I genuinely believe that cannabis is one of the queerest plants on Earth — culturally misunderstood, socially stigmatized, and arbitrarily criminalized for attempting to expand our narrow worldview. In fact, the cannabis industry as we know it wouldn’t exist without queer activists and allies like Dennis Peron and Brownie Mary, who advocated for the plant as one of the few effective remedies that provided relief to the swaths of AIDS patients being left to die by then-President Ronald Regan. Their advocacy led to the passing of the country’s first medical marijuana legislation, California Proposition 215, in 1996.
Unsurprisingly, though, queer contributions to cannabis advocacy and culture continue to be ignored by the cannabis industry at-large, even as weed wiggles its way into the zeitgeist thanks to recreational legalization in 24 states (plus DC) and the impending easement of federal restrictions from the DEA. Still, the burgeoning industry as a whole has a serious social equity problem, with only 16% of business being owned by women, and less than 19% owned by people of color. While these statistics are trending upwards compared to recent years, they fall flat when considering the fact that Black people were, on average, more than six times as likely to be arrested for marijuana-related offenses during Nixon’s failed “War on Drugs.”
Brooklyn-based humanist, pleasure activist, and entrepreneur Solonje Burnett is committed to carving out intentional space for marginalized voices in the world of weed. Raised by Caribbean immigrants in the suburbs of Newton, Massachusetts, Burnett learned from an early age how to turn the things that made her stand out into a super power. After spending her early career in event production and DEI consulting, Burnett brought her unique skill set to the emerging cannabis industry to transform its glaring equity obstacles into inclusive opportunities.
These days, Burnett is best known in the industry as Weed Auntie, which is both a community-appointed title and the name of her cannabis education and experience marketing consulting brand. Rooted in uplifting community and supporting small businesses, Burnett founded Weed Auntie in 2023 to curate intersectional wellbeing sessions, educational events, and brand activations, “for the cuties that care about this plant as more than just a profit tool,” she shares.
Burnett is also the co-founder (alongside of California-based revenue operations expert Angela Bacon) of Erven, a cannabis data transparency company. As one of the few – if not the only – queer Black woman-owned data companies serving the industry, Erven gives power back to business owners, increasing efficiencies and revenue through informed account planning, helping them grow with trust.
Just after a busy 4/20 season, we caught up with Burnett on Zoom to talk more about the herb’s evolution, the industry’s persistent diversity struggles, and how to harness the political power of our favorite queer plant.
I’m obsessed with the fact that the brand is called Weed Auntie, because the auntie is one of the most sacred roles in a Black family. What inspired you to create the brand specifically around this cherished role?
There is an actual auntie that I have in my life! Her name is Jacinta, or Aunt Jessie, and it is partially a tribute to her. She's a lover of people, a caretaker to our entire family, and, in my mind, the ultimate weed auntie. Folks just started calling me Weed Auntie a few years ago as well, and then people ran with it. I was just like, “I need to lock this in and make this a real thing” because we are in the age of the auntie. I got it trademarked.
A Weed Auntie leads with compassion and care for the community – and for yourself – because there's no such thing as someone else's child. Being a weed auntie is also about giving unsolicited advice about your experience — rooted in love — to help to educate and inform the children about what is possible, and providing them with opportunities.
You’ve stated in prior interviews that what drew you to the cannabis industry wasn't necessarily the potential to profit, but rather to make “transformative progress.” What transformations have you seen in the world of cannabis since you started, and where, in your opinion, is there still progress to be made?
To be honest, I'm quite disappointed with the evolution of the cannabis industry in the seven years that I've been officially in it. On a very basic level, I have seen transformation in product types, which has been beautiful; to see an evolution and some innovation around different ways of consuming. I love a CBD tampon, that has changed my life. But we are not experiencing transformation in cannabis like I was hoping for and advocated for, both on the legislative level by pushing the MRTA [New York’s cannabis legalization bill], as well as on the human connective level by creating experiences focusing on social equity and environmental justice.
When I started, there were more women in this space, [but now] there's less women, and there's less melanated or global majority folks in leadership roles. There are more Black and brown retail operators in New York than in the whole country, so that is a transformative change, even if we're not thrilled by the pace of the roll out. New York is trying to do this differently based on the advocacy of the people. But generally, I haven't seen things transform, I've seen them regress, and that really stresses me out.
Progress would be actually putting your money where your mouth is and supporting Black and queer owned brands. Supporting them financially. Inviting them into spaces where they make connections on their own and have a support system to survive and thrive in such a volatile industry. It's really, really hard to stay in this game. You can't run a friends and family [investing] round if nobody you know has money.
I’d love to know more about your personal relationship to the plant, and how it's evolved through your advocacy work?
When I first came into the industry, smoking spliffs was just a part of who I was out in the world. I was in a band and I was one of a couple who weed regularly, so it was advocacy by visibility and being completely shameless about it. So my first intention coming into the space was education, in a very intersectional and diverse way. How do we get the people that are older, that are disabled, that are queer, that are Black and brown into the conversation to understand this plant so that we can actually truly advance?
What I’ve done is create healing containers through my Reflection series, integrating marginalized cannabis product entrepreneurs, creatives and wellness practitioners. I like to mix up the topics, but make it centered on healing your body, the planet, and the people in community with each other. I also think my relationship has shifted because I started growing weed at home. I do believe to grow her is to truly know her. It's part of my conscious consumption ritual because you start to think about the farmers who put so much energy, care, love, and devotion into what we just pick up off of a retail shelf. It really is a mental health practice. There's a reason why folks sit out in their gardens and put their hands in the dirt and love up on these plants; It's good for us and grounds our bodies.
I love that because cannabis often brings me back to nature and the fact that we are all physically composed of the same materials. And you had once said that cannabis is “political because of how many ways it can be used, both as a tool for healing as well as one for oppression.” How can everyday consumers attune themselves more to this plant's political power?
We are in a mental health crisis. We’re beyond crisis — chaos. Everybody is unhinged, unhappy, and isolated. It's horrifying! [But] when you have this ally that is natural and comes out of the Earth, understand her and utilize her as a part of your toolkit for homeostasis balance; to be more in your body, to be more creative, to find joy, to have an orgasm to... whatever the hell it is. It’s a conduit to all of those things. So as young people, as queer people, old people with debilitating pain, this can be a balm in so many ways.
Know that everything you do is inherently political. In the cannabis space, understand who you're purchasing from, where the product's coming from, and why you're supporting this brand. Is it a woman owned brand? Is it a queer owned brand? Is it a marginalized Black brown indigenous brand? These are the things that you can do to use your purchasing power to politicize your plant usage.
Who are some other queer change makers in the cannabis industry that people should know about, and how can we open the doors for more of us?
I'm gonna say this loudly: the outwardly queer brands in the space are mostly white male-led. When you look at who's being elevated across the board, it's the same names. I love a lot of them, and collaborated with them from day one — Stone Road, Drew Martin, FLAMER, Cann — but white men have more access to capital to be able to survive and thrive in the chaos that is the cannabis industry. So those ones are going to rise to the top, [even though] they have been through so much hardship.
When I think of a few women, there's Sonder in California, and Amber Senter, the founder of Supernova Women and Makr House. Also Dae Lim from Sundae School, getting some AAPI representation up in the mix. I do think that there is an issue around the shame and stigma of being queer within Black and brown communities, so a lot of people will lead with their racial identity over their queerness. [But] our queerness gives us the ability to think differently, and therein lies the opportunity for innovation. We are trying to influence and infiltrate this industry with all of our vibrancy in order to shift the culture towards something that is more rooted in humanity.
Get the best of what’s queer. Sign up for Them’s weekly newsletter here.