LA bookstore owner celebrates Juneteenth through community

by Danielle F. Winter

“Liberation here manifests itself in many ways that I am proud of,” said Jazzi McGilbert, founder of Reparations Club. Makeup by Tameka Blackshir and hair by Kayla Acosta.

(Kayla James / For The Times)

When Reparations Club opened its doors in 2019, it was clear: this was more than a bookstore or shop. There was something sacred about the space—a piece of real estate owned by a black woman in LA. After a move during the pandemic, that energy remains. Books by black authors line the shelves, serving as a gateway to an open space hosting in-person karaoke sessions, intimate artist conversations, and queer game nights. The setting feels like the cool living room we all want: stylish but hugging you in comfort and warmth.

LA bookstore owner celebrates Juneteenth through community

For founder and owner Jazzi McGilbert, Reparations Club is a physical offering for black people in LA: it’s ultimately a place where they can be themselves. Before Juneteenth, McGilbert spoke to Image about the importance of physical space and how it can set us free.

I try to define it as little as possible. But if I have to, I say it’s a concept bookstore and creative space — because that leaves the door open for anything that can happen here, whatever it does.

I wanted a place where black people and, by extension, other people of color were prioritized, but that wasn’t like anything else that the black community swore; that didn’t feel like it was really for us. I wanted to create a space where we can hang out and feel centered and at home – like taking your shoes off, where we have the same reference points.

The only room where I’d felt that was the Underground Museum, where I had my mother’s funeral. My mom and I had been to that space before, and I remember thinking, “Oh my God. Look, black art is getting the respect it deserves.” I wanted to recreate that feeling because there had to be more than one space to do that — and make it a retail space, not necessarily an art space.

She would be surprised if you told Jazzi what I did now five years ago. The most surprising thing is that I’m the boss. I didn’t think that was possible. I’d be shocked to find out I’m in charge somewhere, and people resonate with it. I was naturally drawn to all the things that I felt could have a sense of creative freedom — and really, those creative freedoms didn’t necessarily apply to me. I got into fashion and styling, but then I got into the industry and realized it’s very commercial. As a black girl in the fashion industry, I had the crossroads of not being the physical body type and all the class issues. (I don’t come from a family with much money.) It always felt like a huge uphill battle that I was losing. Ultimately, I decided to go with the flow, which was not in the direction of the fashion industry. It was towards something very, very different. Repairs Club felt like this big hypothesis I had. A huge experiment that has worked so far.

And then the book section feels ironic. I was a very school boy. Introverted. I loved reading, but I loved it. When I opened the bookstore, I didn’t even know the last time I picked up a book. I’m still discovering this stuff. But I know it’s great, bringing back the childish energy I had reading.

Black-centric spaces are more important than ever in LA, McGilbert says.

(Kayla James / For The Times)

Liberation here comes out in many ways that I’m proud of. It’s every day — whether that’s someone coming in and pausing, handing out, like, “Wait, hi. Is this in this neighborhood? Why didn’t I notice?” People’s reactions feel seen and immediately understand that this is for them. Or our staff: our general manager was working at another bookstore where she was not central, felt unrepresented, and struggled to see herself reflected on that shelf. There are so many little things you wouldn’t get in any other work environment. It’s liberating for me, and I know it’s for them too. Like being able to borrow your boss’s car when you need to go somewhere – I’ve been in a work environment where my boss would never have lent me their car – or to be able to ask for a favor. It’s not a toxic work environment A little disorganized, maybe, but it’s not harmful. It was great to see others find people who didn’t feel heard and give them a platform, including all the authors we’ve been in contact with.

Every day here is quite special.

I think that’s why the physical space is so important – we’re all a little aimless here, looking for community and connection. The internet has opened my world, but you can’t hug someone through a computer. Feeling safe and just being able to have a conversation… I think it’s about what the space can hold.

These spaces are disappearing, especially in this city. Our rent is insane, and it’s only going up. We’ll stay here as long as possible, but I wish there were more places like this. For me, it was Barnes & Noble in the Westside Pavilion. It was the ArcLight. The first place I felt reflected was the Slauson Swap Meet. That’s such a milestone; I hope it’s there forever. That was the space where I thought, “Oh, this was made for me.” These are the price points that are accessible to me. Everything I need is here – all my hair stuff when I need a nice outfit – it’s all here in one place. That was important to me. Much of my family is buried in Inglewood Cemetery. I learned to drive there.

I want black people in LA, and even outside LA, as we are pushed further and further out, to take up space very loudly. There is something about being able to be your authentic self. There’s a lot that works against us, but where you can do that without the pretensions and filters, I find that incredibly liberating.

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