I know a little something about wolves in sheep's clothing...maybe that's why am I so enchanted these days by the saga of Little Red Riding Hood.
In September, for Fashion's Night Out, Vogue editrix extraordinaire Grace Goddington recreated her recent 'Lil Red fashion spread for the PRADA Store windows, showing well-suited wolves out to tea with leggy, couture-clad mannequins.
But truth be told I get a kick outta the saucy undertones. In the adaptation that I dig, it's about a good girl in a hooded red toggle cape on the verge of going bad. Into the woods...and into...serious mischieflaughs.
I mean, she's carrying a bottle of Bordeaux and couple of baguettes in that basket. That definitely wasn't for Grandma. (Illustration, Odessa Sawyer, 2004)
I just read a fascinating Q&A in the November Elle with Diddy, who shares this recollection with columnist Andrew Goldman:
I was in pursuit of female attention from when I was probably four or five. It started with my mother's friends putting me to sleep on their laps.
You've met this guy, right? He might not have had a record label and a net worth of $380 million, lol, but I bet he was just as charming and swaggerific. What, you thought you captured his attention? [Laughs.] So did the next chick.
Guys like Diddy live with a gnawing hunger for affirmation from the opposite sex that has no point of satisfaction: They're never full (and seldom fullfilled), always chasing, looking for something off the menu.
Unless they undergo some seismic transformation, guys like this always comes up short 'cause they can't see the value of the one (The One?)- over the many.
Before Theresa Duncan dug into a glass bowl of Benadryl and Tylenol PM to take her own life, she'd been a writer/filmmaker/gaming designer for girls. Duncan also spent the better part of 12 years as one half of a glamorous art world couple with her boyfriend, the equally talented multimedia artist Jeremy Blake.
Among the ambitious projects they realized was Duncan's wry, genius, loosely autobiographical The History of Glamour (2000), a 40-minute animated flick that showed in that year's Whitney Biennial. Blake served as co-illustrator and art director. I'm just absorbed and tickled by this vid:
A confession. When I worked at a daily paper and was producing clips at a fast clip, I often found myself torn between wanting to share a piece I was proud of and a desire to refrain from huffing and puffing too much, a desire to leggo my ego.
Similarly with this blog: I vacillate between using the most public of forums to promote it and then hanging my head over the shameless plugging [laughs]. Ideally, you'd feel comfortable to come to it as you please - be it once a week or once a year.
Well last Monday, I had one of the most BEautiful nights I've had in a long time, seeing Maxwell and Common in concert on the same night. I was reminded of Common's liner notes for the '05 album Be.
If you build, defend, make, heal, bridge, or connect things, people, or moments for a living and ever feel conflicted about recruiting soldiers to your movement, luring captains to your street team - just gotta acknowledge the source. Regardless of where/how/to whom you bow your head.
There were three things I wanted when I was starting school for the first time:
1. A LISP 2. A BROKEN ARM 3. A HEAD OF STRAIGHT HAIR
The Long Island Catholic school I went to from pre-K-8th was initially predominantly white, and for the first couple years, I was the token black girl (named becky) in my grade. Whenever you're outnumbered, whatever the majority is doing/being can seem appealing, sanctioned.
So no matter how many Cosby-worthy affirmations about how beautiful and gifted I heard I was at home, when I stepped onto that asphalt playground, felt like I came up short.
Since the Tiffanys and Danielles had lisps - forget that this was a speech impediment, I used to fake one for good measure. Broken arms and legs requiring casts that begged to be signed and doodled on? OMG, I wanted a cast! (But I never broke any bones and my theory is that my Caribbean family didn't ski.)
And they had hair I noticed most when the last bell rang: In one sweep, they'd slip zippered jackets over uniforms and fling a grip of hair out from pressed collars. Like the shampoo commercials. I mean, Dark & Lovely was good, but I wanted to be Pert Plus, Head and Shoulders above my classmates.
Years later, I'd chop it all off, go back to the natural essence, before finally realizing it doesn't define me.
So I get why Chris Rock thought Good Hair was a compelling topic for a documentary. Opening this Friday, and nationwide Oct. 23, Rock is pulling the curtain back on black girls' relationship with their hair. From what I've seen so far, I think it's flawed by sweeping generalizations, but dude is a comedian not a professor of African-American studies.
It's no secret that when it comes to footwear, men almost to a head prefer heels on a woman. I think in the male fantasy, we'd step off the stoop always looking like Cassie and Lauren in a Sean John ad.
And most of us willingly indulge this preference: We do feel sexier when we're strapped (to heels!), after all, and we (for the most part) appreciate the extra love we get in the streets for making the effort.
But in New York, a pedestrian city that sits on killer sidewalks, running around in killer heels can be taxing, even injurious. Some of us resort to the Superman-in-the-booth quick change from flats to heels. Though there's something inelegant about ramming your bare feet into a pair of peep-toes on a subway platform as you balance latte, oversize clutch, and mag.
So give the arches a break! To be shod in sole-ful shoes can be appealing...right? [Laughs] I nominate Christian Louboutin's dazzling Fred Flat Lace-Ups as a counterpoint to your most flirty frocks. (Above, variations on the dance shoe by Louboutin and Repetto.)
Are you standing in someone's else's light? Reflecting...Drawn like a gypsy moth to their fire when you could be generating your own?
The Mighty Mos Def once remarked that you should not only "shine your light on the world," but "shine your light for the world to see." At the Corridor Gallery this past Sunday for the "Brooklyn Influence" exhibit featuring the portraiture of lensman Jamel Shabazz, I was struck by how each of his subjects seemed to emit a certain light.
Now maybe that's just Shabazz's extraordinary documentary touch at work, but it's probably a combination of both. Somewhere in the gallery literature, I read that the borough claims the highest concentration of artists, activists, and entrepreneurs. It sure feels that way.
The light was blinding.
The show, running through Nov. 7, is curated by Raquel Wilson in conjunction with the community arts organization Dope Swan to commemorate the anniversary of “A Great Day in Brooklyn” and “Another Great Day in Brooklyn.” (Rapper/Actor/Activist Mos Def, above, by Jamel Shabazz)
There's something highly comical and just refreshing about putting your mess where people can see it.
That's exactly what artist Natalie Osborne did in a room adjacent to the Corridor Gallery's main foyer, as part of the newly opened exhibit "Strictly Regulated". The group show highlights the work of six emerging female artists and runs concurrent with the exhibit "Brooklyn Influence".
Osborne's video series and installation "I'm a Mess: Finding My Pace" (wall detail, above) confronts the notion of the black superwoman: a towering pile of shirts, shoes, and frocks is thrown into a corner of the gallery. Kinda looked like my bedroom on a Monday morning, lol.
You have to see the entire piece for yourself, but from now on when the kryptonite's got me down if you ask me how I'm doin', I'm just gonna say, I'm a mess, and finding my pace. So much more liberating, don't you think? [Laughs]
The name was such an anomaly that rapper Common named his backing band a black girl named becky. Growing up, "I've never met a black girl named Rebecca," is something I heard often. But then I'm not your average girl. This is me.
Posts
