I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for Beyonce.

Sure, I’ve enjoyed her songs in the past, especially “Crazy In Love” and “Irreplaceable,” and now my current obsession is the bangin’ and empowering “Single Ladies.” But it’s not just her songwriting I’ve come to admire. It’s her creation of a persona she uses to express that freaky side in us all. Of course, I’m referring to Sasha Fierce.

Beyonce explained that, Sasha Fierce, her freshly crafted alter ego, is responsible for the “bootylicious” and “party girl” qualities of Beyonce. Beyonce, when not Sasha Fierce (or is it Sasha Fierce when she’s Beyonce?), is really a quiet, reserved Southern girl who is content with nothing other than just being with her man. I would be happy as a clam, too, with nothing but my man if my man was the multi millionaire “CEO of hip hop” who slid a $5 million boulder on my finger. But that’s beside the point. 

Her new album, “I am…Sasha Fierce,” scheduled to drop Nov. 18, is divided thematically between the “I am” and “Sasha Fierce” discs. The “I am” disc includes songs like the passionate and somber ballad “If I Were a Boy” and the similarly despondent “Broken-Hearted” that express her fragile and sensitive side. On the other hand, the “Sasha Fierce” disc sticks its legs out with tracks like “Diva” and “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On it)” which shows us what Beyonce is like when she gets crunk: basically running buck wild, uninhibited in the club.  

I’ve pretty much played the Sasha Fierce championing “Single Ladies” on repeat daily since I discovered it a week or so ago, and have acquired it as my new anthem. I admit I tried learning the sassy yet classy dance choreography as seen in the music video and considered abandoning any prior career aspirations to audition as one of her backup dancers, but quickly surrendered as I could not keep up after the first few moves.

Besides Sasha Fierce providing me with the reassurance that I need not “pay him any attention,” she has also inspired me to cultivate my very own alter ego. Now I can feel comfortable coming out of my shell at the club, which I’m not always so bold to do. I shall call her Spunky Delight.
Now when — perhaps with the help of a couple Cape Cods, as I’ve been known to consume on occasion — I gesticulate too emphatically while regaling my chums with a brilliant and hilarious story, smacking their faces and knocking over their drinks, they can overlook it. “Oh, it’s just Spunky Delight,” they’ll say, with a knowing smile.

So I’d like to thank you, Beyonce — or Sasha Fierce — if you happen to read our little campus weekly, for giving me the confidence to put myself out there. Put your hands up!