From the time that you snap into the consciousness that you are a girl, by virtue of your genitals alone, you are immediately taught to hide them.  We are taught that it’s not “ladylike” to ever have your legs open at any time for any reason whatsoever until you are married. You’re basically expected to walk around with a nickel between your knees from age five until the few times you have mediocre sex with your husband to produce however many children you have.  Which is obviously some bull shit. Now I have no issue with some level of modesty. I do; however, have an issue with the fact that boys are not taught at the same age that they are not entitled to what we were hiding. The sole responsibility for protecting the thing we are told to cherish the most in the world rests solely on us.  For example, I always found it troubling that we had to wear prayer cloths over our laps in the church to discourage men from looking up our skirts, yet they had to do nothing in the way of just not looking up our skirts. My point is we’ve been taught a certain level of shame about our biology since we became aware that we were girls, so when it comes time to do things like visiting the gynecologist, we never, ever, ever scoot down far enough in the exam chair.  But the mother of all vaginal intimacy, for which no one can prepare you, is getting waxed, and I find that process fucking fascinating.

I love pantsuits!  I mean I really love them. We all know that dudes in suits are painfully appealing, but there’s also something incredibly alluring about a woman who can pull off a suit as well.  So why haven’t I ever worn one before?  I have been threatening to wear a sexy tuxedo to do literally anything for at least ten years, and never made it happen.  For one thing, I didn’t have anywhere particularly exciting to go that would justify the financial investment in such a look.  I’d love to be overdressed every day for no reason, but I just don’t have the lifestyle…yet.  The second reason is that my boobs were just way too big to execute the styling how I saw it in my head.  I couldn’t really fulfill my vision standing at 5’2 wearing an H cup.  

During an interview, Oprah Winfrey once said to Maya Angelou, “Just listening to you now, I’m thinking, ‘What is it about Maya’ I think it’s that you know yourself.”  To which she agreed.

Oprah: You know that you are supported by something bigger than yourself. That you are loved. That you have the right to stand up for yourself. And that comes from knowing who you are.

Maya: And I not only have the right to stand up for myself, but I have the responsibility. I can’t ask somebody else to stand up for me if I won’t stand up for myself. And once you stand up for yourself, you’d be surprised that people say, “Can I be of help?”

So, we can all agree that this past episode of Insecure was terrible, right?  Not because of the writing or the plot, but because it didn’t come with a trigger warning.  On the penultimate episode of the season, “Obsessed-Like,” Issa struggles to accept that her new love interest (or so we thought) has ghosted, or mosted her.  I just learned about mosting, and whew people are trash.  We all got together on Twitter and iMessage and commiserated over our shared traumas on ghosting ad nauseam, so that’s not what we’re going to talk about here today. 

Y’all.  What the hell is going on in the world of sex work?  Between Nicki Minaj slut shaming and Kylie Jenner being regarded as “self-made” when her fame and welath was built off of someone else’s sex work, I am confused.  Let me preface this by saying that I have no judgement towards people (men and women) who work in the sex industry.  In the words of Chris Rock, “I understand, but I wouldn’t do it.”  I just have questions.  Now that that’s out of the way, I have questions regarding this scandal with the Clermont twins (Shannade and Shannon).

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A post shared by Shannon and Shannade Clermont (@clermonttwins) on Jan 30, 2018 at 4:52pm PST

I have this thing about me where people perceive me to be very strong, and therefore impervious to insults.  There is a confidence in me that other people see that I am still learning to see for myself.  This perceived strength has somehow emboldened people to feel really comfortable saying things to me that are very painful, because it seems like I can take it.

On one such occasion a few years ago, one of my friends had recently been proposed to.  I took to Instagram to congratulate them with a post, like we tend to do these days.  I mean if it doesn’t make it to social media, then did it even really happen?  (Insert heavy sarcasm here).  This was one of like three separate, consecutive engagements.  After the age of 25 they seem to roll in one after the other.  Meanwhile I was in the midst of a serious love drought that has continued until this very day.  Seriously I think I may be going for some sort of record, but I digress.

“Representation matters,” is a phrase that rolls off the lips and fingertips so easily at the site of any marginalized person being centered in film and television.  And much like every other phrase permeating the zeitgeist, I have to wonder if we know why it matters.  We have become so easily placated with just one or two black and brown faces that we forget there’s more to our experiences, than what can be explored via one character.  Yet, we still expect that lone character to capture the totality of the black experience through one arc.  Representation, rather equal representation, is so much more than seeing one black or brown face in a place where they otherwise wouldn’t typically be.  For all of our strides toward inclusive media, we still only get to see diverse intersectionality on shows that are uniquely intended for audiences of color.  Dear White People is one such show with its majority black cast.  Viewers were moved by the diversity reflected in the show’s premier season.  There were multiple black people with multiple intersections of identities, creating space for nuanced, and relatable storytelling, which is the true benefit of equal representation.  Season 2 of Dear White People doubled down on the show’s inclusivity, by centering their brown girls, and their gay characters.  Two categories of people that are often overlooked, even on shows that center people of color.

Hello friends.  It’s been a minute, and much like your ex, I am dropping back in your life like nothing happened.  Can we chat about a few beauty and fashion things?  I’ll be brief.

Let’s just get one thing straight right now, self-care is a legitimate necessity in order to get through this thing called life in one piece.  Kat Williams may or may not be all there, but he was preaching the gospel when he said you have to be in tune with your key fucking player, they key fucking player being you.  The trouble with having human needs is that like most necessities, big business always finds a way to monetize them.  Take water for example.  It’s an actual need to sustain life, but water isn’t free, and some are paying a higher cost for it than others.  What should be a means to restore oneself in the midst of a world that is constantly draining you in countless ways, is now being packaged and sold in the form of face masks and serums that promise a newer, better you.  But if you are suffering from anxiety and depression, buying a face mask isn’t going to heal you.  It may or may not fix the resulting puffiness under your eyes from lack of sleep due to your anxiety, but you can’t rely solely on topical solutions for underlying issues.   That’s a fact that rings true even within the beauty industry, but that’s another conversation for another day.  The truth is, taking care of yourself in real and lasting ways isn’t something you can pay your way into.

I hate attending fashion networking events.  I also really hate being out on an overcast day in New York for any reason, but there I was on a cold Sunday afternoon pushing through anxiety and self-doubt to attend yet another networking event put on by yet another collective aimed at connecting Black people in fashion.  I find this to be a very noble cause btw, but at some point you find yourself just going through the motions without much payoff.  It’s like slipping back into sex with an ex.  It may or may not get you somewhere, but you do it anyway, and kind of regret it afterwards.  Am I the only one?  Fine.