday (Aug. 16) on HBO |  Movies/TV | nola.com

Shaboozey’s defenders wave it off as noise—Met Gala’s a costume party, not a coven. “He’s showcasing Robert Wun, owning the Black style narrative,” a Billboard recap gushed, noting his album’s chart cling and tour buzz. Yet the chatter crests on X, where posts like “Shaboozey goes through with his humiliation ritual… emasculated with this feminine degenerative initiation” snag thousands of views. Another: “Rapper Shaboozey appears to be the target… in feminine clothing covered with pearls.” It’s the same script Williams decries: viral virility demands a pound of pride. Chappelle bolted from Chappelle’s Show smelling sulfur; Williams grinded indies, dodging the “Satan’s playground.” Hart? He thrived, but at what quiet cost?

Peel back the glamour, and Williams’ ritual rings truer than tin foil. Hollywood’s history hums with it: Marlon Brando in drag for Beat the Devil, Robin Williams channeling Mrs. Doubtfire to Oscar gold. But for Black men, it stings scripted—Martin Lawrence’s Big Momma trilogy grossed $500 million, Perry’s Madea minted billions. Success, sure, but Williams sees shackles: “Against the Illuminati at our own detriment… The press hates them.” Critics sling “homophobic” at him, missing the mark—it’s not the drag; it’s the demand, the emasculation as entry fee, laced with Baphomet’s dual-gender duality. “The goat over the sheep,” he told Rogan, eyes like embers. Trans agendas? Not prophecy, but pattern—secular signals from the shadows.

Shaboozey’s silence on the storm speaks volumes. Post-gala, he’s touring—Indianapolis opener looms, 50 First Dates remake with Minnie (G)I-DLE whispers Vietnam shoots. But the unease? It trails like perfume. Fans split: “Dandyism we invented,” cheers one; “Soul for sale,” counters another. Williams, ever the outlier, laughs last—from his 2024 viral surge to Rogan’s couch, he’s the canary still singing. “Obedience,” he says. Shaboozey’s turquoise? A triumph, or the toll? In Tinseltown’s tailor shop, every stitch hides a story. And as the beads sway, one question lingers: Who’s really dressed for success?

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