It seems that when we talk about ‘Lemonade’, we love it, at least primarily, for its tenacity, its power, its anger, and so, for its validation of the tumult black women often experience just by daring to exist. It was the righteous first two acts of ‘Lemonade’ that friends gushed about over text, that colleagues mentioned first thing the morning after the short film’s release—especially a window-shattering dance through the streets in a canary yellow dress, where Beyoncé exacts a simultaneously composed and manic revenge with a baseball bat labeled “Hot Sauce”.