This is What Happens When Nicki Minaj Controls the Narrative

Nicki Minaj, the biggest selling woman hip hop artist on the planet, recently allowed New York Times journalist, Vanessa Grigoriadis, into her world. The resulting conversation is the voice of a woman who has traveled this fame road long enough to understand where the minefields are, how to avoid them, and shut anyone down who is attempting to set her up.

The conversation moves through Minaj’s public callout of the MTV’s Video Music Awards for snubbing her provocative “Anaconda” video, to her efforts to reconcile her serial monogamist relationship history with her commitment to the purpose of her work, to Grigoriadis’ attempt to discuss the early days of her rap career, to Minaj’s public callout of Miley Cyrus at this year’s VMA’s when she extemporaneously charged at her, “Miley, what’s good?”

But the interview comes to a crescendo and then abrupt end during the following exchange between Grigoriadis and Minaj:

It was getting dark outside when I asked about Drake, Meek, Wayne and Williams. Minaj hadn’t turned on lights, so she was in shadow. ‘‘They’re men, grown-ass men,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s between them.’’ How does it make you feel, I ask? ‘‘I hate it,’’ she said. ‘‘It doesn’t make me feel good. You don’t ever want to choose sides between people you love. It’s ridiculous. I just want it to be over.’’

‘‘Is there a part of you that thrives on drama, or is it no, just pain and unpleasantness—’’

The room went quiet, but only for an instant.

‘‘That’s disrespectful,’’ Minaj said, drawing herself up in the chair. ‘‘Why would a grown-ass woman thrive off drama?’’

As soon as I said the words, I wished I could dissolve them on my tongue. In pop-culture idiom, ‘‘drama’’ is the province of Real Housewives with nothing better to do than stick their noses where they don’t belong. I was more interested in a different kind of drama — the kind worthy of an HBO series, in which your labelmate is releasing endless dis tracks against your boyfriend and your mentor is suing your label president for a king’s ransom. But the phrase I used was offensive, and even as I tried to apologize, I only made matters worse.

‘‘What do the four men you just named have to do with me thriving off drama?’’ she asked. ‘‘Why would you even say that? That’s so peculiar. Four grown-ass men are having issues between themselves, and you’re asking me do I thrive off drama?’’

She pointed my way, her extended arm all I could see other than the diamonds glinting in her ears. This wasn’t over yet. ‘‘That’s the typical thing that women do. What did you putting me down right there do for you?’’ she asked. ‘‘Women blame women for things that have nothing to do with them. I really want to know why — as a matter of fact, I don’t. Can we move on, do you have anything else to ask?’’ she continued. ‘‘To put down a woman for something that men do, as if they’re children and I’m responsible, has nothing to do with you asking stupid questions, because you know that’s not just a stupid question. That’s a premeditated thing you just did.’’ She called me ‘‘rude’’ and ‘‘a troublemaker,’’ said ‘‘Do not speak to me like I’m stupid or beneath you in any way’’ and, at last, declared, ‘‘I don’t care to speak to you anymore.’’

The entire NY Times is more than worth the read.