Mark: Alright Michelle, if you had to describe a 'Professional Troublemaker' in one sentence, what would it be? Michelle: Someone who has the meeting notes, read the fine print, and is about to make it everyone's problem. And I am here for it. Mark: (Laughs) That is a perfect, and slightly terrifying, summary. It’s exactly the energy Luvvie Ajayi Jones brings in her book, Professional Troublemaker: The Fear-Fighter Manual. Michelle: Ah, Luvvie! I feel like she’s one of those authors who truly lives her brand. Isn't she the one with that incredibly popular TED talk? Mark: The very same. Her talk, "Get Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable," has been viewed by millions and really became the philosophical launchpad for this book. She’s a Nigerian-American author who has built a career on blending humor, cultural critique, and a powerful call to action. Michelle: Which is basically, stop being so afraid all the time. A message I think we could all use. Mark: Exactly. But what I love about her approach is that she argues the first step to making trouble out in the world isn't about shouting louder. It’s about getting quiet and figuring out who you are first.

Michelle: Okay, that feels a little counterintuitive. To be a troublemaker, you have to... introspect? How does that work? Mark: It starts with what she calls knowing yourself. And she introduces this beautiful concept from her Yorùbá heritage called an oríkì. Michelle: Hold on, you mentioned 'oríkì.' Can you break that down? What is it, and why is it so powerful? Mark: An oríkì is essentially a praise poem or a chant. It’s a collection of names and attributes that celebrate a person's lineage, their character, their destiny. It’s your personal hype track, your origin story. In Yorùbá culture, it’s recited at major life events—birthdays, weddings, even funerals. Michelle: A personal hype track. I love that. So it’s like your own theme music, but with words. Mark: Precisely. And Luvvie shares this incredibly moving story about her grandmother's funeral. Her grandmother, Olúfúnmiláyọ̀, was the original professional troublemaker in her life. A force of nature. When she passed, as part of the ceremony, women began to sing her oríkì. They sang about her lineage, her spirit, her accomplishments. Luvvie describes it as a standing ovation for her spirit, a final, powerful affirmation of who she was. Michelle: Wow, that's beautiful. It’s not just an obituary; it's a celebration of her entire essence. It makes me think about how we introduce ourselves. We just say our name and our job title. Mark: Right? Luvvie’s point is that in a world that’s constantly trying to label you, define you, and put you in a box, creating your own oríkì is a radical act of self-preservation. You define yourself, for yourself, first. You write your own hype track before anyone else can hand you their script for your life. She even does it for people she admires, like creating a Game of Thrones-style introduction for Michelle Obama or Beyoncé. Michelle: I am so doing this. "Michelle, First of Her Name, Queen of the Keurig, Breaker of To-Do Lists." I'm into it. But this leads to another one of her big ideas in the 'BE' section, which is to "BE TOO MUCH." Mark: Yes! The fear of being seen as too loud, too ambitious, too emotional, too... anything. Michelle: Okay, but 'being too much' sounds great in a book. In the real world, doesn't that just get you labeled as 'difficult,' especially as a woman in a professional environment? It feels like career suicide. Mark: It’s a huge risk, and she acknowledges that. But she reframes it. She says that when someone tells you you're "too much," they're not making a casual observation. They are requesting that you shrink. They are asking you to turn down the volume on your core identity for their comfort. Michelle: That is a powerful reframe. It’s not feedback; it’s a demand for you to be less you. Mark: Exactly. And she tells her own story to illustrate this. When she moved from Nigeria to Chicago at age nine, she felt her "muchness" immediately. Her name, Ifeoluwa, was too hard for the teacher to pronounce, so she started going by Lovette. Her Nigerian accent was too different, so she learned to quiet her voice and listen more, eventually losing it. Her jollof rice for lunch was too fragrant, so she ate alone. She spent years shrinking. Michelle: Oh, that's heartbreaking. So many immigrant kids have that exact experience. You just want to blend in. Mark: But in college, she started to reclaim it. She realized her perspective, her humor, her "Naijaness"—all the things she tried to suppress—were actually her superpowers. They were what made her writing and her commentary unique. Her "too muchness" was her gift. Michelle: So the very thing people criticize you for might be the source of your greatest strength. Mark: That’s the core idea. She points to figures like Beyoncé, with her unapologetic Blackness and artistic ambition, or Oprah, who put herself on the cover of her own magazine for twenty years. They were constantly told they were "too much." But they leaned into it, and that's what made them icons. The book argues that your "too muchness" is not a flaw to be fixed; it's a feature to be amplified. Michelle: I like that. It’s about finding the spaces and people that celebrate your volume instead of asking you to turn it down. But that requires so much internal confidence. Mark: It does. And that's why the internal work of 'BE' has to come first. Once you've built that solid foundation of self-worth, you're ready for the next step: taking that confidence out into the world.

Michelle: Which brings us to the 'SAY' and 'DO' parts of the manual. This is where the troublemaking gets real, right? Mark: This is where the rubber meets the road. Once you've decided you're not going to shrink, the next logical step is to start asking for what you deserve. And Luvvie has a whole chapter on it called "GET YOUR MONEY." Michelle: A chapter I think should be required reading for everyone, especially women. Mark: Absolutely. She grounds it in some pretty stark data. For every dollar a white man makes, a white woman makes 79 cents. A Black woman makes 62 cents. A Latina makes 54 cents. The system is not designed for fairness. It’s designed to underpay and undervalue marginalized people. Michelle: And it works because we’re often too scared to ask for more. We don’t want to seem greedy or ungrateful. Mark: Exactly. We’re socialized to be nice and of service, not to be demanding. But Luvvie argues that you have to fight that programming. And again, she pulls from her grandmother, Mama Fáloyin, who was a master at getting her money. She had a side hustle making and selling wigs. One time, she delivered a custom wig to the wife of a governor, and the staff tried to give her the runaround, saying the lady wasn't home and they couldn't pay. Michelle: Oh, I have a feeling this doesn't end well for the staff. Mark: Not at all. Mama Fáloyin, in all her glory, sat down in the living room and announced she wasn't leaving until she was paid. She caused a scene. She made it clear that her time and her work had value, and she would not be dismissed. And, of course, they eventually paid her. Michelle: That is legendary. She literally refused to be undervalued. It’s one thing to do that in a personal business, but what about in a corporate job or a negotiation? Mark: Luvvie has a great modern-day parable for that. She tells the story of Nicki Minaj, who was booked for a photo shoot. When she arrived, the fancy food she requested wasn't there. The clothing options were terrible. The only thing on the table for her was a jar of pickle juice. Michelle: The pickle juice! I can't! That is the height of disrespect. Mark: Total disrespect. Her agent was trying to smooth things over, telling her to just do the shoot. But Nicki knew her worth. She knew that if she accepted the pickle juice, she was signaling that she would accept the bare minimum. So she walked. She refused to do the shoot. Michelle: Good for her. Because the next time, it won't even be a jar. It'll just be the juice. Mark: Precisely. Luvvie’s point is that people will give you the minimum that you accept. By walking away, Nicki set a standard. She taught them how to treat her. It’s a powerful lesson in not settling. Michelle: But it’s also risky. You could lose the gig. And Luvvie herself talks about this. She had that huge Twitter controversy where she made a comment, got dragged, and "failed loudly." How does that fit into being a troublemaker? It seems like sometimes it can really backfire. Mark: That's such an important point, and it’s why the book has resonated with so many people but also drawn some criticism. Some reviewers felt that story was a bit tangential. But I think it's crucial. She includes a chapter called "FAIL LOUDLY" to show that being a professional troublemaker doesn't mean you're always right or that you're immune to mistakes. Michelle: So it’s not about being a perfect warrior for justice. Mark: Not at all. In 2018, she made an impulsive tweet that was perceived as a slight against another artist. The backlash was swift and brutal. She says she responded defensively, which only made it worse. She went dark online for almost a year, terrified of her own voice. She felt immense shame. Michelle: Wow. So the fear-fighter was, for a time, defeated by fear. Mark: Completely. And she had to do the work of taking accountability, forgiving herself, and learning from it. The lesson wasn't to stop speaking, but to speak more thoughtfully. To understand that as your platform grows, so does your responsibility. It’s a messy, human part of the process. You will fail. The goal is not to avoid failure, but to learn from it and not let it silence you forever. Michelle: That makes the whole idea feel more attainable. It’s not about being a superhero. It’s about being human, messing up, and getting back up to make trouble another day. Mark: And that's where the final piece comes in: drawing your lines. You can't fight every battle. You have to protect your energy. Luvvie is famous for her boundaries, especially online. She has a whole system for who she accepts as a friend on Facebook versus who she follows on Twitter. Michelle: She's curating her own digital peace. Mark: She has to. Because being a professional troublemaker is exhausting. If you don't set boundaries—on your time, your energy, your accessibility—you'll burn out. She quotes someone saying, "You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep other people warm." Michelle: I need that embroidered on a pillow. It’s the perfect summary. Don't shrink, know your worth, demand it, but also, protect your spirit.

Mark: Exactly. When you put it all together, the book's central argument is that self-worth isn't a passive state you're born with; it's an active, daily practice. It's about building that internal foundation—your oríkì, your acceptance of your "too muchness"—so that it becomes the fuel for your external courage. Michelle: So the internal work makes the external actions—like demanding your pay or setting a boundary—feel less like a confrontation and more like a natural extension of who you are. Mark: You've got it. The real "trouble" you're making is for the systems and the people who depend on your silence and your fear to maintain the status quo. You're disrupting their comfort for the sake of your own truth and justice. Michelle: And it’s not about being aggressive or mean. It’s a form of self-preservation. It’s about choosing kindness over superficial niceness. Kindness is honest. Niceness is just polite. Mark: That’s a brilliant distinction. And maybe the first step for anyone listening is a small, private act of troublemaking. Michelle: I think so. Maybe the first step is just taking a few minutes today to write down your own personal oríkì. Your own hype track. No one else has to see it. It’s just for you. Mark: I love that. A quiet act of rebellion against your own self-doubt. And it makes me wonder, for everyone listening: What is one small, 'troublemaking' truth you've been afraid to say this week, and what would it feel like to finally say it? Michelle: A powerful question to sit with. This has been fantastic, Mark. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.