I, like many young black girls was raised by a single mother and a multitude of other women that were very influential in my upbringing.  My mom is an amazing woman.  Everyone thinks their mom is, but mine is truly remarkable, and I didn’t realize this until I got older.  Because of who she is, there were always people willing to help her with my brother and I.  Not that she was famous or extraordinarily wealthy, but because she is the perfect blend of sweet and sour.  She is the classiest most beautiful woman in the world to me, but she will also read you for filth if you cross her or someone she loves.  Still as an adult I love watching my mom get dressed, because style is so effortless for her.  I would watch her come in tired and sweaty from working her blue collar job at Delta, and then transform into this immaculate well dressed woman that looks like she has a rich husband and a colonial in Buckhead.  I learned the power of deception that comes from being well dressed from my mommy. Now that I have sang the praises of my mom, let me tell you about one of the other less fabulous but highly influential women in my life.

There is a woman named Cookie.  No that is not her real name, but that is what I have called her since the day I was able to speak.  She helped my mother raise my brother and I.  The irony that her name is Cookie and people call my brother Biscuit, and me Muffin in completely unrelated ways is how I know that God has a sense of humor.  Cookie is very ummm… let’s say eccentric.  We grew up doing a shit ton of yard work.  Not cute yard work, but like real landscaping.  Until I was about 7 or 8 I thought this is what all kids do in their spare time.  Her very many idiosyncrasies majorly rubbed off on me and are quite possibly why I am such a weirdo to this day.  Cookie made me into who I am in the strangest way possible.  Example: when we would come in from school she would ask us how many I’s are in Mississippi or would make us say the alphabet backwards.  Things like this kept me on my toes at all times because I dare not get an answer wrong.

Cookie has a daughter named Sonya.  Sonya played a huge role in my life as well.  My brother is the sweetest person in the entire world and people have always been drawn to him because of that.  Hence, I was ignored a great deal as a kid.  Sonya, however took to me and I took to her.  Even still, I spent a lot of time alone and developed a huge imagination and this is where I began to write.  I would go to Sonya’s house and on her laptop (laptops were not common in the 90’s at all) I would write lots of short stories.  I looked forward to the days I got to hang out with my cool aunt Sonya, because we were always doing something fun and new and she indulged me in my make believe conversations about characters I had made up in my head.  I know that sounds weird but roll with it, I swear I have a point here.  One day when Sonya was in grad school for some reason she took me to class with her.  I was maybe 6.  I listened intently to what was being discussed and being the precocious weirdly confident kid that I was I raised my hand to ask a question.  Imagine this tiny little brown girl impeccably dressed because I am my mother’s child asking a question in a graduate level class.  I haven’t a clue what that question was, but everyone was so impressed by the way I asked it that they formed around me and started to ask me questions.  There was a man with an accent (don’t ask me what kind. This was years ago and I’m old now).  I said to him “I don’t wan to offend you but I know that you are a foreigner of some kind and I have a question about what you asked.”  It was on this day that I learned I have a real voice and I love to talk to people.

When I was about 8 or 9 it was someone’s bright idea to sign me up for the Jr. Atlanta Falcons cheerleading squad.  We would perform at all the home games and do random community service things.  For some reason we were always performing at Shepard Spinal Recovery center.  How shitty it must have been for those people to be forced to watch a bunch of privileged kids doing dances to hits from the 80’s.   At the end of our trash ass performance in this small room there was a Q and A session.  Why you ask?  I have no idea.  Let me get to my Lunchable and go home to do my yard work I thought.  Well one day I didn’t get up to answer a question that was posed to the group.  When I got to Cookie’s house afterward she chewed me out.  “Whenever someone asks for someone to speak, you should always be the first to go up.  You have a voice.  Use it.”  It was on this day that I developed a fear of NOT public speaking.

Fast forward to last night’s panel on diversity in fashion media.  They opened the floor for Q&A, and for some reason put the microphone smack dab in the middle of the aisle.  I imagine this was to discourage  too many people from going up at once.  Remembering my training from good old Cookie’s boot camp I went up and confidently asked: what is our responsibility as black media to hold mainstream media accountable for the appropriation of black culture?  Is that something we should still be concerned about given that hip hop culture has now become a part of pop culture, or should we celebrate that it is being accepted mainstream?  To my surprise the audience applauded me for posing this question.  People came up to me afterwards to thank me for asking it.  I am very weird and although I love being social and talking to people, I get awkward very easily when complimented.

I said all of this to say that nothing in life happens by mistake.  We are created to be who we are.  Every person that touches our lives is forming us in some way be it big or small.  If my father had never left my mother I would never have gone to Cookie’s house.  If I had not been a funny looking, marginalized but very fashionable kid, Sonya may have never taken to me and exposed me to the things that lead me to pursuing my passion in life.  Sometimes the situations that seem the most bleak are the ones leading right to the plan God has for our lives.  Don’t fight against your struggles.  Lean in to the curve and brace yourself for what you are being prepared for.  It’s coming.  Trust me.

My amazingly wonderful editor from StyleBlazer invited me to a panel discussion on diversity in media tonight at the New York Institute of Technology.  Wait.  Let me back up.  It was a whopping 1 degrees in New York tonight, 1.

The press reception began at 7 and the panel began at 8.  My editor and I agreed we would meet up at around 7:30.  Perf!  Well I have a piss poor sense of direction, which is a really bad trait to have in New York.  I got off the train at what I thought was the correct stop and realized that I was in Astoria, Queens.  The actual location is in Manhattan.  Here’s a map to show you just how wrong that is given that I live in Brooklyn.

Imagine my surprise when my GPS lead me straight to a diner.  I usually walk everywhere, because cab fare really adds up but it was just entirely too cold for life so I hopped in a cab and made it to the venue just in time for the panel intros.

The panel was amazing and I posed a question that literally got a round of applause from the audience.  I am very awkward and weird so I blushed immensely as the panel answered me.  (I will cover this in the next post).  Afterward my editor and I decided we need to catch up so I walked with her to the Whole Foods in Columbus Circle.  Let me just say this.  I freaking love Whole Foods, but I only go to the one in Union Square.  What I realized today is that any Whole Foods outside of your regular Whole Foods is like walking into Narnia or that weird portal that takes you to Hogwarts.  You don’t know where anything is and you look like an idiot holding your buffet food searching for the registers.  And the lines.  Why do we willingly wait in lines like refugees waiting for rations to pay for overpriced food?  Because Whole Foods is the shit that’s why.

Anyway though on to my point.  My editor is this amazing little curvy brownie (my pet name for brown skinned girls like me) that’s like a mentor in this fashion game.  (Imagine I said that with the voice of a young drug dealer who’s trying to get put on).  So we chat about lots of things.  On our quest to pay for her food she asked me with such sincerity, “why are you still single?”  That question haunts me like a pair of shoes I didn’t buy at a designer sample sale.  I have asked myself that question many times, and I finally know why.

I am brand loyal to a very specific type of ass hole guy.  If you are a kind of mean drinker that’s emotionally unavailable with an amazing sense of humor, a great smile, and built like a wide receiver, well hey I’m down.  Until I start liking guys that are actually good for me I will always be single.  This sucks for a few reasons.

1. Of my best friends I am the only one that’s single and I stick out like a sore thumb.  Two are engaged, and one will be very soon we are all sure.
2. The guy I have gone back and forth with for like three years revealed to me that he now has a girlfriend*  I always knew he wasn’t the one, but I took comfort in knowing that he would always be there as a safety to have someone to talk to.  When things failed to work out with others, I took a weird comfort in knowing I didn’t mind putting up with his shit in small doses so I could always go back to him.  I knew we would both get in relationships eventually and leave the other behind but I didn’t think I would be the one to get left behind.  I’m a better person than he is for crying out loud.  How dare the universe allow him to find love before me?!
3. I’m 27.  Enough said.

*I am freakishly perceptive.  I pick up on everything even via text, so I know when something is afoot.  He only revealed this to me after I asked because I can peep tea like no other.

So there you have it.  I am not crazy.  I don’t have kids or incurable diseases.  There’s nothing really wrong with me other than the fact that I choose to fall for guys that are truly terribly wrong for me.  That’s really it.

There are a few cliche statements that apply here:

1. Everything happens for a reason.  There are no mistakes in life.
2. It’s always darkest before the dawn.
3. Sometimes the worse things in life end up being the best things in life.

So with all of that being said there are some very valuable lessons to be learned from this entire experience.

1. When you interview for a company, you should be interviewing them as well to see if you are a good fit for their company culture.
2. Don’t trust women with bad hair or bad shoes.  They clearly don’t care about themselves and they definitely don’t care about you.
3. Keep a paper trail, and over communicate.  Cover your own ass at all costs.  Make sure you can prove your efforts at your job, and any feedback you receive good or bad.
4. Come in early and stay late.
5. Don’t ever kiki at work.  No matter what a co worker tells you, anything you say/ask can and will be used against you in an effort to save their own ass.
6. If you want to work in fashion try your hand at a bunch of things until you find your niche.  Many success stories in fashion are from people who started in one area and landed in a completely different one.
7. Keep multiple streams of income.  You always need back up money.  Mine is freelance writing.
8. Keep the contact information for a temp service on deck.  If you ever fall on hard times they will find work for you until you get something permanent.
9. Sometimes it’s better to bow out gracefully than to be kicked out on your ass.
10. Don’t panic (Amber Rose voice).  You will be fine.  There will be times when you feel that life is constantly kicking you in the balls and you don’t know why.  But trust you will be ok, and you will come out stronger.

So begins another day of me trying desperately to save myself and my job.

Photo: Harper’s Bazaar

I came in an hour early, as I had been doing for the past month and tried to prep for the day.  As soon as I logged in to my Outlook, my boss had sent me a series of emails “following up” on projects I had completed weeks ago, and asking me to complete others.  It suddenly dawned on me that I was being set up for failure, and she was building a case against me so that she could fire me,which is pretty much what she wanted to do at my 30 day review.  I gathered my things, sent her an email saying that I wasn’t feeling well, got the number for HR, and headed home.

Photo: Harper’s Bazaar

I talked to HR and pretty much got a “well girl what do you want me to do about it?” response.  I took another sick day to really decide what my next move should be.  After much prayer, I decided that I would rather resign than be fired from anywhere.  The next morning I sent in my resignation.

Photo: Harper’s Bazaar

My biggest fear wasn’t how I would eat or pay my rent, but how I would be disappointing my friends and family.  This was supposed to be THE job that would propel my fashion career forward, help me build my finances, and relinquish them of their financial responsibility for me.  How can I not just tough this out?  Am I really that weak?  Ultimately I decided that I have to do what is best for me and the love and support of my friends and family will always be there.  I walked away from that job knowing that I gave it my absolute best and that it just wasn’t good enough for them.  So there you have it.  I’m a quitter and I have no shame about that.

After a weekend spent with friends trying to reassure myself that I’m not a complete idiot and that I can in fact learn my job and be good at it, Monday rolled around.  I woke up that morning, read some affirmations and scriptures on being encouraged and said a prayer.  (I wake up every morning, and have a long chat with God as I’m getting dressed.)  I put on one of my absolute favorite black dresses, did my hair and makeup and bundled up to weather the cold both figuratively and literally.

As soon as I stepped into the building I felt an air of doom loom over me.  I sent my manager an email outlining all of her concerns and how we could fix them.  She responded by giving me a project that I definitely needed help completing.  My “training mentor” reluctantly answered a few of my questions.  Side note: don’t trust a girl that doesn’t do her hair.  I will spare you the details, but this turned out to be one of the worse days of my life for a few reasons.  Or maybe I’m not sparing the details, whatever.

1. No one would actually answer my questions the whole day.
2. I had a cross functional team meeting that I had no idea how to prepare for.  They ended up having said meeting without me unbeknownst to me.
3. I had a mild panic attack and sat in the bathroom for like 15 minutes trying to calm myself down.
4. I couldn’t eat, which is really saying something because I love to eat.
5. At the end of the day my manager called me in to her office and recited every question I had asked every person in the office that entire day.  They apparently had a secret meeting where they told her how much I sucked.  I was told that my questions were inappropriate for someone in their fifth week on the job.
6. The guy I thought I was talking to got completely ghost on me and hadn’t returned a single text or phone call the entire weekend and this continued for a week.  Why can’t guys just tell you when they’ve met a girl over the weekend with better edges and bigger booty?  Why?
7. My manager gave me four projects to do by the end of the week, but there was no way I could do them without any help.  And clearly no one in the department is willing to help me especially without snitching on me.

I went home that night a complete and total wreck.  Did I mention that the door to my place was frozen shut and I had to wait 30 minutes for my roommate to come back and let me in?  It was cold to say the very least.

I finally got in the house, showered, couldn’t eat, and went to bed with still no word from old dude.

Just as an aside I feel I should let you know that I truly despise cats, but this gif was fitting so there it is.  I do not have a cat, nor will I ever.  They give me the creeps and I refuse to fulfill certain stereotypes about single women and cats.

So things got off to a very rocky start at the new job as I mentioned before.  I was pretty much told that I wasn’t doing a good job, and was not meeting the standards and expectations of the position after two weeks.  Yes, after two weeks I was told that I don’t fully understand my job.  To which I say, well who does?  With this information, I decided ok maybe I should work harder to show my commitment and dedication to the company.  I started taking home my notes to study at night and on the weekends.  I came in at least an hour early to look over things and get a head start on the day.  After a few weeks I felt confident that I was doing better.  Things were making sense and coming together well.  So imagine my surprise when my boss told me once again during my 30 day review that I am still not up to par.

She looked at me with a smile and kindly told me that I am just not a good fit for the position (among other things).  At the end of her ripping me a new one she said: take the weekend to decide if you want to come back here.  Never have I been talked to so condescendingly in my life.  I handled her criticism with as much poise and humility as I could.  My stilettos clicked louder than I’ve ever heard them click before on the floor as I left her office and headed to my desk to gather my things.  I could feel everyone staring at me as I’m sure they knew what had taken place.  I barely made it over the threshold of the building before I burst into tears on my phone to my best friend.  I haven’t cried like that in years.  Anger, embarrassment, feelings of failure, and inadequacy overwhelmed me.  I lost all composure, and let out an audible cry that came out so strong that I started to shake as I told her what happened.  The walk from 11th to 7th Avenue has never felt so long.  The cold breeze from the Hudson dried my tears almost as fast as they fell down my cheeks and made streaks in my makeup.

Photo: E!

I snapped the closure to my fur lined hood in hopes that it would hide my struggle from the people walking by.  Everything seemed to move in slow motion, which is odd for a city known for its fast pace.  Is this real?  Is this really happening to me?  My bestie in her usual fashion asked me a series of questions I was not prepared to answer.  Among them was if I had considered moving back home to Atlanta.  That question snapped me out of my sadness and somewhere between 7th and 8th Avenue I went into survival mode.  I text my most resourceful friend here, Nikki.  I gave her the tea on what took place with my manager, and true to form she text and emailed me a bunch of contacts to reach out to.  I started going through my mental rolodex of who I could contact.  How can I make the money I have last?  How much do I have for rent?  By when do I need to have something else secured to sustain me in New York?

I got on the Q train to head home and in the most dramatic fashion I blasted some Drake through my earphones, and I got motivated.  I stopped at my favorite Jamaican spot in Newkirk Plaza on the way, and made a mental game plan while I waited in line.  The line is always jumping there so I had a good minute to figure things out.  I called other friends that work in corporate America and asked for advice.  Their response was unanimous: don’t quit.  I spent the weekend with friends trying to psych myself up to go back in to work on Monday.

Ulyana Sergeenko

I’m not sure why, but this year’s couture shows were breathtakingly amazing.  There was once a time when I thought couture and avant garde fashion were ridiculous.  I thought it was a giant hoax and the king was wearing no clothes.  However, I am so thankful that I learned that couture is actually fashion design in its purest form.  This is a designer’s opportunity to fully express their vision without worrying about what will sell, because these pieces aren’t created for the masses.

Everything doesn’t look practical or “make sense” but I get this incredible feeling from seeing these collections.  I have never been a very artsy person.  I go to museums here often, and the city is filled with art and culture, but nothing moves me like fashion.  It really makes my heart beat.  It energizes and motivates me like nothing else in the world, and I’m so thankful that I have something in my life that costs me absolutely nothing to experience.  Below are some of my faves from a few of the collections.  All photos are from style.com.

Alexandre Vauthier

Nothing has been a greater thief of joy in my life than insecurity.  It is a silent killer that sneaks up in the depths of your consciousness and slowly but surely steals away your happiness, your self worth, and your confidence.  It is like a cancer that eats away at the things that make you feel whole, and as those things lose their ability to give you peace, a domino effect starts and you quietly lose your shit.  Not only your insecurity, but the people around you’s insecurity can rob you of joy as well.  It’s a dangerous disease, but it can be cured.

I started week two at my new job on Monday.  The initial thrill of being gainfully employed with medical benefits, PTO, 401K, and salary wore off very quickly as I realized “oh shit this is real.”  Sitting in meetings and trainings all day learning what my new responsibilities will be, and how impactful my role is to the company sent me in a mental panic.

On my list of monthly declarations I said that I wanted a job that would challenge me in addition to being professionally and personally beneficial.  We must be careful what we ask for, because I certainly got it with this new position.  In addition to learning the technology and software used to do my job, I also have to learn the strategy and methodology behind how we make our decisions.  These decisions are incredibly impactful on the overall business.  I suppose my assigned mentor could sense my apprehension since she pulled me to the side to have a “touch base” meeting.  She shared that she could sense that I was feeling overwhelmed and urged me to be more confident in my new role.

I thought “damn is it really that obvious?”  My attempts to reassure her that I’m fine fell on deaf ears, and I left work that evening in very deep thought.  “How could she have sensed my doubts that I can do this job?  She just met me.  How is it that obvious?” I asked myself on the frigid walk to the train, while the disrespectful ass wind blew my fur lined hood smooth off my head.  I didn’t even put my earphones in, because I didn’t want to be distracted by anything but my thoughts.  I realized how much my self doubt and insecurity over the course of my life have taken things away from me.  In my 27 years I have accomplished some great things.  I’m no wunderkind, but I have done ok for myself.  And even in knowing this I still get too deep into my own head sometimes and the doubt sinks in.  Just to add insult to injury that same week a very close friend of mine said to me: “you have to be more confident in yourself.  Imagine how far along you would be if you just stopped thinking so small.”  Okay, God is clearly trying to tell me something here this week.

I said all of this to say that I am determined to allow myself to be great.  I no longer want to stop myself from doing things that I know I am capable of doing.  We have to be fearless and strong in the pursuit of our goals.  You cannot be timid about telling the universe what you want and that you are going to go get it.  Say that shit and believe it wholeheartedly. You have to get out of your own way, and even if you stumble, play it off and keep it moving.  This isn’t to say that everything will go your way if you believe in yourself.  Rather, it is to say that just because you may fail doesn’t mean you’re not still capable.  Failure and mistakes build character, they make you more human so don’t dwell on those times.  Learn from them and with a smile and a strong desire to be better, move on.  Keep telling yourself: I can do this and don’t allow insecurity to sneak in and remind you of that one time you messed up.  Rid yourself of the things that make you doubt you and be on your best Beyonce (or whomever).

The view from Barnes and Noble in Union Square

Read more.  I looked at the words I had written a few days prior on my list of things to do for the year as I walked around Barnes and Noble in Union Square.  I love that place.  I was killing time waiting for my baby sister to arrive for us to have a catch up session over dinner.  She was late as usual.  I finally gave up searching on my own and asked where I could find Diane Von Furstenburg’s autobiography The Woman I Wanted to Be.  Now any fashion girl worth her soul has an intense admiration for DVF.  Even if you don’t like her design aesthetic you have to look at this woman in awe for what she has accomplished in the industry.  In fact I venture to say that I don’t trust a girl in fashion that doesn’t love and/or respect Diane Von Furstenberg, creator of the wrap dress.

DVF with Wale for Harper’s Bazaar

I dove into DVF’s book on the train ride home to Brooklyn, following an intense conversation turned debate with baby sis about dating.  I fell under DVF’s spell even more, because I found so many parallels between her life and mine.  I dare not lead you to believe that I am a wealthy jet setting fashion designer with a who’s who list of industry friends, but I saw myself in much of what she wrote.  In lieu of giving you an essay on that I will let you in on what stood out to me most: her relationship with her mother and her life long pursuit of becoming the woman she wants to be.

Diane’s mother was an actual Holocaust survivor, and she had a determination to live and to see the best in life no matter the circumstance.  If her mother could do that in the face of such terror, then how can we not overcome the challenges we face?  Reading Diane’s account of how her mother was somewhat distant towards her, but that she came to understand the extent of her love after her mom passed made me so thankful that I see the value of my mother now while I still have her.  For years I thought my mother didn’t care as much about me as she did my brother, because she rarely came to my defense as a child.  I was never really coddled, even at times when I genuinely needed to be. I grew resentful of my mom for this during my teenage years.  I came to realize years later that my mother was teaching me strength and self sufficiency.  I am now appreciative of those times and my mom and I have the best relationship I could ever ask for.  I am strong because of her strength.  I am courageous because of the courage she taught me to have.  I know how to love because of the way my mom loves me, unconditionally.

No sentence resonated with me more than when I read: I didn’t really know what I wanted to do, but I knew the woman I wanted to become.  That sentenced summed up what my life has been since graduating from college the first time in 2009.  My friends were all in professional programs, and therefore had a clear understanding of what their career path would be following college.  I on the other hand had no idea.  I just knew the kind of life I wanted, and the kind of woman I wanted to be.  Even as a little girl I knew that I wanted to be very glamorous and fashionable, and that I wanted a fun and exciting life filled with interesting people and great adventures.  At one point I wanted to be a ninja spy.  I kid you not I literally wanted to be a ninja spy like James Bond meets Foxy Brown.  It seemed like a cool life until I realized spies have to kill people, so I gave up on that dream.  Taking an inventory of my life right now, I see how blessed I am that I am well on the way to becoming the woman I want to be.  I never imagined that I would be living in New York with a resume that includes three luxury fashion houses and a radio show.  I stumbled my way here all the while knowing the woman I wanted to be.  In moving to New York I rediscovered my love of writing and developed a more intimate relationship with the fashion industry.  I am genuinely thrilled about my future.  I have a slight idea of what lies ahead but I know for sure the woman I want to become and I am getting closer to her everyday.

Photo: Newsweek

You may not know what you want to do with your life right now at this moment, and that’s ok.  I encourage you to discover the woman you want to become, and I’m sure you’ll find exactly what you should be doing along the way.  You don’t need all the answers.  Life is no fun that way.  The fun in life comes from the surprises, the things you didn’t plan, or even the failed plans.  You will look back on those moments fondly.  Enjoy your journey.  Every high and every low.  They are weaving an amazing story for you.

I am obsessed with Diane Von Furstenburg’s book, and I recommend reading it.  Her spirit comes through so clearly in the words.  Her honesty about her triumphs and her shortcomings make her so much more human.  I truly hope to run into her on the street one day just to say thank you.

I think it is safe to say that the internet is saturated with fashion blogs. Many have declared that the age of the fashion blog is over, and I’m obviously biased but I don’t agree with that sentiment at all.  However, I think that readers are becoming more discerning about their tastes with regard to blogging.  Many feel inundated and that a lot of fashion blogs lack actual substance.  I can’t argue with readers on this.  I come across a number of things that leave me underwhelmed.   Ideally blogging should combine a passion for both fashion and writing, otherwise a blog cannot thrive.  People are under the impression that because they have style, they can automatically succeed at blogging.  It takes much more than a great sense of style to create compelling content for an audience.  Much like it takes more than style to be a great fashion designer or stylist.  You have to be able to think outside of yourself in order to satisfy an audience, consumers, or clients.  Your vision has to be greater than you and your talent has to exceed that of merely putting together a good look for yourself. Not to crush anyone’s dreams here, but there are other talents that you have to develop outside of dressing yourself well in order to have a successful career in fashion on any level.  It’s a real industry, and you have to have the talent to make it.  I know this because I am on a constant path to do so myself.