I’ve always wondered what life would be like on a Black planet. After attending the latest Essence Music Festival in New Orleans, now I know.

I have seen a lot of Black people in my life but never as many concentrated in one place at one time. It all started with the flight from the Baltimore-Washington International Airport, where there were quite a few of us boarding. When I changed planes in Nashville, it was clear that almost everyone was headed to New Orleans. There were about five White people on the plane—and they were either pilots or flight attendants.

Judging by people in the New Orleans airport, every other in-bound plane had about the same racial composition. Every bus and taxi line headed downtown was filled with African-Americans, from the Black blue bloods to the ghettofabulous. Especially the ghettofabulous.

There are some women who should not try to squeeze into tight pants. Let’s be up front. Or behind. On every street there was someone who, if they were told to haul butt, they would have to make two trips. And many of the guys were dressed as though they were about to appear on “Let’s Make a Deal.” Fortunately, most of the brothas and sistahs were appropriately attired and were in a festive mood.

I attended the festival as a guest of my friend, Ingrid Saunders Jones, the senior vice president of corporate external affairs of The Coca-Cola Company. Not only do “things go better with Coke,” as the slogan says, going to the Essence Music Festival definitely goes better when you’re a guest of Coke. Of course, there are the private dinners, choice seats, invitation-only skyboxes, goodie bags and special after parties.

When I told people at the Coca-Cola hospitality suite in the Le Meridien Hotel that this was my first trip to the festival, a large smile came across the face of one of the greeters as she warned, “Just pace yourself.”

That’s exactly what I didn’t do. After finding my way through the fabulous and ghettofabulous at the airport, there was barely time to check in (Coke even has private arrangements for that) and head to the Louisiana SuperDome to catch Luther Vandross, Alecia Keys, Cederic the Entertainer, India Arie and Gerald Levert on the main stage. The Ohio Players, Denise LaSalle and others, known and not-so-known, were appearing on smaller stages simultaneously in the superlounges.

The talk of the night was about how Alecia Keys had bombed. She’s a very talented but on this night, she stunk. As is the case with a lot of young Black artists who attain success quickly, she seemed over-managed. She cursed, apparently in a futile effort to seem like one of the girls. With that much talent, there was no need for vulgarity.

What stuck out even more was her selection of songs. Someone forgot to tell her this was the “Essence” music festival, not one produced by “Good Housekeeping.” Her songs were not tailored to her audience and, consequently, she was tuned out.

Fortunately, Luther made up for all of that. This was clearly a Luther Vandross crowd and Big Luther, as opposed to the slim version, was the quintessential star. As many times as I’ve seen Luther over the years, I’ve never seen him give a bad performance or misconnect with his audience. Alecia Keys could learn a thing or two – or three – from him.

And I could learn something from the Coca-Cola greeter who told me to pace myself. I had invitations to the after party at the House of Blues and the after party after the after party. By the time I returned to my hotel, it was 5 a.m. I didn’t get up until the crack of noon.

Over the next two days, I did indeed pace myself as I rocked with Faith Evans, Mary J Blige, Babyface, the Isley Brothers and Frankie Beverly & Maze, among others. I disciplined myself and managed to get to bed by 2 or 3 a.m. each morning.

Ingrid Saunders Jones provided a New Orleans-style supper at Harrah’s for several hundred of her closest friends. The star of that show was not Ingrid – sorry about that Ingrid — but her mother, Mrs. Georgia Saunders. She was Miss Knoxville College in 1936 and was seated with her longtime friend and another former Miss Knoxville College, Blanche Solomon. I want to age like them. They are so full of vitality and energy.

I usually see Ingrid’s mother at homecoming at Knoxville College, which is also my alma mater, and I am always impressed by how classy she is. It’s old school class, charm and graciousness. It’s something I wish that the ghettofabulous women had been exposed to before they were, well, ghetto.

Instead of letting everything hang out that’s not supposed to hang out, perhaps they would have modeled themselves after Ingrid’s mother. I am not saying women of today should not have their own style and personality. I am saying that class and grace has no age limit and it never goes out of style. That’s fabulous and it beats being ghettofabulous on the Black planet any day of the week.