Netflix’s Forever Is a Cringe-Worthy, Cinematic Love Letter to Black Teenhood
- Jordyn Mayes
- May 13
- 7 min read
Updated: Jun 16
Why Mara Brock Akil’s take on Judy Blume's controversial classic might just be her finest work yet.
When Netflix’s Forever dropped, it did more than just revive a 1975 Judy Blume novel — it remixed it into something Black, beautiful, and breathtaking. Set in pre-pandemic 2018 Los Angeles, the series taps into a generation on the brink — of adulthood, of catastrophe, of becoming. Mara Brock Akil’s vision, bolstered by the directorial finesse of Regina King in episode one, doesn’t just adapt Blume’s original story. It elevates it. Forever becomes a portal into young Black love, familial dynamics, and the complicated tension of living in a world that still doesn’t always know what to do with Black vulnerability.
Nostalgia You Can Feel
From the very first scene — a New Year’s Eve party where Keisha and Justin reunite — it’s clear this isn’t just another teen drama. It’s rooted in a very specific time: the final few months before the world changed forever. Pre-COVID 2018 doesn’t feel distant because of its events, but because of its innocence. The soundtrack alone — heavy on Frank Ocean, Summer Walker, and SZA — evokes a time — not so different from now — when a block button could solve all the world's problems.
And that’s the magic of Forever. It captures the messy in-between of teenagerhood, where you’re old enough to feel everything intensely but still too young to navigate it with clarity. Like when Justin — overwhelmed by Keisha’s spiraling prom drama — simply says, “So I’ma block you.” Funny? Yes. But also heartbreakingly honest. Because teenagers do block each other when they’re hurt. So do adults. That moment isn’t just teen angst. It’s emotional survival.
The Sex Tape That Shaped a Season
Keisha’s journey is tough to watch — not because it’s poorly written, but because it’s painfully real. A leaked sex tape with her ex-boyfriend sends her life into a tailspin: losing her scholarship, transferring schools, hiding everything from her mother, and clinging to secrecy like it’s her only lifeline. Her decisions are often frustrating, her logic flawed. But that’s exactly the point. She’s 16. She’s scared. She’s navigating shame, survival, and self-worth in a society that criminalizes Black girls for being anything less than perfect.
It’s the type of storyline that sparks debates — particularly in Black communities — about media portrayals and the weight of representation. But Forever dares to show the mess. Not to exploit it, but to humanize it. Mistakes are made, and they matter. But they don’t get to define a person. Especially not a teenage girl still figuring out who she is.
Aesthetics, Meet Emotion
For every chaotic decision the teens makes, the show gives us balance in its visuals. This is arguably one of the most cinematic teen dramas of the decade. The ramen restaurant scene in the finale — bathed in opposing red and blue lights — evokes a modern-day Insecure meets Belly aesthetic. The lighting, color grading, and shot composition aren't just pretty. They’re storytelling tools that elevate even the most cringe-worthy teenage meltdown into something poetic.
Real Adults, Real Stakes
Where many teen dramas shove adults into the background, Forever lets them shine. Justin’s parents (played by Karen Pittman and Wood Harris) are arguably the series’ secret weapon. Dawn, his mother, is everything at once — soft, tough, loving, stern, afraid. Eric, his father, offers calm counsel without ever dismissing his son’s emotions. Their marriage shows disagreement without dysfunction — a rare, necessary image of healthy Black love.
Keisha’s mom, Shelly, carries the invisible weight of parenthood: paying for mistakes she didn’t make, advocating for her daughter while working double shifts, trying not to drown in shame or exhaustion. Parenthood, the show reminds us, isn’t just love. It’s sacrifice.
Justin’s family, steeped in Black wealth, lives in a very different reality than Keisha’s apartment-based life. But both families love deeply, parent fiercely, and want the best — even if they don’t always agree on what that looks like.
Class, Culture, and the College Question
One of the series’ most nuanced explorations is the PWI vs. HBCU debate. Keisha’s dream of attending Howard contrasts with Justin’s family pushing for Northwestern. It’s a familiar conversation in Black households — one that’s not just about prestige, but identity, safety, and legacy. The show doesn’t offer answers. It offers perspectives.
This contrast between Howard and Northwestern isn’t just about where you get your degree — it’s about what kind of world you want to step into, and who gets to shape it with you. Keisha sees Howard as a space where her Blackness is affirmed, where community isn’t something she has to search for. For Justin’s parents, Northwestern represents access — to elite networks, to job security, to the kind of future they’ve worked tirelessly to make possible for their son.
In this layered debate, Forever highlights how Black families often navigate dreams with one eye on protection and the other on possibility. It's not about which school is better — it’s about which version of the future feels biggest, brightest, and most true to who you are.
The Tension Between Passion and Practicality
For Justin, the aspiration to be a music producer is more than just a hobby — it’s a passion that pulls him away from the conventional path his parents want him to follow. The world’s hard realities and constant social media pressures make the dream of pursuing art feel even more daunting. When a teenager tells their parents they want to make music, especially in a time when “getting famous” is seen as the ultimate goal, it brings a heavy dose of skepticism. It’s a difficult choice, and as much as Justin’s parents want him to succeed, the fear that he’s choosing a volatile career is palpable. Pursuing art is not an easy road, and many parents — understandably — want to ensure their child is set up for success with something more “stable.” The tension here isn’t just about dreams, but about balancing love for your child with the harsh truths of the world.
But as the show so beautifully highlights, Justin’s journey reveals that pursuing art doesn’t have to be an either-or situation. Many young people are learning to balance both: committing to their passions while securing a backup plan, like education or a job. The time passes anyway, and in the modern world, it’s possible to invest in both your creative dreams and your future stability. For Justin, this journey is a constant reminder that the future doesn’t have to be defined by only one decision — it can be shaped by passion, practicality, and the space to grow into both.
Martha’s Vineyard, But Make It Black
Few series have captured the beauty of Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard like Forever. The setting isn’t just a scenic backdrop — it’s a cultural reclamation. Historically a haven for Black vacationers, the island becomes a symbol of peace, possibility, and, ultimately, reconciliation. When Keisha makes her grand gesture to find and make things right with Justin there-although feeling a bit forced-it somehow works.
And in a backyard barbecue scene — between the ribs and Red Stripes — a conversation about Kanye West’s “slavery was a choice” comment bubbles up. It’s casual, almost ambient noise, but painfully real. Because in every Black gathering, there’s always that one person who brings up that topic. And the discourse loops again.
Healthy Relationships and Knowing When to Let Go
One of the most poignant themes of Forever is how relationships evolve — and sometimes, how they need to end for the sake of personal growth. Justin and Keisha's relationship starts with the kind of intensity that only first love can bring. It’s passionate and all-consuming, but as the series progresses, both characters struggle to balance their personal goals with their commitment to each other. When you become so wrapped up in someone else’s world that you lose sight of your own, it can be difficult to know when to let go.
Justin and Keisha both go through moments where they prioritize their relationship over their own well-being, which ultimately strains the connection. Forever doesn’t shy away from showing how sometimes, loving someone means stepping away — especially when staying means losing sight of who you are and what you want for your future. The reality of letting go is messy, painful, and often feels impossible when you're emotionally invested. But the series poignantly reminds us that, in the end, being true to yourself is crucial for maintaining healthy relationships. Recognizing when you’re giving too much of yourself to someone else, and when to step back to preserve your individuality, is a sign of maturity. Justin and Keisha’s story is a beautiful exploration of growing up, learning how to love, and, ultimately, knowing when to put yourself first.
Imperfect, But Important
Yes, Forever has its flaws. At times, the pacing feels rushed. A year and a half compressed into eight episodes leaves some storylines — especially around therapy, trauma, and healing — feeling underbaked. But it’s also a reflection of real life. Time moves fast. Kids grow up too quickly. The stakes are always changing.
Some viewers found the characters “cringe” — but that’s kind of the point. Teenagers are cringe. They contradict themselves. They cry, they snap, they ghost. But they also love, dream, and fight for themselves in a world that often expects them to fail. Forever honors that contradiction.
What’s Next?
Fans of Judy Blume’s novel know the series covered most of the book’s arc. So does that mean we’re done? Or are we just getting started? A second season hasn’t been confirmed, but if there is one, skipping ahead — mimicking One Tree Hill — to life post-college could offer a deeper dive into adulthood, identity, and legacy. And if not, Forever still stands on its own as a complete, powerful narrative.
Forever isn’t just a teen drama. It’s a visual mixtape of Black adolescence — awkward, beautiful, flawed, and full of potential. It reminds us that first love is real love, even when it’s messy. It reminds us that Black stories can be full of mistakes without being reduced to them. And it proves that Mara Brock Akil, once again, knows exactly how to put the culture on screen — and make it shine.
So if you haven’t watched Forever yet, do yourself a favor: cue it up, turn it up, and let it take you back to 2018 — right before everything changed.
And then, go read the book.
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