You have no power or influence over any person or organization until you become part of their story.
You have no real relationship or kinship to someone if they haven’t woven you into their narrative.
This concept drives trillions of dollars every year. Word of mouth marketing . . . have you heard of it?
Stepping away from business, though, I have had occasion to think about this again and ponder it for quite some time over the past few weeks.
It’s something I started thinking about last year, and now that’s come up several times in just a few days, I’m taking it as a sign to pay attention and internalize it.
Playing around on the beach in Isla Holbox (in the Mexican Carribbean) August 2009
For Black Hair Mommies, Part 1, click here.
For all my hair-related posts, click here.
This post is for all my black sisters, all my white sisters raising biracial babies and for my white girlfriends who are endlessly fascinated with my hair (as I am with theirs).
I was forlorn at having to leave my hairdresser back home when I moved. She was one of only a couple of women in the state who specialized in ethnic hair and I’d been seeing her every two months for close to four years. She outlasted a couple of my romantic relationships, that’s for sure. Still, Cassandra and I couldn’t figure out why we couldn’t get my hair to grow.
I know most of my readers are either white or male, so I’ll take a quick moment to explain the whole point of writing this post. The reason why you don’t see a lot of black women walking around with long hair is because our hair is exceedingly dry and delicate. (Unprocessed) Caucasian, Asian and Latina hair is strong and flexible like fishing line while our hair breaks like a filament of spun sugar. Continue reading
When you’re a little black girl, you get put into one of two groups: those with “good” hair and those with, well, bad hair. As you grow up, the hair issue becomes more nefarious as those with “bad” hair learn to distinguish themselves as being the proud owners of Natural hair, nappy hair or dreadlocks. Some even make it seem like having anything other than Natural hair is a denial of one’s race. Others just get weaves. Occasionally, the good hair girls get castigated for trying to pass as white, while in reality many of them are of mixed heritage and have their genes, not conscious choice, to thank for their lustrous locks.
Being of mixed descent myself, I’ve watched the hair debate from the sidelines. I never needed to defend my choice of hairstyle to anyone as a teenager or young woman because there were no other black people around. And that there was the problem with my hair: There were NO black people around. Continue reading
New for 2007 here on Dangerously Enthusiastic: Welcome to The Saucy Report, a monthly jaunt through the neighborhoods of New York as seen through my eyes. Every month, I’ll explore a different group of neighborhoods, and share pictures, links, reviews and even mini-soundtracks to bring the experience to you no matter where you live. This month, we start in the LES. Continue reading
Posted in Best Of, Eating or Cooking
Tagged best, chinatown, food, lowereastside, lowereastsidemuseum, manhattan, neilstrauss, nolita, nyc, recipes, soho, wandering
This is a continuation of Saucy Report Number 1:Lower East Side Standbys. Read Part 1 here.
Between corn and knishes, we popped into McNally Robinson, a cool bookstore. We browsed a couple boutiques and music shops. Eventually, we came upon the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, another place Neil had recommended that I check out. In addition to being a bit of a museum nut, I really want to learn all I can about the city’s history. The LES is the first neighborhood I fell in love with here, so it’s a natural jumping off point for my Gotham Girl education. Continue reading
Posted in Best Of, Eating or Cooking
Tagged best, chinatown, Friends, gelato, katzs, lowereastsidemuseum, manhattan, neilstrauss, nyc, restaurants, wandering
In case you missed it amid all the holiday partying, I moved to NYC last weekend.
Here are some highlights of my first 72 hours as a New Yorker:
Dec. 16, the first night:
I successfully drove a 10-foot moving truck on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. My friends and I moved all my stuff into my apartment without incident, despite the fact that it looked like an obstacle course because it had just finished being repainted earlier in the day. Before the sweat had dried on our brows, we head up to the roof with one of my roommates to toast with champagne in rocks glasses. We take in the view of the Manhattan Bridge from my amazing rooftop. Continue reading
The following are excerpts from my handwritten journal, along with explanatory notes.
April 4, 2006
I was born to do this. I was born to do this. There will be blood on the paper because this is the only thing I know beyond myself. It is myself.
That’s it. Do you feel the tingling? Someone sitting in another place, doing another thing, is having an impact on your life. The moment before the pendulum repeats its arc. No stopping now. Do it. Continue reading