What is fashion right now?

I love fashion, and since it was just New York Fashion Week earlier this month (aka one of the most anticipated events in the fashion world), I was inspired. I’m no fashion expert–I don’t know how to pronounce half the haute couture brand names, I can’t spot the difference between designer labels and their diffusion lines, and quite frankly runways bore me. But I am a reading expert and I go through 3-6 magazines every month. I can always name the latest fashion trends. Unfortunately, for the past year or so they’ve been less than thrilling.

Let’s start with cropped pants.

I get the appeal, especially in the summertime. Shorts still aren’t considered office appropriate, and cropped pants bridge the gap between a 95 degree high with 80% humidity, and an office air conditioned to 60 degrees. But they’ve gone from a spring/summer item to a year round staple. I’m tired of having my ankles out! And now all the full length pants are super wide leg. Can we bring back normal pants please?

We have also done ruffles  absolutely to death.

Ruffles on necklines. Ruffles on dresses. Ruffles on skirts. Ruffles on sleeves. Ruffles on pants. PANTS! Am I dressing to live my life or to visit Louis XIV’s court? And the ruffles on tops always look pirate-y or add too much fluff to my bust area. Not to mention that ruffles are a nightmare to launder. They get all wrinkled and weirdly shrunken up, so you have to spend precious time ironing them out. It’s annoying.

Next I want to talk about whatever the hell is going on with women’s tops.

bell sleeve

If I see one more damn bell sleeve I’m going to scream! It was cute at first. But the bells keep getting bigger, and now they have ties. How is anyone suppose to eat in these? Or type? And apparently all the extra fabric that’s going to these silly sleeves is being taken out from my shoulders.

cold shoulder

The cold shoulder trend needs to die. Quickly. It was fine in summer 2016 but it just kept going. I’ve seen shoulder cut outs on wool sweaters and velvet dresses. It doesn’t make sense and it’s near impossible to wear for girls whose cups spilleth over. And I know that five years from now we’re going to look back on this trend as utterly ridiculous so let’s just cut the cord now.

Next I have a bone to pick with athleisure. Now listen, I love leggings as much as the next girl. They are an absolute necessity for workouts (seriously, did we really used to go to the gym in sweatpants?), they let you survive the hell that is now security check at the airport, you can wear a dress in the wintertime even if it doesn’t come down to your ankles, and period bloat isn’t as much of a problem when your pants are stretchy and have no zippers. They’re great!

However….you can have too much of a good thing. WHAT ARE THOSE?

I’m fine with sweatsuits. But I’m not fine with actual suits made out of sweatpant material. Nope, not doing this with y’all, count me out. *pulls parachute ripcord* BYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

So those are my five fashion pet peeves. Feel free to chime in with yours in the comments!

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I want to live in Wakanda

Black Panther fed my spirit.

I’ve always enjoyed superhero stories. I love science fiction and fantasy, and comic books almost always contain a little bit of both. I’ll admit that before the movie came out, I didn’t know much about Black Panther other than the fact that he existed. I watched the miniseries back in 2010, but that was it.

As you can see, the production value is decidedly subpar. But the story was good and the voice talent (Djimon Hounsou, Jill Scott, Kerry Washington, Alfre Woodard) was great. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but promptly forgot it existed as I had no real expectation of ever seeing  a live action version. I watched Blade but never really got into it. Halle Berry as Storm in the X-Men movies was a disappointment, Halle Berry as Catwoman was an even bigger disappointment. Don Cheadle was good as War Machine but he was still a sidekick. It was a feel good moment, but not one that made me run to theater.

Then Chadwick Boseman showed up as Black Panther in Captain America: Civil War, and Marvel announced a Black Panther movie and I was excited. As casting news kept trickling out, I got even more hyped up. My brother (an OG comics nerd) has watched all the #BlackPantherSoLit and #InWakanda feverishness with a detached skepticism. I’m a skeptic too, but I couldn’t suppress my inner child on this one.  We went from a low budget cartoon on BET to this:

I GLADLY bought my opening weekend movie ticket almost two months beforehand.

*******SPOILERS FROM THIS POINT ON********

Black Panther was EVERYTHING. It felt so good to watch a movie where black people and black problems and black culture were the focus, and not an afterthought. The production was loving and thorough, as each Wakandan tribe incorporated references to actual African cultural clothing, hairstyles, and rituals.

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Best of all, the women were the black women I know in my own life–fierce, sexy, competent, multifaceted. Wakanda’s elite fighting force is all female. They rock bald heads and armor but still retain their femininity. Their general had a black male lover who respected her. T’Challa was in love with a covert operative who wants to serve not only Wakanda, but disenfranchised people all over the world–and we catch her in the middle of a mission to save African women from being sold into the sex trade. And all four of the women featured in the main cast are brown to dark skinned. It just felt so good to see women of my complexion being both objects of affection and trusted advisors to royalty.

T’Challa flanked by his love interest Nakia, on the left, and general Okoye, on the right.

So often the token black person in media is lightskinned; recently, more and more often they also look mixed and/or racially ambiguous. Kill all the diversity birds with one stone, as it were. But Black Panther is different. Because Wakanda is an African country untouched by colonizers, the Wakandans are overwhelmingly dark skinned–with natural hair! I’ve honestly never seen this in a movie that wasn’t about slavery. Wakanda is the Africa that exists in every black American’s mind, a myth of what could have been if slavery had never happened.

Lupe Fiasco captured this feeling in the track “All Black Everything” on his Lasers album. It’s one of my favorite songs of his, but it makes me feel so emotional that I can’t just listen to it at any old time. The first time I heard it, I felt chills down my spine and tears pricked my eyes. I’m an African American descendant of slaves; I’ve actually seen my ancestor’s burial grounds and the record that reduces his life to a mark on a tally sheet and a  comment  in the margins that “He was a good slave”. I am also descended from the Muscogee/Creek Indian tribe, a tribe that is virtually defunct thanks to the actions of the American government.

But Black Panther takes us a step beyond the color blind utopia that Lupe imagined, into a world where Blackness is, at least in one corner of the world, undefeated. It’s supreme, even, and because the Wakandans were  more concerned with pursuing excellence than being conquerors, no one else had to be oppressed in order for them to thrive. However, their choice to remain isolated means that the rest of history still unfolded as we know it. Could a small but technologically advanced country have defeated colonization on the African continent, creating a unity of nations so powerful that it stopped slavery long before the Civil War? We don’t know. But Erik Killmonger’s (righteous) anger at Wakanda stems from a feeling of abandonment, that Wakanda was strong enough to help its brothers and sisters in the diaspora and chose to turn away instead.

Killmonger was a powerful villain because in him, I recognized the same anger I feel whenever another black person is gunned down by the police, or gets a sentence three times harsher than the one given to the white person who committed the same crime. I feel that anger when I hear rhetoric about welfare queens and entitlement mentalities. To keep it 100% real, I felt that anger when I heard Africans complaining about black people wearing kente cloth and dashikis to the movie theater. My roots are lost to me. Ancestry.com can tell me I’m from Nigeria and most likely of the Yoruba tribe. But I don’t have a cousin whose house I can stay at. I don’t know what village I’m from. And anti-American sentiments are widespread enough in Africa that I wouldn’t necessarily be welcomed if I went exploring to find out.

The conflict between Killmonger and T’Challa is one that every African-American descendant of slaves faces. Do we fight and live  solely to protect ourselves and our families from the dangerous forces of white supremacy? Or do we share our resources in order to preserve Blackness across the country and across the world? It’s a hard choice, especially so because white supremacy is so vicious and the resources that we have are not nearly as much or as organized as Wakanda. We don’t have vibranium weapons to ship to the hood, or a superpowered king who can bring in allies from the United Nations. We all we got.

Even though Black Panther grappled with some heavy questions, I left the theater feeling lighter spiritually. For a couple of hours, I was in Wakanda; and there at least, black people would get a happy ending.

WAKANDA FOREVER.

I’m a lawyer, but I’m still terrified by the police.

About two years ago, I experienced police intimidation firsthand. Prior to that date, I had only been pulled over by a cop once and didn’t actually get a ticket because he didn’t have his speed gun out to know how fast I was going. (#Blessed.) I had been in the car once before when my husband got a speeding ticket, but it happened in Macon, Georgia, a city with a significant black population, and the cop was black too. These things make a difference. The cop was brusque, but not threatening.

This time was different. We were road tripping our way back from Austin, Texas for a friend’s birthday. We had reached the area between Austin and Houston where the highway dwindles down to two lanes on each side, and we passed more cows and horses than other cars. Gerald was speeding, and so we weren’t surprised when we got pulled over by the state trooper. But the events that unfolded will haunt me forever.
ST: “License and registration, please.”
G: “Sure, officer. I need to get them out of my glove compartment, is that okay?”
ST: “I don’t know why you’re asking me.”
G: “I just want to make sure you know what I’m doing, officer.” (gets out license and registration) “May I ask why I’m getting pulled over?”
ST: “Sir, get out of the car.”
G: “Sure, I just want to know why I’m being pulled over.”
At this point, things escalated. The cop went from zero to raging maniac instantaneously, he was yelling so loudly and intensely that he was damn near frothing at the mouth. “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!” Gerald opened the door and before he could get one foot on the ground, the cop put him in a bear hug and hauled him out onto the ground. “YOU’RE RESISTING ARREST! STOP RESISTING!” In a flash, he had handcuffed Gerald, frog marched him to the squad car and slammed him face down onto its hood.
All I could do was scream silently, inside.
At this point, the state trooper’s buddy had pulled up to the scene. He put Gerald in the back of the squad car and the “arresting” officer (I put that in quotes because you’ll notice the conspicuous absence of Miranda rights recitation) came back to talk to me. Now that he had established dominance he was calm, confident, in charge of himself again. He grinned at me jovially, putting all his pearly whites on display and smacking on a piece of chewing gum like it was the only sustenance given to a starving man.
He turned on his good ol’ boy charm, asking me how I was doing, if I was in trouble, if Gerald was on drugs and that was why Gerald was so “agitated”. “If he would just act reasonably like you, this could have all been avoided,” he declared. The words stung, given the fact that at no point had Gerald raised his voice or pulled a punch–he merely had the audacity to exercise his Constitutional rights and ask the officer why he was being detained. Meanwhile, my so called reasonableness was me doing my best impression of a docile house slave in attempt to get us both out of the situation alive and uninjured. After some time of back and forth–it felt like an eternity, but the clock showed just 45 minutes–they let Gerald go and wrote a ticket for speeding, something which could have been done without ever having him out of the car.
I’ll be the first to admit that this account is an approximation of what happened. I was so afraid for my husband’s life that I couldn’t think straight. You can argue all you want about how we should have handled the situation. But there’s the law, and then there’s real life. When you’re on an unpopulated road in the middle of nowhere, facing down a power tripping cop with a gun, you do what you have to do to survive. In that moment, I was more concerned about not watching my husband bleed out on the side of the road than I was recording the incident and getting the officer’s name and badge number. So once again, the bad apple gets away with it. But I wake up next to my husband, whole and well, every day so I have no regrets about how I handled the situation.
The coda to this story is a conversation I had a few weeks ago at the hair salon. Much like barbershops, beauty salons are a place for all types of conversations. One of the other clients in the shop that day was a black, female police officer. She was talking about her job and of course that led the dialogue back to police brutality. I shared a brief version of the story above and was met with unbridled skepticism. She interrogated me about the details, damn near accused me of lying, and told me that we should have just complied without questioning because “Miranda rights are just what they show on television. Nobody really does it in real life.”
I understand that being a police officer is a hard job. They deal with people in crisis situations and people are rarely happy to see you–at best, you arrived just in time to stop something horrible from happening to them. Usually, the police show up after something terrible has occurred, or to tell people that they’re doing something wrong. But it’s also a job that they knowingly chose. And because police officers literally hold the power of life and death, it’s their responsibility to be better than the average person. More empathetic. More thoughtful. More careful. A barista who’s having a bad day can’t do anything worse than screw up your coffee order. A cop who’s having a bad day can kill you. Yes, they put their lives on the line. But it’s a hazard of the profession that they chose. Given these unique circumstances of the job, I don’t feel bad for cops who complain about their public image problem. They’re worried about popularity. We civilians are afraid for our lives.

Idle hands are the devil’s workshop

You remember that old saying? As I’ve grown up, I see it’s true. When you’re living right, you literally don’t have the time to be up to no good. I honestly  wish I had the time to be in somebody else’s business. This is my typical weekday:

  • 7:00a: Wake up, get dressed
  • 7:45am- Drive to work. Listen to music or a podcast.
  • 8:30am-5:30pm Work. I always take a lunch break because there’s no way I’d survive an open office set up without it. But I actually do work at work. It’s not crazy hectic like it was at my old firm, but I keep busy.
  • 5:30pm- Drive home in traffic. More music/podcasts.
  • 6:30-8pm: Assuming I meal prepped over the weekend like I was supposed to, this is my time to myself since DH usually gets home a little later. I do a work out, browse the internet, etc.
  • 8-10pm: Eat dinner, watch tv with hubs, read a few chapters.
  • 10-11pm: I shower and do my nighttime beauty routine, and read a few chapters to wind down before bed.

Now look at this schedule and please tell me, where in the world do I have time to worry about anybody that’s not me or mine? Some of y’all out here can’t be living right. It takes a LOT of time to strive at a career, maintain a relationship, cook healthy meals, stay in shape, and de-stress so you don’t go crazy. And yes, I’d have more free time if I was single but not that much more free time because I have hobbies. I’d read, write in my journal, probably work out more, go to the movies, hang with my girlfriends, travel and find other ways to fill up that time real quick.

I guess some folks really don’t have anything better to do.

Capricorn Season

Hey y’all. It’s that time of year again, the best time of every year- Capricorn season! From December 22 to January 19, the world is blessed with the birth and celebration of individuals who are the leaders of the zodiac. Strong, persistent, visionary, and classic are all words that capture the Capricorn mystique. Michelle Obama, Martin Luther King Jr., Diane von Furstenberg, Denzel Washington, Ellen Degeneres, and the G.O.A.T. himself, Muhammad Ali, are all Capricorns. Not to mention that Christmas and New Year’s both fall during this time. It’s magical!

I wouldn’t say I’m a die hard astrologist– but more than any Meyers-Briggs personality test or Buzzfeed quiz, the Capricorn profile fits me 100%. And this year my energy is different. I don’t know if it’s the Saturn return to Capricorn, turning 30 and not giving a f*ck, or having survived a full year of the worst President we’ve ever had along with peak White Foolishness, but this year my energy is different. I’m trying to elevate myself in every way and I’m prepared to make radical changes to do so. I want to be happy and healthy from now through the rest of my life so I can’t keep doing the same things I’ve been doing. I’m pulling on my goat spirit of motivation to scale my personal mountains because nobody else can do it for me.

2018, you’ve been warned.

#MOOD: Above it all.

Shine Time

“All this good, I don’t feel bad for it. When you see me smile, you can’t be mad it.” #Mood

2017 has been a hell of a year. Our government may be in shambles but God is faithful, and in the midst of the chaos He brought me safely through a natural disaster and blessed me with what? A NEW JOB! GLORAAAYYYYYYY!

 

The BIble says there is a time to sow and a time to reap. I feel like I’ve been in sowing season for a mighty long time but now I’m finally getting to enjoy the fruits of my labor. PEr my plausible deniability policy, I won’t be too specific about my new position, but I can give a general idea. I’ve left the drudgery of document review and the crushing grind of private practice for the sweet Elysian fields of public interest law. No job is perfect–serving a population that is lower income and generally less sophisticated about the law has its own unique challenges. But the sense of fulfillment I get from doing my job more than makes up for it. I have a female boss who’s really laid back, nice coworkers (I finally see how people have work friends!), pay commensurate with my qualifications and benefits. Your girl has paid vacation, sick days, and holidays, y’all! Plus health and life insurance! It’s everything that I was praying for. Can I get an amen?!?

Things are doing better on the family front too. I’m pulling back on babying my parents, so I gave we flew in on Monday afternoon and back out on Friday evening, to have the weekend to recover. I only had one visit with each parent and they didn’t die, LOL. My grandparents are clearly getting older so I make a point of seeing them when I can. They’re such a joy and I don’t want to have any regrets of not spending time with them when they pass. I saw my younger cousins for the first time in a couple years too. They’re all in college and think they’re grown and I can’t cope…I’m pretending they will all go from kindergarten to gainfully employed, happily married adults. Alcohol? $ex? Nope nope nope, I don’t know about any of that.

I stayed over at my big sister’s new house, which was #goals. It’s beautiful. Hardwood floors, new appliances, three bedrooms, a patio, and a basement that’s ready to be converted into a den or an apartment. I can’t even be jealous because I’m so happy for her. She’s been wanting her own home for several years now, and their homebuying process was fraught with tales of undisclosed defects and mold. So much mold at literally every place they liked. She and her husband are both teachers and wear themselves out doing right by those devil spawn known as middle schoolers. It was great to see how relaxed and comfy they are at home.

Now that my career is finally starting to go where I want it to go, I can think about the things I want from my personal life. Namely, kids and house. Over the Thanksgiving break, DH* and I had a frank conversation about our baby timeline and finances. We hope to start looking for a house by the end of next year (because with both of us working full time it will probably take another year to find one we want), so it’s time to redo the budget and tighten our belts. I’m not disclosing my baby timeline because I don’t need  y’all (and yes I mean specific people, you know who you are) getting all excited about the thought of Baby J.D. before I’m good and ready. I need some more time. But I’m glad to be settled enough that the thought of having a child is only somewhat terrifying, rather than the worst thing that could happen to me. 🙂

 

*DH = dear husband. I’m tired of writing hubs so I’m trying something new.