Beyoncé, Taylor Swift, Pay Equity And The Value Of Black Women's Labor

Forbes

5 days ago

Beyonce Knowles performs onstage during the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival at the Empire ... More Polo Field in Indio, California. Getty Images for Coachella
For all her global influence, even Beyoncé hasn't been immune to the wage gap that Black women in America face. When she released her Renaissance World Tour concert film in 2023, she didn't go through the usual Hollywood studio channels—instead, she struck a direct deal with AMC Theaters. It was a bold move, but also a telling one, especially in an industry where Black women creators are often offered smaller distribution deals and less backend compensation than their white counterparts—even when their work drives massive cultural and financial impact—sometimes the only way forward is to build your own lane.
The entertainment industry makes clear just how differently the system can treat artists. When Taylor Swift fought for ownership of her master recordings, major labels lined up to support her re-recording efforts. She had the industry behind her. That kind of institutional backing is what should be standard for all creators—regardless of race, background or genre—but it rarely is.
Black Women's Equal Pay Day, observed each July, marks how far into the year this demographic must work to match what white men earned the year before. The fact that this date falls deeper into the summer than any other group's is telling. White women reach pay parity in March, Asian women in April—but Black women labor until midsummer to close a gap that represents 64 cents for every dollar earned by white men, according to the Institute For Women's Policy Research. In another report by the U.S. Department of Labor, in 2023, Black women in the U.S. missed out on a whopping $42.7 billion in wages compared to white men. But the numbers get even grimmer. Over a 40-year career, the typical Black woman will lose approximately $1 million compared to her white male co-workers.
Those dollars in lost wages also mean reduced consumer spending power; money that could have been reinvested into local businesses, the housing market and broader industries simply isn't there, and this drag on consumption can hamper economic growth, especially given that Black women are an influential consumer demographic. Also, the effect of lower pay can translate to higher rates of family poverty and less economic mobility in Black communities. When half the population operates at diminished economic capacity, the entire economy suffers.
Despite growing political pushback against Diversity Equity and inclusion, the numbers still speak for themselves. According to McKinsey's 'Diversity Wins' report, companies with the highest gender diversity on executive teams are 25% more likely to outperform their peers financially. It's a reminder that inclusion isn't just a moral obligation but is good for business. Despite what the numbers say, the very systems that create this economic value often shut Black women out of it because the barriers are structural. Also, there is the 'double jeopardy' penalty for being both Black and female in environments where power and compensation are often reserved for those who are neither.
Seemingly harmless and subjective phrases like 'executive presence' and 'cultural fit' are often used as coded language to filter out qualified Black women from senior roles. Bias shows up subtly: in salary negotiations, in who gets the stretch assignments and in whose leadership style is perceived as 'confident' versus 'abrasive.' The 'angry Black woman' trope can further penalize those who negotiate for higher salaries or advocate for themselves, even when they advocate respectfully, leading to underpayment even within the same job roles as other races. Why Executive Diversity Still Hasn't Trickled Down
Silicon Valley offers one of the clearest examples of this phenomenon. The tech industry has created massive wealth in the last two decades, but Black women hold just 1% of senior leadership roles at major companies. Venture capital, for example, funds the next generation of wealth creation but invests less than 0.2% of dollars into startups founded by Black women. That's not a gap but a canyon that has been reinforced by decades of structural neglect.
The finance sector also tells a similar story. Black women make up 7% of the banking and securities workforce but only occupy 1.4% of senior executive roles. This is especially problematic because compensation in financial services is reliant on bonuses, commissions and decision-making power and these rewards don't often trickle down. Even in healthcare—a sector where Black women have historically carried the burden of care—they're underrepresented in leadership. They make up 14.5% of the healthcare workforce but only 3% of executives.
Portrait of a cheerful businesswoman smiling during a meeting with colleagues. getty
In this paradox of value, Black women frequently contribute outsized value in productivity, creativity and leadership, yet they remain underpaid for it. Beyoncé's Renaissance film strategy illustrates this paradox perfectly: she had to create entirely new distribution pathways because existing Hollywood systems proved insufficient. Although the film raked in over $44 million at the global box office, the need to bypass traditional studios reflects broader patterns where Black women must build alternative systems to access fair compensation.
Business ownership, which is frequently championed as an alternative path to financial independence, presents its own set of challenges. Despite being the fastest-growing demographic of entrepreneurs, Black women typically start their businesses with less capital, generate lower revenues and struggle to access growth financing.
According to the Economic Policy Institute, the COVID-19 pandemic made this disparity worse because Black women experienced the highest rates of job loss during the initial economic shutdown. However, they were also overrepresented in essential worker categories that carried more health risks without proportional pay. The K-shaped recovery that followed—with high-skilled workers benefiting from remote work flexibility while service sector employees faced continued uncertainty—affected Black women disproportionately, especially those concentrated in vulnerable industries.
The numbers behind Beyoncé's Renaissance World Tour tell only part of the story. Yes, it grossed $579 million, but the real business lesson is how she took her individual success and created a ripple effect that launched dozens of careers. Female artists like Swift have also demonstrated a similar economic impact across multiple cities and industries. This multiplier effect—where one person's success creates opportunities for entire ecosystems—illustrates what's lost when systemic barriers prevent other creators from accessing institutional support and resources.
The path forward needs to be a hybrid solution of systemic change and individual action. To address this effectively, investors must look at their portfolios for companies with strong diversity metrics and pay equity records. Also, the conversation must shift from viewing pay equity as a cost to recognizing it as an investment.
The question corporate America should now be asking is whether it can afford to address pay equity or ignore it. We are now operating in a knowledge economy where human capital increasingly drives competitive advantage, so undervaluing the contributions of Black women will continue to be a miscalculation. Beyoncé's ability to command premium pricing for her work offers a template: when talent is recognized and compensated, everyone benefits from the value created. Paying Black women what they are worth is a collective investment in our economic future. The question now is no longer whether closing the wage gap benefits everyone—the numbers prove it does—but how quickly we can build systems that unlock this economic potential.