It’s the live DJs, the dozens of shoppers, and the chatter that fills the air alongside the wafting scent of grapefruit and mangosteen from the Baltimore-based Sulit Candle Co. that brings so much joy to the woman behind one of Baltimore’s most beloved markets.

“The community is constantly pouring into me,” says Bri Mobley, founder of BLK Ass Flea Market (BAFM), a pop-up marketplace for Black creatives and makers, with a goal of boosting Black businesses and inspiring Black joy.

Now in its third year, the event has grown into a recurring ritual, taking place multiple times a month at a variety of venues across the city, like Good Neighbor and the Charles Street Promenade this month. Each features upward of 50 vendors, mostly from Baltimore, selling original artworks, handmade jewelry, tea blends, vintage clothing, and more.

Launched in 2021 with co-founder Sola Ekunseitan, who left the business this spring to persue other projects, Mobley says the duo has built a diverse, intergenerational community of “cousins” who remain her support system to this day.

“We have continued to grow and thrive,” says the Philly-born Baltimore transplant, who is also a full-time mother and wellness artist, donning local Black brands like New Vintage by Sam, 1120 Co, and Blurry Success for this interview.

This expansion includes not just an ever-growing community of artisans and patrons, but also cultural institutions and even real estate developers who have become BAFM collaborators, including the Baltimore Peninsula, R. House’s Seawall Development, the Reginald F. Lewis Museum, and the Baltimore Museum of Industry, where Mobley now works as the public engagement manager.

There, she recently helped pilot “Rhythm of Industry,” a series of museum nights amplifying Black creatives and featuring live music, workshops, and more. The next installment takes place this month, in partnership with the Love Groove Festival’s John Tyler, in celebration of Juneteenth.

But even though BAFM has amassed 16,000 Instagram followers, some still struggle with the event’s full name, worrying that the words might be derogatory, which Mobley insists is quite the opposite.

“The name is really an identifier—for our people, for our community,” she says, seeing the African-American vernacular as a form of emphasis—and empowerment. For her, there’s a silver lining to the assumption that the event will be “rowdy” or “disruptive,” while she sees it as nothing but celebratory. “So that when you come, your mind is blown. So that when you come, you realize the economic impact on the city.”