What They Don't Tell You When You Go "Natural"

About two years ago, I decided to go natural. For those not in the know (people who live under a rock at this point) “going natural” usually refers to someone wearing their hair in its naturally curly and/or kinky state without chemicals changing the texture.  Mind you this was after the first wave of people did their post-Good Hair haircuts, so instead of floundering around I had the internet to help me. My initial Google searches immediately flooded me with blog after blog of advice. I was immediately obsessed and envious of all the luscious fros across my computer screen. I would just imagine walking around with a fabulous Angela Davis afro and eagerly anticipated the day I would become a part of that world.

Within a few months of chopping off all my relaxed hair, I had come to two conclusions. One, some of these people spend WAAAAAAY to much time and money on their hair. If you find yourself spending hours babying your hair, you need to get your life. Two, that apparently (according to some blogs, but not all) making the decision to let go of the creamy crack was going to be a journey faced with hardship and discrimination. I was going to struggle with my new texture, lose the favor of men because of my unconventional looks and be deemed unprofessional. I, of course, ate up every horror story and diligently mentally prepared myself for the societal rejection. I felt my social justice background had properly prepared me for this very moment and I was ready to fight with everything I had. But something odd happened the first day I wore my hair out after months of transitioning. Besides my thick, kinky hair being easier to deal with than I was expecting,the world did not converge to attack me and I was a little disappointed. From my experience, in a world dominated by White people mind you, I must say that reception of my hair has been positive, in fact maybe a little overwhelmingly so. This brings me to the one thing that the internet natural hair community did not give me a heads up for, exotification.

I will admit that there is the odd, conservative White dude who may make a comment about my hair but for the most part, I feel like my hair has become a beacon.  I work at a predominantly White nonprofit and I have not heard any comments about my hair being unprofessional but they will talk about it all day. Any change in my hair, down to changing the side of me part, will cause office uproar for at least an hour. And don’t get me started on when I got box braids. It was brutal. It is for that reason I only wear my hair in updos at work. The most embarrassing hair related work moment was sitting down with someone who told my hair was “sensual and wild” before going on about policy changes. Sadly, as one of the younger people in my field, somehow becoming "sexier" overnight was definitely not a value add. In terms of men, I can say that I have not seen any difference in how many Black men I attract (perhaps I can try to get a study done out of Northwestern to really nail this down) but I can say that it makes all the little White and Asian hipster boys hearts go pitter patter. It gets old when every time you are chatted up at the bar the conversation immediately goes to your hair and how fun/strong/sexy/bohemian/socially conscious it makes me look. Please remove your dick from my hair, it was fine without it. And I have always been a lady killer so, no change on that front either.

I know it sound ridiculous and whinny to complain about something like this, but I feel like being sexualized and exotified can be just as damning as the opposite reaction. Historically, Black women have been excluded from Western ideals of 'beauty" and for some this new trend is a welcomed change. Sadly, I think this a more nuanced problem of women of color being seen as objects instead of people, a sum total of features that make us “different” instead of being individuals. Just because you are stroking my hair while giving me what you think is a compliment does not mean you are not petting me like a sheep. I am beautiful in spite of societal validation or visibility. At the end of the day, I am not my hair and I hope that everybody else is not, too. So, am I the only? Have you been made uncomfortable by “positive” attention?

XOXO Lady Justice 

Chilled

I think it is safe to say that the Northeast has received a substantial dose of winter weather this year – snow, sleet, slush, subzero temperatures.  Business and schools closed.  Neighbors unabashedly stripped vulnerable supermarket shelves in anticipation for the worst.  Gas prices went up.  General moods went down.  Icy roads.  Potholes.  Road salt shortages.  Lost electricity.  Lost heat.  Lost hope. 

I turn off the radio and television when unfavorable weather is forecasted.  I do not respond well to the stress of frantic traffic reports and lethargic play-by-plays by exhausted news anchors: “Well, Jim, it looks like it is, in fact, snowing.  Yes, same as thirty minutes ago.  Yup, still snowing.  Hold on a moment, I think it’s…yes, still snowing.”  I prefer to ride the wave in real time.  See what all this talk is about from my own perspective. 

I went to work on the worst days - and stayed the whole day.  I kept business as usual.  I saw no need to succumb to the media hype.  A bit of patience and calm was enough to get me through it.

    

Wintery conditions consistently trigger a blooming collage of memories from my time in St. Petersburg, Russia.  Once dormant episodes gradually resurface in crystal-clear focus.  You know, there is a rhythm, a kind of understood ritual, to getting through the winter there.  And it is this consistency and predictability that eases what could be an otherwise harsh physical experience.

Dressing appropriately is essential – any loving babushka will tell you that: Boots on, scarf on, coat on, hat on, gloves on.  No chance for the tricky cold to burrow toward your flesh that way.  For my own personal morning commute, once bundled, I would fling my heavy bag over my shoulder and embark upon the common-man’s journey - two flights of stairs down to the front door of the apartment, half-mile walk to the train station, two-minute run down the escalator, 3-5 minute wait for the train, body slam into a jam-packed train car, short ride to the next station, sprint to the nearest escalator, second wait, second – more confident – body slam into a train car, second longer ride, power walk to the enormous crowd pooled at the foot of the escalators, crowd surf to the front of the sea of people, five- minute ride to the top of the stairs, short jog out the front door of the station and a mile and a half march to school.  Rinse.  Repeat.

I find it difficult to make excuses in the winter after having this experience.  Anyone can get through it with the right attitude.  Respecting this season for what it is - a period of hibernation - helps greatly.  With so few natural distractions drawing away our attention and physical icy barriers rendering us virtually immobile, we are forced to sit and reflect.  We are forced to spend time with our families, friends and loved ones.  We are forced to inhabit the home spaces we have created.  We cannot run.  We have to face ourselves and our choices.  Of course, escape is not impossible.  You are just at the mercy of the elements if you choose to try. 

   

Meditating on ourselves and our personal lives is no easy task.  The incredible, palpable level of anxiety reached by those around me served as perfect evidence of this this year.  Luckily, a few sunny days have started to cure the wide-spread epidemic of winter paranoia.  But please, if the weather turns again before spring, try to respond to the last gasps of winter with the cool, measured confidence they deserve.  Perhaps the season will treat you better as a result.

Dr. Sparkle

"He's Just My Frozen Pizza"

There's a saying that sex is like pizza: "When it's good, it's really good, and when it's bad, it's still pretty good."  I have a feeling that is stated by guys more than girls, but I always thought the quote was funny.  After all, pizza can come in all kinds of forms with different toppings.  You can have your choice of Chicago deep dish or New York style.  Vegans can enjoy tomato pies and carnivores can cover their pizza with any kind of meat you can think of.  Guys also come in various forms. Unfortunately, you can't choose the traits of a guy as easily as you can choose toppings on a pizza. But you can compare some of them with pizza.  At least that's what I'm going to do.

Frozen Pizza 

The best thing about this pizza is convenience.  Once you get it from the grocery store, it just hangs out in your freezer.  You don't have to worry about leaving your house or even putting on pants to see a delivery guy.  It's fairly reliable; it's nothing special or spectacular but it can (usually) get the job done and fulfill your pizza  craving for the time being.  I repeat, nothing special, so don't overdo it, otherwise you're just going to get annoyed.

The Pizza You Always Wanted to Try...But It Disappointed 

I always wanted to try macaroni and cheese pizza.  I love macaroni and cheese.  I love pizza. Obviously the two together would be heaven in your mouth, right?  Yeah no.  At least for me, no.

Imagine you have always wanted to try a kind of pizza and you waited soooo long to finally get a slice, or even a pie for that matter.  You open the box and there it is staring at you, just as longingly as you're looking at it.  It's just as beautiful as you imagined, maybe even better.  Your hand slowly moves towards that slice, and you gently pick it up and place it delicately in your mouth (or quickly, up to you, but it could be hot.)  You take the first bite, and let your taste buds take it all in...and it's gross.  This is so gross that you're not only repulsed by this pizza, but all pizza.  You don't want to be around pizza at all.  You can't even look at a slice of a simple slice of cheese.  You wonder if this is normal and if you're ever going to recover.  After all, what kind of weirdo does not like pizza?  But it's ok, you'll get over it.

The Pizza You Only Ate Because Someone Offered 

I'm not one to sprinkle peppers on to my pizza.  I feel like the peppers offset the taste of the cheese and as a fan of cheese, I don't appreciate that.  However once I tried a slice with peppers and you know what?  It wasn't so bad.  I even tried it a few more times but then I got bored.  

The pizza you only tried because someone offered you a slice.  You weren't really into it but it didn't look bad and you didn't want to say no, so you went for it.  They offered another slice and you took it, and it grew on you.  It's not your ideal pizza but what draws you to it is the fact that it's unexpectedly different.  But after a while, it's not the same anymore.  Something changed, maybe it was the sauce, the amount of cheese in the stuffed crust part or maybe it stayed in the oven for a minute longer than it used to and that must have changed everything.  You want to try giving it another chance but no dice.  Whatever it is, it's a little disappointing but you just skim over the menu again to find something else that's appetizing.

The Pizza That Makes You Feel Gross But That You Keep Going Back For 

I love artichoke pizza.  But for me it's so rich that I kind of feel sick afterwards.  But I still love it. 

Think of eating a super greasy slice of pizza.  It's so greasy that the oil is sliding down your forearm and collecting at your elbow.  The sight is unsightly but the taste is so good.  You take in the moment and chow down on that slice and grab a handful of napkins while you're at it.  However when you're done the satisfaction only lasts so long before you feel gross and bloated.  But maybe it was just that one time, it's not like you'll feel like that again after eating such an amazing pizza.  Wrong.  You feel a little regretful each time but that doesn't stop you from going back from more.  Maybe there was heroin in that pizza.


Like I said earlier, both pizzas and guys come in different shapes and sizes. It's usually fun and interesting to try a new type of pizza and see where that first bite takes you.  Sometimes you might fall in love after a few bites or you might want to puke.  Most of the time, it's not spectacular, it's just a decent pizza you'll keep eating until you want to try something new.  And I think that is important to remember any time there's a guy that annoys you, frustrates you or even breaks your heart.  It's ok if a pizza (like macaroni and cheese) didn't work out for you, just keep eating more pizzas and enjoy yourself.  And eventually you'll find one you're happy with.  You can turn to that pizza when you have a bad day or to celebrate when something awesome happens.  It will be reliable but more delicious than a frozen pizza.  You can keep turning to it without worrying about getting sick.  You won't get bored or annoyed by any changes.  It won't ruin your appreciation or love for pizzas.  It will be your ideal pizza, so don't stop eating. 

Timmi Swift

It’s About More Than Conversation Hearts and Pink Vibrators: How to Love with Dignity This Valentine’s Day

I have a confession to make.  I’m kinda neutral about Valentine’s Day this year.  I feel like for the past two weeks my feed has been showing nothing but pictures of twee girls giving date ideas and love advice or people ranting about reasons they want to snatch the wig off of Valentine’s Day.  Don’t get me wrong, I see both sides.  It is a sexist, heteronormative, bullshit ass excuse to make money off of insecurity (ok, I feel this opinion more strongly).  But on the other hand, I can see the principle of a day to celebrate love if it is done well.  But why the stress?

Now that I have opted out of the crazy, one thing that I have noticed is that everyone is wound tight about this.  When I was at my angstiest (ah, adolescence) I thought this time of year sucks only for single people, but, now that I have experienced both scenarios, I can confidently say that there is pain to be experienced by all.  For those who are super nostalgic and snort glitter, there is this air of anticipation of receiving the right gesture of love.  It can’t just be a pile of artisan bacon that you share together, but something you can post somewhere to show the world that you are loved.  And for those who are single, it can feel like you are on trial when you have to explain to folks why you are spending your day with a friend rather than trying to find a last minute date.  Either way, both groups end up blaming each other for their own stress, and I’m left drowning in a sea of pink taffeta and broken conversation hearts.

But enough is enough!  Love should not and cannot be confined to one day.  If you can only scrape up enough love for your partner to spoil them one day out of the year, maybe it’s time to move on. And for Christ sake, being single tomorrow won’t kill you.  It will be same as it was yesterday. Dating is way better in the summer any ways.  At the end of the day, all the stress is about loving someone else’s opinion more than you love your own.  It is not even really about your loved ones. And isn’t that what the day is about any ways?  So tomorrow, instead of buying into the Pink Crusade spend it showing love in the way you want.  Volunteer at the place you keep meaning to donate to. Call your family.  Take that friend shopping that has always been there holding back your hair as you vomit.  Hell, take your damn self shopping.  Whatever you decide, love is for you this year.  Plus, real talk, only the couples I know who are together because they cannot do any better are the only ones acting like tomorrow is the second coming.  Think about it, you will see the same thing.

How will you love tomorrow?  Me, imma be shaking my ass with Big Freedia, The Queen Diva.

XOXO Lady Justice

Progress I Have Made on My Resolutions

I would like to thank Lady Justice for her last post.  It was very thoughtful and insightful.  I found myself nodding along to many points.

However, it has been a month since the new year started, and I would like to share the progress that I have made on my resolutions (I personally think that they are pretty awesome.)  Keep in my mind that most of these were made with the intent of proving to myself that I can finish something I start.

1.      Stop eating cake for breakfast: Fail/ Total Fail 

a.     Yes.  This was a serious resolution.  I found myself eating actual cake or food items with a cake-like consistency on a regular basis with my cup of tea in the morning.  I was feeling downright British, and it was starting to scare me.  (No offense to the Brits, but you need to vary your food selections a bit.)

b.     I broke this one the first day when my best friend from junior high and I made red velvet pancakes for breakfast.  They were awesome.  Next time we will discover how to make syrup from frosting. 

c.      Since then I have continued to break this resolution with much joy.  I don't eat cake for breakfast as frequently as I did last year though.

2.      Be on time for work: Partial Fail

a.      I come on time for the late people, when the early people have already gotten most of their work done.

b.     There are days when I'm a little closer to meeting up with the early people.  That's normally because they stopped for coffee.

c.      I'm the anti-morning-person waking up on time is the issue.  Beds are so much nicer than the rest of my house.  Putting on clothes is irritating, especially in the winter and setting NPR as my wake up station means I get lots of information with little effort.

3.      Clean my room more often: Partial Success

 a.    Partial because I do vacuum and wash dishes with more frequency, but there are still days I can't see patches of my floor.

b.      However, I'm working on putting a systems in place so that my floor can clean its own mess.

4.      Smile at least 20 times a day: Unknown

 a.    "A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the trouble." -- Someone wise and awesome 

b.      I have not actually counted, but I have noticed an increased frequency in the amount of people who give me strange looks on the train.  I think that means it's working.

5.      Spend more time with my family: Awkward

 a.    You would think that it would be easy to spend time with my immediate family since I live with them, but it isn't.  Between work and graduate school I am out of the house 12+ hours a day, and then I just want to cozy up in bed with Netflix.  So in total I spend about 10 minutes with family a day.  In other words, I'm that relative who comes to Holiday dinner to eat all the food, and then leaves before you even realize the chicken's gone.

b.    Total amount of time spent with family is now 15 minutes a day (on average). This number also depends on who I consider family on a daily basis.

So that is the total stock of what I have been up to this year so far.  As you can see, they are all a work in progress - like the Lady of Weirdness herself.  Things for self improvement should always be taken in stride with full knowledge that in some particularly tricky spots your legs aren't long enough to carry you ahead as fast as you would like.  If those things are important to you, like Lady Justice said, remember why they were important, and keep trying even if you don't get it the first time.

Hopefully, I can wrack up some more successes as the year wears on.  If not, I'm looking forward to drinking my woes away and trying again next year.

From the Weirderness,

Evana Weirde

Can I Still Shop at Forever 21? Struggling with “Dressing Your Age” and Entering Your Mid-Twenties with Dignity

Once upon a time, I really did not give a shit about what I wore. Sure, I put a lot of thought into it but I never really thought about its appropriateness. After I started attending (insert elite east coast women’s college) I shed a lot of my high school angst and started to be a little more experimental, but in that awkward I-don’t-know-if-I-am-cool-enough-to-shop-here sort of way. But then, I suddenly started really loving my body and dressing it well and shit got real, folks! I am fly as fuck, if I do say so myself. But sadly, as my 24^th birthday approaches, I feel like I am at a crossroad. Do I have to start wearing mom jeans now?

I mean, 24 is hardly old, but I feel the pressure beginning to mount to dress like a “real” adult. Over the past year, at least once a week, my mother has gently reminded me to grow up. One of her favorite ways that I reach maturity is in the way I dress. Sure I could probably stop buying clothes that are disposable (but really, some evenings require a dress you can forget about, like the shame of the night before) but does that mean I should look like Ann Taylor threw up in my closet? Why is there a time limit any way? Also, it would be different if I actually dressed like a child. It’s not like I am showing up to work with my onesie and my latte. I just have a strong love of flannel and leggings. Is it so much to ask that I am comfy most of the time?

It especially sucks that the age people want you to wear pants is a very similar age to when you realize that living for you is such a sweeter existence. What’s the point of all that teenage suffering and puberty if you can’t reap the benefits for at least a few years? IT’S A CONSPIRACY!!!! OK, not really, but I do think it has historical roots. Here’s my theory. Humans are visual creatures and as such display to future mates using adornments. Sadly, we as a culture have equated our clothing choices with perceived sexual willingness .What that meant for our foremothers is that when they were married (in their tender early twenties for many) it meant they were expected to put away the goodies. Why dress like you’re looking when you’re satisfied with your husband and the mailman? So, two things are happening here to make the modern women feel more inclined to loosen up her buttons. One, if you buy into the idiotic idea that people dress for the opposite sex, women are getting married later so they need to bare skin at an older age than before. And two, for those who do not buy into an ideal that supports rape culture and the notion that women dress only to attract men, you remembered you did not give a shit and put on the romper. Sadly, this is creating a cross generational misunderstanding that could be fixed if we only listened to each other.

So, I have decided to continue on my path of fabulous. I still have a few good years of my ass hanging out my romper and I shall let my freedom flag fly as long as damn well please!  I will continue to walk with my sisters in arms in this battle for acceptance and self determination. So if you see a sassy, natural haired women in Chicago, proudly rocking whatever the hell she wants, throw up a fist in solidarity. It is probably me, sticking it to the man, for America.

So, what will you wear in rebellion?

Lady Justice 

25

In 1989, a young mother cracked open the front screen door of her row home in Upper Darby, PA and carefully maneuvered an occupied baby carrier outdoors.  She gently placed the round, cheerful creature’s vessel onto the cement and fumbled to grab her camera.  She pointed the apparatus toward the child and focused and refocused the lens, trying to capture the perfect moment.  Here is her final shot.       

Today the baby has a four-year college degree, a full-time job in an office, and a gold watch that she wears on her left wrist.  She recently purchased her first reasonably-priced car with good fuel economy.  She is still looking for love but aren’t we all.

I - the baby - turned 25 yesterday.

To celebrate, I spent a lovely, snowy day with friends, coworkers, and family members that I love.  I taught my regular ballet and jazz classes in the morning and discussed the future of the dance academy over tea and Guinness stew in the afternoon.  In the evening, I dragged my family into Center City Philadelphia to sip on expensive cocktails in a cozy speakeasy.  The day concluded with a boisterous ride home and an impromptu meal of plain pizza from our favorite family-owned place down the street to temper the strong drinks.  Simple day.  Simple pleasures.

Birthday celebrations in my family are traditionally modest – a few gifts, a homemade dinner.  My mother makes the same yellow cake with chocolate icing; my sister and I decorate it as silly as possible.  One year I meticulously wrote “Poop” in colored nonpareils on my sister’s cake.  A white sprinkle outline in the shape of a heart framed the hilarity.  At the party, my aunt complimented my masterpiece.  “Aw, what a beautiful cake.  What does it say?...Oh, oh dear.”

Having a winter birthday has always been a bit of a challenge.  The weather is fickle and uncomfortable.  Mother Nature never guarantees that she will cooperate enough to allow for a party.  For my 16^th birthday, I combated the characteristic dreariness of the season by choosing to theme my event “Beach Party.”  I wore a pink sherbet dress and put boogie boards in the living room.  Palm tree garlands hugged the mantel over the fire place.  The Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” album floated through the house.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.        

I don’t lament my arrival at the half-way point of my twenties.  In fact, I have already managed to extinguish any hints of quarter-life crises woes.  The first four years of this decade were very difficult.  I lived through many incredible, terrifying, unforgettable, excruciating experiences.  I would not mind easing the growing pains with the maturity and security of age.  In the next five years, I look forward to contributing more, offering more to others.  I want to repay those who have helped me along the way – my family, my educators, my community.  They deserve it.  Above all, I look forward to continuing my journey, learning more about the intricacies of life, and gaining greater independence – keeping my feet firmly on that yellow brick road.

Dr. Sparkle