Five Journalistic Questions #3
It’s been a long time…I shouldn’t have left you–
–but I was down bad. I wasn’t feeling particularly smart or chic, contemplative or wordy. In other words, I didn’t feel I had anything of particular interest to say. I still don’t know if I do but I felt the best thing to do was to sit down at my computer and start writing. After avoiding it for weeks, I’m praying to enter a state of flow but if I don’t, it’s only writing for an hour a day until this edit is finished– if only the procrastinating perfectionist would stop jumping out at me! I realized after being asked four times this week if I still write that I had made a commitment to you all that I am intent on keeping. That being said…here is the third edition of Five Journalistic Questions!
(Some of these sections were written at different times over the last few months so that’s why I’m talking about 4/20 and it being 92º in one issue.)
Who: I’m only writing this because I’m pretty sure I saw her downstairs neighbor at a party Tuesday night while out, doing my best to dodge COVID, and celebrating the inaugural campaign for Flower by Edie Parker. It made me once again reminisce on the sheherazade-esque landscape pants (if anyone knows who makes them PLEASE DM me) she wore in the midst of having a complete meltdown over a guy who, from the blondie scene, seemed less than shit. Yup, folks, I’m here to talk about And Just Like That and how episode 8 in particular revealed something I never could have imagined: I, Yaminah Mayo, am slightly obsessed with Carrie's interior life and feel some level of connectivity to the most chaotic, self-sabotaging New Yorker in television history!
Let me start by saying that the apartment search portion of the show bored me because Carrie had a perfectly good home that was one degree removed from Big and it was totally unnecessary to go all the way to what looked like TriBeCa to seek refuge. I didn’t understand that bit of the show but I also haven’t lost a husband who spent the majority of our time together treating me like shit so I’ll keep my opinions to myself on that front. I did, however, enjoy watching Carrie put her interior life together. It felt refreshing, slightly familiar, and chic. Some of my favorite moments from the original series and the reboot are of Carrie minding her own fucking business and sitting on her mismatched furniture while reading Vogue and not terrorizing the denizens of Gotham with her (then) shitty opinions and perspectives. I really enjoyed watching Carrie maneuver through her life without a man, sponsor, or prospect for what could possibly be the first time ever since we’ve met her. I finally saw that independence that I fought to see the entire six seasons of the original series and the two movies. Don’t ask me how *one* episode could have stirred up all these thoughts. I just found the episode to be so sophisticated and somewhat reflective of the place I’m at in life: wanting flowy $1,000+ robes, hating loud neighbors while simultaneously being in their business, reminiscing about the absolute chaos of my early 20s be it lovers or trends, obsessing about archive pieces and the years of Barney’s yore. It was like looking in a mirror [I can’t quite afford].
What: I’m still field testing so the next issue will hold the revelation of the perfect body oil. In the meantimes, because I’m still getting threats behind my obscurity and lack of disclosure, the perfect blueberry muffin (with the absolute perfect balance of lemon zest) comes from………Trader Joe’s. Lmfao How I eat it: Cut it in half. Slather the two halves open faces in butter. Place in the oven with the buttered sides facing up. Turn on the broiler and toast until golden brown or, hear me out, slightly charred. Enjoy with a cup of lemon ginger tea. Voila. You’re welcome. :)
When: When is the industry going to stop playing in fat/thicc/curvy people’s faces and get fit models that reflect the general public? This isn’t really a researched section, more of a lived experience that never fails to infuriate me in addition to being a crucial reason I am a tactile shopper first and a digital consumer second. If I, as a size 10/12, buy something in my recommended size (after looking at the size chart provided on your website) and it arrives with the measurements of a size 8, I should be allowed to sue you for fraud. Is that not wrongful and criminal deception intended to result in financial or personal gain? Maybe that’s the problem, the girlies over a size 8 have been quietly taking their Ls, returning their ill-fitting wares, and heading over to ASOS to patronize a business with the size range a lot of brands *think* they have while not dragging the absolute fuck out of y’all publicly for playing these petty/unethical sizing games. (…and that’s if the brand in question even has a size run above an 8*.) It’s hot and I’m trying to look like a hoe with ease this summer and I don’t have time to fight or tussle with you who can’t be bothered to crunch the hard numbers when it involves to getting the math right for accurate sizing and fabric yields. I am not Jason Derulo.
**If I read an interview by another gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss who describes the inception of their brand being out of necessity to find clothes for their curvy (size 6) frame and their sizing ends at an 8, it’s on sight and this is a warning.
Where: New Museum. Faith Ringgold’s retrospective show is ending on June 5, 2022 and it is a must see. I went the first week in May and I am going to see it one last time before it closes this Sunday. It is beyond beautiful and empowering and conjured up happy memories of my childhood spent reading Tar Beach on the floor of my bedroom, before I knew what New York City was or had the desire to live here. Being able to connect the images of her children’s book(s) to my surroundings today always brings me a rush [insert Maya Angelou getting overwhelmed and crying]. She also has an incredible way of communicating through her work and I don’t find it coincidental that she spent a portion of her life as a public school teacher. My favorite area of the exhibition was the French Collection series on the fourth floor, I believe. It’s highly autobiographical and highlights a young, Black woman on a journey for independence– #RelatableContent. It’s *a lot* of reading so all my ADHD girls, prepare to secure your Adderall wigs. (There’s also a QR code to my understanding that allows visitors to read the extensive volume of narrative.)
My only criticism of the exhibition centers around the exhibition book. Because the narrative quilts are so numerous and rare, I would have loved to have the narrative in the book, in full, beyond just the photo– as they were a huge portion of her work. They were an homage to her mom, who was a fashion designer and a statement of her autarky because she wanted something that she could carry around without the help of her husband (canvases are very heavy). It also becomes an issue of accessibility to exclude the writings because beyond the QR code, how will this work live and translate off of the museum wall? How will people be able/allowed to engage with it beyond a QR code? We need an analog archive of this work in addition to the digital if our goal is to have unilateral access to art. Education is a huge pillar of her life and scholars to neophytes need to be able to engage with her words outside of the white walls. That’s all.
Ok, folks! That wraps up issue number 3 of Five Journalistic Questions. If there are typos or this is nonsensical…i did my best and that is honestly…enough. Tag me if you read, let’s talk below, and tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend! Byyyyyyeeeeeeeeee! See you Wednesday after next.
