Travelling while Black

They tell you in the guidebooks what to expect if you're gay or if you're a woman. Hell, they need to do it for if you're recognisably black.  

 "Americanah" - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi

Ain't this the truth! Ain't this the truth!

*Ms Adichi speaks a whole lot of truth in Americanah, by the way.*

So while I am not sure what is going on with my life and what 2015 will hold, I still have to at least think of vacation ideas. It's bad enough being a solo traveller - having to find places where a solo traveller feels safe and secure. It's bad enough being a solo female traveller - having to be extra careful in the choices you make as it relates to hotels, travel etc. But add being black to that - it's just a whole other thing altogether.

Travelling while black is real - the notion that this is an issue, I mean. Shopping trips to Miami and New York - no problem. It's like being at home. London - such a melting pot that it's rare that I actually feel like an alien. Londoners ignore everyone - black, white.  But there are some places where I have felt totally out of sorts. The Rome experience to this day, always makes me a bit upset.

Vacations should be carefree for everyone.
This is not me, btw

Luckily, the good experiences outweigh the bad, and though there have been several moments of "wtf!" on my trips, I think they usually had less to do with racism and more to do with:

Plain and simple ignorance - Dear Europe - all black people do not live in Africa. Ever heard the word "diaspora"? I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked to say an English word in "my language". For example - old guy in Florence, Italy. Worse yet, when they find out I am not from Africa, then I just HAVE TO BE American, even if my accent does not quite fit the bill. "Ever been to New York?" Yes, I have been to New York but that is the magic of air travel. I am not American. If someone actually knows where Trinidad is after I tell them, I give them a virtual hug because it is almost miraculous! I am truly an oddity which takes me to the next point...

Curiousity - I heard someone refer to the impolite staring as "rarism" as opposed to"racism". In some of these quasi-homogeneous cities, people like me are a rarity. You are like the raisin in the bowl of milk so they stop and stare and you check to make sure you don't have something in your nose or that your fly is not open because the stares are so pervasive and invasive. Worse, in some cities, the black people there tend to be immigrants, and in my experience, they were usually street vendors/scam artists or hooking. Enter well-dressed black woman and it's like "wtf"? You have now confused the people even more with your bourgie blackness. For me it is always a bit bizarre, especially coming from a place where people stare at you cause they like your ass and want to grab it. Noone stares at my hair, or wants to touch it here, but it is a real phenomenon in some of these places - one that is not cute no matter how clueless or genuinely curious the people may be. There should be a guidebook for residents of these cities - Dos and Don'ts of Meeting Black People for the First Time.

They are just naturally unfriendly and surly - The haterade may actually have nothing to do with the colour of your skin. The people sometimes are just plain unmannerly, unfriendly, uncouth and as we say in Trinidad, "just not on you" and have no damn "broughtupsy".Sad to say, London always comes to mind. They are just a special breed of homo sapien - totally divorced from the reality of life all around them, but when you get around the cold exterior, and get them to put down the iPhone, they can be lovely people. In some places though, they are just like this - fullstop.

But don't get me wrong - travelling while black has the real issues of racism. I have had bus drivers ignore me, waitresses take their damn time to serve me and when they did, I got none of the smiles and sweetness the white customers got. I have had border control brace me as though I were some kind of hoodlum, and Customs stop me to search my luggage and when I looked around, everyone else being searched looked like me. My friend had the cops called on her as she was pumping gas at an isolated gas station behind God's back in the US. And let's not forget another friend who was followed to her hotel room by a hotel employee, accosted and told that prostitutes were not allowed in the hotel.

And it does not matter that we are not drug mules or international escorts. It does not matter that I am educated to Master's level, have a very nice job, with paid vacation and international medical coverage, and zero desire to stay past the time on my visa. The fact of the matter is my passport looks strange and worse yet, I look strange cause I am dark skinned, with dark brown eyes and dark hair. Oh, I'm black. Right. Forgot about that.

But it would also be unfair to paint one city black (pun very well intended) because of the idiocy of a few. Most of my experiences have been positive and a city like Rome, for example, is so beautiful that you just ignore the nonsense and try to make the best of it until you can get the hell outta there. Not to mention I had the chance to meet a friend for the first time ever, so there were a lot of good memories from that trip. I have learnt over time to not miss the opportunities in front of me because of any stereotypes or prejudice people may have. That's on them.

That being said, I am not sure where to go this year. My tolerance levels for nonsense are at an all time low, and it would be nice to travel among more people like myself, but still - the world is my oyster so onward! Ideas still welcome, keeping in mind the solo, female bit as well.

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Effortless Beauty, My A...

I hate going to the salon. I like what I get out of the visit - cute hair, cute nails, cute eyebrows, cute skin - but I hate the actual process.

With the Christmas season in full effect and all the ridiculous awesome events that become necessary in my world, I often take advantage and get myself in some kinda order. I cannot tell you the last time I had a manicure for example but bet your last dollar, the season is a catalyst for my nails being rescued from myself.

Had I tried to do this myself on that day, it would have been a mess. I just have NO TIME!

With one party on Friday, I called ahead of time and booked my appointment with my hairdresser.

My hairdresser - nice lady, super talented with a pair of scissors, a jar of hair dye and the like - but so chatty. I don't mind chatty, and salon banter is among the best kind of ole talk any woman can find. But I do not appreciate it when it compromises my time. She chats and when she chats, she stops whatever she is doing to get her chat on. I prepared myself for maybe an extra half hour for the most. How naive of me.

So I get there for my 9am appointment and one woman is on the chair, with a relaxer being applied, and another is waiting. No assistant in sight. Bad mood begins...now. I mean, I had volunteered to come earlier to avoid all this, and was assured that Friday was a slow day and I would be in and out. I had a FULL day ahead and having already not slept well on Thursday, was loathe to spend all morning smelling relaxers and hair colour.

But sit I did, and sit I had to. After applying first relaxer, she hustled me into the chair and started in earnest on my coif, but then lady in the back says the relaxer is burning and she hustles to rescue her and then hustles me out of the chair again to start on relaxer #2. Still no assistant. Bad mood grows.

Still, in trying to avoid being a bitch, I decided to use second relaxer application time to get a simple polish - since a full manicure was going to be impossible with my time now being wasted here. But chattiness is clearly the M.O. in here cause my simple polish became a funeral procession, with nail polish wand in mid-air on many an occasion while nail polish girl made a point with her hands. Multitasking - one can argue one's point and still get the nail polish job done in quick time. Every time she took that brush off my nail, and waved it around while arguing, I cut my eye at her so hard she should have exploded. I mean, WTF!!!

In the meantime, I am glancing over my shoulder to see where relaxer #2 is at and she is almost done. But then, relaxer #1 needs to blow dry and style. Flabber-effin-gasted. But then it works since nail polish wand is still everywhere else but on my finger nails. By this time, I am so vex I could burst.

After hairstyle is completed, I see another woman, who came in a good hour after I did, hustling her rotund ass to the chair....MY chair...trying to get her hair 'did'. Well, it was at this point, I just could not hold it in any longer!

Me: Excuse me. You just got here. You have to wait cause I am next.
Her: But you are polishing
Me: I will be done in 5 seconds (cut eye at nail girl, who took the hint) and my 9am appointment is already long overdue so unless your appointment was at 8.30, I am next. (and in my mind, I say "yuh better haul yuh ass back to your seat, lady")

The cut eye she gave me, could not begin to rival the cut eye I gave her. Hairdresser also took the hint and burnt time making herself a cup of coffee so she could resist any temptation of doing Fat Mama's hair and avoid a cussout. I was now Scary Client.

Finally, I was in the chair again, and finally, she was working on me sans interruption until they started talking about the news, specifically the news about the little girl who was found dead in her home in Maloney, and in her deep emotional investment in this conversation, she snipped not the ends, but a wad of hair as in her mind, she had already consulted me on this style she wanted to give me, when in reality there was to be no new style - just a cute colour. I was too vex to react. Paralysis by vexation!!! I found the strength to mutter to myself and to my God - Sweet Jesus - cover this lady in your blood and with your mercy, or in other words, don't let me physically harm this woman! Needless to say, whether I wanted it or not, I was GETTING a new style, and I left that salon, at 1pm, with hair I hated, and with no time to do the 99 other things I needed to do that day. Just enough time to hustle back to my car, grab some toiletries and rush home.

I got home so hungry and so vex, I cleared the house (lol). But ever the optimist, I willed myself to make it right, saying cute accessories and a wicked green smokey eye would rescue me from total catastrophe.

My awesome necklace against the matching wrap in case I got cold in my
solid green strapless dress. Gotta love fashion recycling.

And it did. And actually, the hair was very, very pretty. Maybe it was my mega annoyance at the point in time, but I got home and I loved the hair. And I looked hot. I was tired and had a headache from eating nothing at all all day, but the night was a blast, and by the time my head hit the super comfy pillows at the hotel, I was exhausted but with a smile on my face. Still, it was a helluva day!

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Fire and Brimstone for you Evil Weave Wearers

So a friend shared this story, about a pastor who has banned the evil among us from his church - the vile sinners being those women, those Jezebels who worship, not God, but the Indian and Brazilian Remy.  For the uninformed, the preacher man is referring to women who wear weaves. Yes...home boy is not a supporter of the "hair in a bag" revolution, and as he says, he is tired of the "phony ponies". To this end, he has declared a ban on all those women seeking God, but who have a weave sewn in or glued on.

Now I find the l'il pastor bright and farse because I do not understand what a woman's hairstyle has to do with her faith or with her quest for peace and salvation. Whether she is bald, rocking dreadlocks or 14" Brazilian Remy in 1B, that should not be his problem. Everyone has a right to self expression, whether it is via tattoos, piercings or hairstyles. You don't have to like it, but just accept it. Unless that weave has not been washed for weeks, and is rank smelling, these women are not hurting anybody.

I guess he does not listen to gospel music because I have seen the super fabulous contemporary gospel artistes, like Yolanda Adams, and they are rockin' the best Remy money can buy.

That being said, I do agree with Pastor's point where he says

I lead a church where our members are struggling financially. I mean really struggling. “Yet, a 26 year old mother in my church has a $300 weave on her head.

Yolanda Adams - rockin' that Remy

Here, I can co-sign with pastor, because I have seen it. It is all around me. You see them on the news, holding placards, saying they cannot feed their children, and life is hard, but they rocking EXPENSIVE Remy, have the best manicures, more gold than Trinidad James, and made up with the fake eyelashes, in the best brands. Again, it may be your right to spend your money however you like, but let's be real with the complaining if your entire look could feed said children for a month or even two. I have a job and I gasp at the prices of these "premium" hair types. Gasp and walk away. Ladies, you cannot eat the Remy and your kids cannot eat the Remy and sorry, but noone will take you seriously if you claim you are suffering but your hair, and the rest of you for that matter, cost as much as a monthly grocery bill for a small family.

So maybe pastor is just fed up of the women who come to him all done up, and complaining that God has forsaken them. I do not agree with our dear pastor, that all women who wear weaves have low self-esteem. I have rocked weaves and my friends can attest that I "over like" myself. lol. I just am not a hair person in the way that some women can keep their hair looking ultra fabulous at all times, and the ease and convenience of a weave done to my specifications is what sometimes works for me. So pastor needs to cool it.

I do agree with the author though, in that I hope that pastor is investing the same amount of energy in preaching the gospel, and counselling those lost members of the flock who may have been led astray by sex, drugs and other such vices, as he has been in admonishing women for their choice of hairstyle. Hair a Christian doth not make.

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Black Girl Problems

Hello fine people. I am alive. I am here.

So besides being extremely busy with work, I have also been trying to use the few moments when I am not working and not comatose from exhaustion to plan vacation. I have been going over in my mind all the little details but besides worrying about the one medium sized suitcase limit I have set myself in order to avoid insanity en route to airports etc, there is also one major dilemma...

The black girl vacation hair dilemma!!!

To be more specific - the Trininista vacation hair dilemma.

Let me just reiterate here - I am NOT a hair person. I repeat - I am NOT a hair kinda girl. Some girls are really good with makeup or nails or looking super fashionista. I can kinda fall into these categories on some days, but the super fly hair girl? Not me. And this is on a good day - a regular day when I still have access to my arsenal a la my dressing table. And still, I tend to take the easy way out 9 out of 10 times.

Vacation is a whole different bucket of water! Especially with the one suitcase limit, and the general hatred of having to take a whole battery of hair products with me. Especially when you are not sure you will have access to super fly hair girl products and salons, or friends who can address one's general lack of hair skills. Black hair is a special kind of animal. You just don't roll off the bed, shake it and look like Oprah. Furthermore, who has the time? Vacations are supposed to be fun. One wants low maintenance, easy, ready-to-go hair, and a style that would protect one's hair from the stresses of vacation - the changes in weather for example.

So what does a cute brown girl do that is both easy and fierce?

Well, with my hair as it is now, I can do maybe some braids...

 but I hate the time it takes to get braids done. I have a life!

Maybe something like this.

Or maybe not. I can feel the heat scorching my scalp and neck just looking at that. Not to mention I once tried a wig that looked like this and looked like a damn fool. Or this, a little shorter but  hmmm...so much hair!

Or just invest in a few wraps and do this...

Me likey. Needless to say, I would still need to pack a jar of something to keep my hair in good working order, but hey...small price to pay. But when one also considers the scaled down toiletries bag as well - it is just too much.

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Sunday Shorts

Solange Knowles

So I did it. I cut my hair. Not a snip. A major cut. Like...all of it. So now I have a style a bit like Solange Knowles' - maybe a tad bit longer on the top, but you get the general idea. Seeing my hair falling to the ground was a bit traumatic but I did not go bananas. I am happy it is gone - all the damaged bits - and now can focus on bringing it back to the way it was, and should be. Yaay me. The reaction has been generally positive except for a couple male comments. The black man's obsession with long hair lives on. Weaves and wigs are much more acceptable than a woman rocking a short cut. It still amuses me, and more so cause other men appreciate the natural look of a black woman, yet it is still sometimes hard to get that same appreciation from black men. Amazing. I think I am cute nonetheless, so not going to argue about it.

So today is the last day of my 3-day weekend. It was not a good weekend. I was sick for most of the time (food poisoning is no joke, friends) and in bed, but at least I got some rest and will continue to do so today. I was totally exhausted all week, having flown over 9 hours from London to Port of Spain last Sunday, and getting up at my regularly scheduled time of 3.30am to go to work on Monday. Talk about being a masochist. I felt like rubbish all week. I also was too tired to cook meals so ate out, or ate crap. I will be cooking today. And baking. The plan is to do a nice Thai curry today for tomorrow's lunch. I also got some lean mince and black beans for a nice chilli, and I have some chicken breast, pesto and mushrooms for a nice fettucine special. Plus, I bought some bran to try my hand at another home made bread. And I have a bottle of wine to go with all this delightful culinary magic.

Short hair, cooking and wine. Superwoman, I am. It's a beautiful Sunday morning. Enjoying it.

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Trauma at the Salon

Posting this hair cause then I know I will HAVE to do it and not chicken out. But going to cut off inches and inches of my hair today. It is out of sheer necessity, but God it has to look cute too. I have been told I have the face for a short short cut - pretty and round, great features blah blah blah. So unless they were all lies, it should look okay, right?

Ugh. I hope I can withstand the trauma. Check back to see if I went through with it. On my way!!!

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Hair Raising Experience in London Town

The trininista hair trifecta -
shampoo, conditioner, leave-in conditioner

N- for Nubian. Adventures into Nubian Hair would be a great way to describe the past hour of my life.

When I did my first degree in Jamaica, it was the norm for Trinidadian students to have 2 suitcases - one with clothes and books, the other with food - the story was that food was too expensive in Jamaica, so we "imported" via suitcase our own foodstuff. Now while London is not cheap, I was surely not about to forego warm clothes for a box of Cheerios. Besides, there are enough bargains around to ensure survival.

However, there was a mandatory shopping stop before getting on that British Airways flight. Pennywise, or as I call it, the Trini Boots. Being a black woman/nubian queen is a unique experience in many ways, but coming to London without products was not an option. White people seem to think we can all use the same things and be happy and beautiful. We cannot. Black hair alone is something totally different to white hair, so packing my stuff was not vanity, but necessity. As for London, I had been here before and experienced the nashiness of some of the black women here and did not aspire to look like any of them. So I can attest that half of one suitcase was filled with lotions, hair products, makeup etc.

Seven months later, I am still pretty good for beauty stuff but I realised last week that I was on the last of my post-shampoo leave-in conditioner, which can mean the difference between crackly and dry hair and shiny, healthy looking hair. Not wanting to wash my hair this weekend without it, I prepared myself for the wild adventure that is Lewisham. Now, I go to Leiwsham pretty regularly but I generally hit the shopping centre and Tesco, and that's it. Nothing against Lewisham mind you, cause my mother can attest that even in Trinidad, I avoid the high streets and prefer to get what I need within the confines of a mall - be it Gulf City Mall, Price Plaza, Grand Bazaar or West Mall. So nothing against Lewisham...

However, Lewisham is no Oxford Street either (which I also avoid 90% of the time in favour of Westfield Mall) and the characters I spot on the streets are cringe-worthy to say the least. I saw one white girl, with about 30lbs too much around her midsection in a bra top and low rise jeans, and I cringed.

In any event, my hair needed salvation so I traipsed through the streets in search of a hair products store. Even despite the fact that I knew they would not have anything, I escaped into a Super Drug hoping against hope that they would have what I needed. Nada. So on I went.

After 5 minutes of cat calls from Africans and Jamaicans, and some really odd looking white girls, I found a store - Shabba Hair & Cosmetics - and as I entered, the harps started playing. There it was - a plethora of black skin and hair products, a virtual Pennywise at my fingertips. It was great. Made me wonder then, why if such a store exists, do some of these girls look so pop-down! Nah man. I had expected to get something close to what I normally use but I got EXACTLY what I needed. And more...

Like the two cross-dressers looking at wigs. It was a scary sight let me tell you. Here were two black men - not men who could possibly pass as women - but two big, black, ashy elbowed black men, in lace front wigs, lipstick and heels. To say I was amused would be an understatement. The Indian dude showing them the wigs did not seem too aghast. This seemed like a normal thing for him - to show two black men the best he had to offer in wigs and weaves, and hair sheen. Very polite they were though as I said "excuse me" in an effort to pass. Not to mention complimentary, commenting on how lovely my eyebrows were and asking me whether I waxed or threaded. Too funny.

But at least I head to Cardiff with shiny hair on Monday, cause I am not quite sure how many black people I will find there, but at least I can well represent the sistas (and wannabe sistas)!

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Reality TV: Funny Married People

Bill and Giuliana Rancic. Oh, the shoes, Giuliana.

I am sitting here, having an egg white omelette, fresh tomatoes and toasted rolls, with a cup of mochaccino, and watching Giuliana & Bill. I don't really watch a lot of tv these days except when I am having a meal and usually there is nothing on. So not a fan of the show but it is funny - funny in the way that as a woman I can feel sorry for poor Bill, the husband. This episode, which I imagine is an old episode, since everything here is late, is where Giuliana realises she is not legally married in the US, having had her wedding in Capri. First she goes to the instant photo mart to get a new passport photo for her new passport and this chick takes a full makeup bag, complete with eyelash curler, and a light box to have the right lighting for her photo. Her passport photo. Does anyone have a really awesome passport photo? They are usually just a step above a mug shot. It was pretty hilarious to see the photographer at this 30min photo place trying to take this generic photo as she did glamour poses, and he keeps telling her the photo has to be head on. Pretty easy, right? Nope. Poor guy.

Then, she needs to legalise her marriage in the US, which could have just been a quick trip to City Hall, a couple minutes in front of a judge and poof. Legal. Oh no...she goes complete bridezilla. The dress, the cake, the grand ballroom at the Four Seasons. Bill wants 2 people - just himself and her, she wants 500. I am still watching it and she is currently cake tasting and I am laughing my head off because I am saying to myself - This guy must really really REALLY love this woman. I love this dude. As a couple they are cute though - they balance each other out. She is a dreamer and he is a pragmatist. Pretty damn funny.

So cute. I need a change desperately.

In reality, nothing exciting. Just assignment work. Feeling pretty dismal and have not been able to shake it. I have a dinner date on Friday - a proper adult dinner - and that's the one ray of hope for the week. I need some high heeled therapy...clearly. I've also been seriously considering a pixie cut. I dunno - I need something. I have not cut my hair that short in well...ever. But it could be cute, I think. Maybe. I love Ginnifer Goodwin's pixie. Am I cute enough to pull it off? Not sure. I would probably need a job to pay for the regular maintenance of said haircut. Black hair needs extra love than other types of hair - love I am incapable of providing, hence the reason I have a dedicated hairdresser back home. Hair maintenance here in London is EXPENSIVE!!! On a student budget, that pixie cut would be a hot mess. lol. But one can dream and hope. I have not been feeling cute at all lately. I need skin products that I cannot find here, a facial, sleep - to erase the bags under my eyes.  My vanity and selfish money making ways are getting the best of me today. Sorry.

Until then, laughing at this silly show before I get back to work on this ridiculous assignment.

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Black is Beautiful, Vybz Kartel. Orange is for sundresses.

I really loathe statistics. I am being forced to do stats over these 2 weeks - all day, every day, for 2 weeks. Whose squirrel did I run over in a past life? I will not even fake it. I hate statistics. I will not pretend to be a good sport about it. I just hate it.

Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I really wanted to say something briefly about Vybz Kartel. For the non-Caribbean readers, Mr Kartel is a popular dancehall artiste from Jamaica who has recently been in the news, not for his music but for his appearance. Why? Well, he used to look like this - nice, unspoilt, sexy chocolate brown skin...

Now he looks like this -

I mean, the dude was not God's gift to women before, but now he is simply heinous. The phenomenon of bleaching in Jamaica, where black people feel some deep desire to apply bleaching products to their skin to lighten their appearance does not seem to be going away. With the transformation of Vybz Kartel from a healthy looking, not too bad looking chocolate coloured man, to this Frankenstein looking creature, I am really saddened that so many black people turn to such silly measures to try to keep up with European standards of beauty.

Vybz, in his interview on a radio station said he was not trying to distance himself from being a black man, but rather - and this really amused me - it's a "style". He said he put in orthodontic braces not because he needed them but because it was a style, and in the same way, he has been turning orange because it is a fashion statement. Vybz - a fashion statement is a pair of hot jeans, a new piece of bling, maybe some new shoes. Bleach is not a fashion statement. It's just being dotish. He went on to comment that he needed to highlight his numerous tattoos which were hard to see on the skin God blessed him with, so he just had to bleach so the world could see his artwork. Amazing.

The horrible thing about this is that he is a public figure in Jamaica and contrary to what he believes, people emulate him and people like him. So when he does this to himself, for whatever reason, he is simply propagating the belief that light skin, or in this case, nasty looking orange skin, is hip, happening and beautiful. I am even more disturbed that this gentleman is going to bring out his own line of "cake soap" - bleaching soap. So what are you telling young people about being black in this world?

It's the same issues I have with women who live by the frickin' weave. I call them the rebound weavers - women who cannot live without a weave; who jump from weave to weave; whose between-weave periods last less than 12 hours; who feel their beauty is somehow not enhanced when they are not wearing fake hair. Nutters. I have no problem with a black woman who wants to wear a weave or braids or what have you, for a new look, or as Vybz says, as a "fashion statement". Hell, I have two awesome wigs that I bust out when I feel the need to vamp it up. I love my wigs. I paid good money for my wigs.

But when noone can remember what you look like without fake hair sewn on to your head, or you get offended when someone else points out your weave to people who may not know, for example, white people, then I have a serious issue with this. What are you afraid of, or are you so consumed (and confused) by this image of beauty - of long, flowing hair around your shoulders, no matter whose head it came from, that you cannot fathom walking the street with your short natural hair. I remember how annoyed a friend - a male friend - was when I did a weave - seriously un-im-pressed.  Some men really find it unattractive, not to mention a form of false advertising. It can also be the butt of jokes, ridicule and disgust when you wear a weave. And though I have never been in one, let's not mention getting into fights with women - the first thing they go for in any scenario is the hair, so imagine wearing a weave in a catfight, and worse being in a catfight with dozens of onlookers. The shame. lol. These are among the many reasons, why I do not "ride or die" with the whole weave thing. Take me as I come, buddy. A dude told me this week, he does not date women who wear glasses. If that is the best he can come up with, then me and my $4000 glasses will be alright.

But I am really concerned that black people are questioning the beauty that they have. I see so many people running to the Caribbean to lie on a beach all day to darken their skin, while people like Vbyz "is a style" Kartel is destroying his beautiful brown skin with cake soap. And then you have the Naomi Campbells and Hollywood's black fashionistas who encourage little girls to want a weave for that straight haired look - the "good hair" look. This is a whole other argument which I know I had discussed on another forum, and this is all getting me rather pissed off, so I will stop.

And while I like to cast my eye on  a nice red man, this ain't it, Vybz. I would really like to know if there is any woman in her right mind who will now watch this orange, crusty looking Vybz Kartel and want to be seen with him. I am also curious - did he bleach everything????? I know the saying is once you go black, you never go back, but what do they say about once you go orange? I am really not willing to find out.

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Beauty, I am, as defined by ME

Naomi Campbell

I have done a weave twice, and braids once. The braids experiment ended disastrously with the hair I had been growing out for months having to be chopped to a mere 2-3 inches. I had asked the hairdresser whether it was supposed to be that tight and she said yes, but that kinda pain could not have been normal. Beauty is pain, my ass. My short hair actually was quite hot and I loved it while it was short (not so much when it got to that transition phase between short and long) and my short hair grew back but I have always had a little bit of a bad patch in the middle of my head that just never grew back to its full length, and I will curse her and her girl children for years to come.

My first weave experience was awesome. I looked hot and I looked different. That was the main reason. I am not one of these black women or black men for that matter who believe that long, straight hair is the epitome of female beauty. But I am one of those women who like a new style every now and then and this was a great way to try a new style without doing anything drastic to my regular do. The second weave experience was not as super as it ended slightly like the braids experience - not as horrendously but when I see chunks of my hair coming out in the comb, I say to myself this will not happen ever again. I then invested in a great wig which on bad "hair from the roots" days, comes out of the bag to complement the hotness that is me.

I saw the photo of Naomi Campbell this morning and the consequences of being a black model in a world where beauty is seen as leggy, skinny, blue eyed and long haired. The effects of trying to live up to such a standard, impossible to (safely) achieve if you were born with dark skin and hips are now evident. The sad thing is, she will probably just buy a wig to cover it up. Her money is made on an image and she will most likely stick to living up to that image until death. It must be quite a burden to pretend to be someone else all the time. And it's not a self inflicted pressure either. I have met black men who will argue to the death that a black woman should not cut her hair and should aim to have long hair, even if it means wearing a weave and putting both your natural hair and your wallet under pressure, because if you want that weave to look like Naomi's, you have to make a financial investment that could probably buy 2 months worth of groceries. And of course every time you pick up a magazine, or turn on the tv, there is some woman, black or white, rockin' the long hair, real or otherwise and sending the average woman running to the hair store to buy packs of hair shaved off Indian women's heads for money. I'm glad that my money does not depend on my looks or I may be a hot emotional mess, albeit a hot hot emotional mess (not to mention a hungry, baldhead mess...lol). I am glad that 99% of the time, I think I am gorgeous, even with my non-European hips, thighs, eyes, hair and mouth, with or without additions and fake embellishments (though I will never part ways with my mascara! NEVER!!!)

The dilemma and the phenomenon that is hair! Who knew?

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