Five Journalistic Questions #2
Who? What? Where? When? Why?
February 4, 2022
8:28pm
Welcome back to Who? What? Where? When? Why? I had so much fun writing the first issue that I got imposter syndrome and procrastinated writing this edition. This issue is severely delayed but a lot came up in the worst Black History Month on record so I’m thinking maybe this should be a biweekly thing so I don’t make promises I can’t keep. (Tell me what you think below.) Nevertheless, the show must go on and I promised y’all a new edition so here I am, ready to pontificate and opine and suggest things.(Side note: I listened to Bow Wow circa 2007 while writing a portion of this and he recently revealed that his Black ass lips have never touched a tablespoon of pot liquor or collard greens so if this week’s publishing reads as unadulterated garbage, please, don’t throw tomatoes.)
Who? I believe I watched Mo’ Better Blues the summer preceding my move to New York. I was lured in, as I believe many of us were, by the banter of my mom and her friends, not to mention the innumerable 90s sitcoms that commented on how alluring and handsome Denzel was. I wish I could’ve lived through that era when everyone was aligned about what constituted “fine”. (By the time I was old enough to have hormones, Mr. Washington was emanating “fun but stern uncle” from every pore.) I was coaxed by curiosity to Denzel and Mo Better Blues but stayed for the fantasy of a life I planned to build. (The Ruth E. Carter costume design didn’t hurt either.) I think this particular movie stuck with me because at the time I was 21-years-old and building a roster of the people and lives, real and imagined, to be and emulate once my luggage touched the linoleum of Penn Station. I knew that New York is not the place you want to move without a plan. It’s too fucking expensive. Flapping in the breeze of life with $1.5K rent looming is not cute (or safe) and it is virtually impossible to live, laugh, or love with ease in those conditions. I recognized quickly while interning in the city that couch surfing was not a long-term strategy (for me). I knew that in order to make it through those BRUTAL first five years I needed a North Star. My goal was creative freedom and stability. Enter: Clarke Betancourt, the ultra glam, slightly delusional, lovesick former paramour of Bleek Gilliam— who eventually realized she was wasting her good years on a man who wouldn’t even let her scat at the kickback and decided to dip and find happiness with the homie. As I’m pushing 30, she reminds me a lot of myself and who I want to be. This is no shade to Indigo. She used to be that girl when I thought saving dysfunctional men was cute and a conduit to romantic love and a fulfilling life but the older I get, I realize (and I hope she realizes it too) that she is a damn fool. Thus, I made an about face and looked at Clarke through the lens of my life, goals, and hopes. Clarke is immensely stylish (I like to think this is me), creative (me on a good day), independent (finally me), guarded but open in safe spaces (me! me! me!). She took no shit (who I hope to be once I stop being conflict-avoidant) and most importantly, she wasn’t foolish enough to marry a commitment-phobe who called her by another woman’s name and then begged her to “saved his life” because he got his lip shredded like loose leaf paper and couldn’t play his raggedy trumpet anymore(100000000000000000000000000% me). Ultimately, my allegiance lies with Clarke because, then and now, I connect with the stylish Black woman fighting to shed her tough exterior and be soft in love and style and the world whilst being taken seriously.
What? It’s always a treat when two Black women sit down to have a conversation. In this case it’s a double treat because I know hwo brilliant these two people are. A couple weeks ago, at this point, the newly minted Telsha Anderson-Boone (hi, Justinnn!!!) (who may be one of the smartest, kindest, and intrinsically stylish people I am honored to call my friend) and Recho Omondi (a fashion virtuoso and true journalist of our time with a sense of humor and honesty that I one day wish to embody) sat down to talk worth, #BuyBlack, brick and mortar retail in the digital age, manifestation, and showroom politics. This conversation was so erudite that it made me want to go out, lease a space, and risk my already shaky credit just so I could relate to the subject matter a bit deeper. Listening to how Telsha’s space came to be was exciting and inspiring because T.A. is one of the few retail spaces that excites me to visit as I am a tactile shopper. I enjoy connecting an experience or saga with my luxury purchases across the super reckless to utilitarian shopping spectrum. For instance, once upon a time (last summer) I walked into Bergdorf’s, after a panic-inducing business meeting, and walked out with a Gucci loafer and Dries van Noten boots. I have no idea how that purchase came to be but it happened and I still laugh about it every time I reach for those cream Jordaan loafers. The same thing happened at T.A.. One day, after getting my triweekly mani/pedi, I walked the measly 14 blocks from my nail shop to Telsha’s store because I couldn’t get a Sid Neigum dress out of my head. I found Telsha sitting at the same desk Recho mentioned, eating a SweetGreen salad and, after a quick 30 minute ki, I walked out the store $1K poorer and promptly had a panic attack in the adjacent Sephora. (I am resolute in my belief that I blackout when I spend more than $200 but more on that another time.) I’m saying all this to say that T.A. brings me a distinct memory of being in an Opening Ceremony, a Totokaelo (R.I.P.), or a Yowie, in Philadelphia. The experience of being excited to see what the space has to offer, creating community with the in-store personnel, and knowing that the tastemakers of the city are descending on this hidden gem to get a taste of what’s new, what’s in, and what’s emerging. In addition to shopping, the candid podcast conversation is a rarefied occurrence for Black people, especially Black women and femmes in the fashion industry. It spoke of gatekeeping and the double-sided nature of the press that the 2020 protests brought to Black creators, business owners, and public figures. My favorite portion of the interview, however, was the last 15 minutes, listening to the conversation about scaling and wanting to enjoy the journey of growth and riding the waves. I don’t hear enough of that these days. We’re all exhausted and growing barmy in late stage capitalism but everyone wants to be fucking James St. Patrick. I personally want to enjoy the comforts of my labor while I can. I’m not putting off a vacation because I want to expand so rapidly or strive for numbers and analytics that I can't maintain. I want to exist and revel in gratitude by examining how far I’ve come and be excited about how far I have left to grow! Please tap in y’all and follow their journeys here and here!
When/Where? Hear ye! Hear ye! This is too good for just one section! The grande dame and mother of Black tragic literature is having a solo show and I am ecstatic. (Thank you Tahirah Hairston for putting this on my radar.) The place to be before its closing on February 26, 2022 is David Zwirner Gallery in Chelsea, Manhattan for the TONI MORRISON Black Book exhibition. If you are Black and in the creative industry but do not own Toni Morrison’s Black Book (1974), what the fuck are you doing? The Black Book expands on what it means to be a Black American, the complexity it holds, the richness it has without diluting it to a catchline, a slogan, or an era. It avows that Black life has, and will always be, that girl from the motherland up until the present and into the future. That’s it! It’s a book published with Black futures in mind. Toni Morrison, who ought to be inducted into sainthood (but she probably wouldn’t go because it’s too whitewashed) wrote this book in 1974 in the midst of the Black Power movement for future generations to give richness and context and history to that era and point in time. She wasn’t satisfied with how the movement was being adulterated into an archetype (See: woke) and sought to add color to the messaging. It’s such a masterpiece work that translates perfectly into the present day and is applicable in many facets of life. (My favorite section is the voodoo recipes. I haven’t quite mastered them yet but once I do, y’all already know what the fuck is going on.)
Toni Morrison Contact Sheet (Dwight Carter) 1973
I highly recommend listening to the Mo’ Better Blues opening credit track on a loop when you go. It’s an incredibly moving orchestral composition of music performed by The Branford Marsalis Quartet with Terrence Blanchard and I believe it will really fit the space and add some reverence and sentiment to the occasion.
(Lastly, Spike and Brandon also need to stop playing with us and put that shit on the soundtrack. It’s fucking beautiful.)
Why? Okay. I know what y’all *want* me to talk about but I’m not going to do that because I exorcized all my disgust a couple Mondays ago. Instead I’m going to talk about why I’m *not* going to talk about the subject-that-shall-not-be-named.
I’m a Sag moon. I have a very real issue with authority and being told what to do. Ever since I was a wee thing, if an adult told me what to do I would promptly do the opposite out of pure spite. It’s one of the reasons I can’t work in retail or any service industry.
After looking at Pinterest and falling into a rabbit hole of her (I’m not even speaking names. The girls that tuned in will get it and the girls that didn’t, won’t.) off-duty looks, I’ve grown a little more intrigued about this predicament in which we all find ourselves. Some of the looks she’s donned when leaving [redacted] house have been some of my favorites (see: Memorial Day hat, green leather pants, lavender Martine Rose sweater vest). It also caused some relief because that Gucci puffer vest moment was atrocious and I’m glad to know she wasn’t actually committed to that look but it was sartorial subterfuge.
I talk all the time about living a Nancy Meyers’ post-divorce lifestyle (I will elaborate on this in a later edition) and she’s actually doing it (kinda). If this were a Nancy Meyers’ production, she would be Marin in Something’s Gotta Give. Ultra chic, an enviable art career, with her pick of male suitors. Marin chose a few exciting prospects, including old ass Jack Nicholson. In the end, she chose some forgettable white man who was in the right place at the right time to give her a baby…et voila, art imitates life. Honestly, I’m a fan of seeing her mundane outings: dinner at Nobu, cupcaking in a Miami nightclub mid-pandemic, and the other various bicoastal dinner dates that required sartorial camouflage.
We’re fucking 30+. (I know I’m only 29 but maybe someone will read this in 5 months and the initial sentence will be more applicable.) We’re growing the fuck up. I can’t even decide on a date anymore without mulling over the consequences whether it be wasted time or being attached to said date for the rest of my post-Enron era life via children. It’s rough out here after the age of 25. I talk about it all the time. Every decision feels so pressurized or on the precipice of utter failure. Thus, I’m sure she fully thought about this decision. In the paraphrased words of Paid in Full’s Rico, “[redacted] get pregnant everyday, B”.
And there you have it. Thank you, thank you, thank you again for tuning into another edition of Who? What? Where? When? Why?. Please tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend and talk to me in the comments below. I genuinely enjoyed reading all of your thoughts and opinions! I will be responding to all the comments by the end of this week. The outpouring of love is more than I could’ve ever imagined and put the battery in my back to finish this edition**.
(**This edition was super late but this has been an emotinalllllllllll ass month. Word to Carl Thomas. )
