I stumbled drunkenly into my house after a miserable date that took place on a rainy night at a bar on the Lower East Side. It was a cool enough place for two people to get to know each other. It smelled of spilled drinks, desperation, and poor decision making, and I came home covered in two of the three. The DJ played a solid mix of throwbacks, so the vibe was chill, despite the growing crowd. The company; however, was questionable at best.
On Thursday, Scandal made its highly anticipated return for its final season, and it did not disappoint. My initial joy was over the fact that Olivia got rid of those Shirley Temple curls from last season. I mean, how is it even possible to take a threat to your life seriously when the person making the threat looks like she’s going to make an Easter speech circa 1992? Following that revelation, I found a hero in Olivia Pope.
Between working for the man, witnessing the world fall into chaos, and still trying to be an all around bad bitch, I have been rather overwhelmed. As a result, I have been taking quite a few mental health days. As per yooj, fashion (and my new therapist) is what is getting me through these rough days. Namely the fashions of Daenerys Targaryen.
I want Anastasia Beverly Hills to create pamphlets detailing their eyebrow products. That way when I see people with over-plucked, thin eyebrows I can hand them one, and ask, “Have you heard the good news?” I just want them to know there’s a much better life for them than the one they’re leading.
The great minds of our society have developed some amazing things yet, the well-endowed women of the world still struggle to find good bras. For the love of God they’ve created magnetic eyelash extensions, but I still can’t find a bra in my size that will enable me to wear a backless dress. Priorities people! Don’t even get me started on the designers who are committed to creating things that can only be worn if you’re willing to free the nipple. Why is every top and dress backless? Why? Because the fight to find great bras continues, a lot of women ask me where I shop. I stick to a select few brands, because my bra size is so random and uncommon, but I wanted to venture out and try some new ones to tell people about.
The end of Summer is fast approaching, and I have to say that mine was rather productive, so I’m not too messed up about Fall’s arrival. I did a little traveling, a little partying, and a little work (starting the podcast which I hope you’ve subscribed to and downloaded). I finally turned 30, which I’ve been looking forward to since I was 25, and it’s been very fulfilling thus far. I feel more confident even in the uncertainties, and I feel myself loving me more and more everyday. That’s something I thought I’d never fully be able to do. Today, I want to pay homage to one garment that got me through this season of galavanting and growth in comfort and style.
We are back with episode 2 of the Not Carrie Bradshaw Podcast. This week we discuss the fatal flaw in Issa’s dating plans, dating in New York, and workplace decorum. Leave us comments, and SUBSCRIBE on iTunes!
We all love Insecure. The brilliance of the show lies in its simplicity and relate-ability. There are no calculating, masterminds with exorbitant wealth, and “loose morals.” It’s just some young Black people trying to figure shit out. For that reason, Insecure inspires diverse conversations. I can always count on having A1 convos about dating, work, Black culture, etc. Following Sunday’s episode, a friend text me and asked, “WHERE ARE THE CONDOMS?!” Good. Freaking. Question. We have yet to see any hint of protection during any of the sex scenes on the show. Even with the anonymous neighbor whom I don’t ever recall seeing before. This morning I woke up to a text from another friend with the link to an article over at Very Smart Brothas asking the same damn question!
I watch a lot of television, and I’m no cinephile, but I’ve seen my fair share of movies, and I must say on screen sex has always been weird to me. It has always looked insanely unrealistic, and, dare I say it, nasty. Here are some things I just don’t get.