MAD Beauty & Style....Intersections & Identity
Men at work.
Men in skirts.
What people wear where is everything.
Location. Location. Location.
These men in shirts and ties with skirts.
Tailored buttoned up top with soft sarongs on the bottom,
Showing a little leg and a lot of style.
An unexpected pairing in most western cities
Yet completely natural, practical and professional in say, an urban Asian Pacific setting.
The sharing of silhouettes
The culture clash is what’s #MADCool
The Other Side of Beauty.
Who is other now? And who gets to say who is other?
Now
Alternative
Contrast
Different
Some unknown person.
And as for the Un-Other.
Alas, your sameness alternately
bores and alarms me.
I’ve seen you somewhere before.
I’ve seen you everywhere before and after.
You are other than the others.
I can see the others better than you
See
Your sameness everywhere makes you kind of
No where
Makes you disappear
Makes your main plain stream
Run dry in my beauty eye
So I will seek and revel otherwise.
Image: Indian and American adorned
MAD Beauty and Style
#MADCool Indigenous & Urban InterActions
A Voodoo Priest in Jamaica
An Eclectic European Dandy
Fancy Men.
Though oceans apart these two look like they're from the same
#FancyMan tribe, no?
The regalia- kinds of crowns and sturdy staffs seem like everyday fare.
That's the cool in their fancy.
When fancy is an energy expressing itself in bows and draping jewels but the origin is not the gloves or the cape, those are simply the results- the seen of what is always unseen.....the source of style.
(MADNote the dark modified handlebar mustache w the fluffy yet tamed beard is pretty awesome)
MAD Beauty and Style
#Rihanna in American Vogue &
Kayan girl walking the streets of Myanmar (Burma)
I believe time interacts.
Ancient and future instincts collide
and now is created.
Now is so cool because that’s always what time it is.
I also believe beauty and style impulses and ideas
interact with times and places.
Age-old practices and patterns move through an unseen energy grid
and some rare receptive people
tap in.
They receive an idea to smoke their eyes with indigo,
add a few pink cornrows to a chignon
or to wear a kimono instead of a cardigan.
Then those people walk the streets and other people see them
and the idea, the expression, grows.
A trend is born.
I’m deeply interested in these interactions.
Interactions of place and time and how it relentlessly inspires
new ways for people to express themselves
through style choices and beauty rituals.
Beauty and Style are a never-ending narrative
about culture, history, politics, creativity, love and
Identity.
The images found here are an exploration in interactions.
A small study of the quest to self identify, self express and belong.
It is looking at how small the world can be
how big beauty is and at how style really is free.
And it’s all #MADCool
Culture + Style = the intersection where I like to hang out
this was the first full fashion story I did for Honey Magazine
inspired by male music and style icons
we did Jimi, Bob, Prince,
and here Marvin and Stevie
I pulled them out because I'm having a conversation at
The Schomburg Center for Research for Black Culture
about Fashion and Motown...Motown not only defined
great American Pop Music
but also illustrated and illuminated
great American Style
from the Supremes to Rick James Motown shared with the world
the brave and brilliant breath of black style.
photographer: Marc Baptiste
Day 50 of #50DaysTo50
Today I am 50 and I lay down my arms
I have been in a long brutal battle with my body
Since about 7 when I found the models, magazines and the mirrors
Most of the time most of my body has been the enemy
something to concur and control
Through the years the fighting has softened
more strength and surrender replaced adolescent anxieties
Be clear I was never satisfied it was just better.
I was better.
When I was at my best I accepted my one and only pregnancy
I was fascinated with the involuntary transformation of my body
Pretty surprised at how I wasn’t afraid of my new girth
I knew there was magic stirring inside of my belly
so I kind of let go
kind of
What I didn’t know was as my stomach grew
my skin
that I constantly slathered with carrort and apricot oil
could not accommodate the rapid swelling
My belly was big, man
muscles tore
skin split deep under where I could not see or reach
after my more than marvelous baby left my body
scars stayed
the smooth surface of my youthful stomach was now textured
war torn and tattered
there was left over skin
tendons that wouldn’t retract
and the marks
like on old cracked sidewalk
jagged lines corrupting my flawlessness
fuck flawless
for more than 23 years I’ve held a deep resentment in my stomach
I hated the imperfection it would always be
I hated it remind me there were no other hands there
to get to the places
I could not reach or see
I resented I wanted surgery
I resented how petty I thought I was to hate the proof
I let magic
live inside of me
my stomach of tired skin and stretch marks was a constant reminder
I would never be young again
unless I called in some professionals and had procedures
taunt flat smooth was over forever
on my 50th birthday
I choose peace over the pursuit of perfection
I marked my markings with these words
“and so it is”
it’s what I say after prayers and affirmations
like an Amen
I transformed the scene of the crime to a canvas
An instillation of evolution
I am living so my skin will change
it will fold
and get lines
it will become looser it will become what it will become
I can not win a war with nature
But I can nurture this complicated living skin of mine
I can take good care
I can take good care
peace
above perfection
and so it is
Day 49 of #50DaysTo50
So here I am.
One day away
The one big thing I learned in these 50 days
of reflection and integration
is that I’ve spent most of my adult life practicing and learning
how to love others,
first.
I worked under the assumption that loving others
would secure love for my self.
Yet I've found my deepest hunger is for self-love.
The love for myself through myself.
The feeling of security, courage and joy
a whole love is what I craved
I believed if I sacrificed, breathed, waited and waited
it would come after I loved others well,
first
I thought an uncut love would drip onto me from others,
cover me completely, eventually.
trickle down doesn’t work in wealth or love.
and what small thinking to settle for a trickle, a damn drip.
In these 49 days I’ve learned that my love is best when it bubbles up.
Explodes out of me and into the world through actions and ideas.
The love that is me, is deep, endless and eternal.
The seeking of love and approval from others is relentless,
filled with conditions and expiration dates.
Now that I know it’s time to get to the business
of learning and practicing self love through my self
Changing habits is hard
I’ve had a hardcore habit of loving others,
first.
So I looked to my best practice of love.
My daughter. What did I do?
How did I treat her, first?
In the morning when I woke her, I adored her, openly.
Good Morning beautiful! Welcome back Noodles!
I’d say stuff like that,
throw open the curtains and let the sun shine in on her.
I’d say she was better than sunshine
because I saw her light even at night .
Often I’d put on some music, mostly Stevie Wonder
serve up a healthy yummy meal.
We’d dress in a way that reflected her mood and the season.
Then I’d release her from my arms into the day,
celebrated, tickled, well fed and affirmed.
Since she grew up and out
most mornings I thank God for giving me another day
then I'd bargain with the time in pitiful .15min increments.
Starting my day with a practice of procrastination, great.
My phone is my alarm, my arm, my companion.
I roll over and touch it, engage with it.
Then at the last minute I pull out of the bed and put on a pot of water for a pot of coffee
to start the process of putting things in my body to fake my body into working,
just enough to get by
Too many mornings I leave my home jump-started on caffeine, anxious and a little insecure.
For the last 10days or so I began to treat myself like the one I loved best.
I woke up thanked God
called myself beautiful, openly
I put on music, mostly Stevie again,
made a super live yummy smoothie, took .15min to mediate,
made some coffee (let’s not get crazy) worked out more than half the time
then opened my email, got on facebook, checked twitter, the gram and served others.
There's been a seismic and psychic shift.
I am beginning to have the experience of the love power that I am.
I have always had a prayer and a sporadic mediation practice,
but adding action is when life actually changes.
The biggest lesson and gift in my 50 day journey was I have to
DO ME FIRST if I want to be happy, for real.
When I practiced self-care, through self love (not ego or vanity)
that elusive thing called happiness becomes my truth.
This is it.
Tomorrow I will be 50 years of age and grown ass
from there I will be my own baby.
Day 36 #50DaysTo50
In 2 weeks I’ll be 50 years of age.
So. What.
Right?
that’s kind of how you think it feels
until you’re feeling it
some days it is
So What
Some days it is
So What, Now
What do I do now,
Now that I’ve passed over that pale line
from adult to grown ass
grown
ass
some folk call it middle aged
middle age what the fuck does that mean any way
was my brother middle aged at 8 ½
since he died at 17
I don’t know where the middle is
so I won’t use those words together like that
middle and age
to define my place, my pace
in this time , this human life cycle
I do, Now though
Now more than
ever
find myself in the middle of something
then in the middle of something else
mostly in the middle of ideas
in the middle of dreams
in the middle of actions
in the middle of my words
but not in my age
how presumptious of me to think I know
where I am in this life
I am on the ride
the ride of my life
who knows when the brakes get hit
so I’m gonna try and throw my hands up in the air
and let them stay there
stay there
as long as and as may times as I can
I associate throwing up my hands with good things
roller coasters, holy ghost, fabulous sex
I know there is air with too many black male hands up in it
the air of suspicion, the air of supremacy, the air of injustice
and they stay
there
but my ride, the ride of my life
hands up is happy
so in 14 days I will be officially grown ass
in the middle of something wonderful
photo me and Sonia Sanvhez what grown ass looks like
Day 32 #50DaysTo50
my imagination has always been what is most real
my inner life is my real life because
i feed on it
mostly through prayer, mediation and dreaming
the God in me
I feed on her
i always needed somewhere inside of me to go
outside as a child was so full of the unexpected
sometimes exciting sometimes dangerous
childhood can be so damn dangerous
especially when you feel so free
and you must run through a jungle
of grown ups in cages
grown ups in rages
i felt so powerless in the outside world
the inside was mine
mine with God
I knew early my God was inside of me
my God was me
she was that inside eternal love space with no end
the love that is a part of all the love that ever was
and all the love that ever will be
and now less than 3 weeks away from 50 years of age
I need to feed on her more than ever
I need her for the big girl stuff
the big dreams and the big fears
I feed
on God
and she is delicious
pictured: Bjork in London for Mirabella magazine
photo by Ruven Afanador
Day 30 of #50DaysTo50
In 20 Days
I will be 50 years of age.
It starts with her.
always
my memories my childhood my dreams
begin with mommy
mommy and me hid in a very special kind of heaven together
there because hell was always so available
being poor was hell violence was hell
mental illness
was hell
racism was hell
sadness was hell
but it was mommy who knew I needed beauty to survive such hellish
conditions
she brought me music and art and fancy food
and secret adventures
and handmade boucle coats with matching dresses cute cutie pie clothes
mommy looked for proof of a pretty God in the devils backyard
she found it and shared it to me
as soon as i began believing i believed in magic and fairies and laughing
and dreaming
i slept a lot as a child
i loved my dreams
there were no raging fathers in my dreams
there were no scared sisters in my dreams
my dreamy dreams
we got out of hell
mommy and me
we got out
wrestled the devil him self
but mommy and me got out of hell
that special kind of heaven she took me to became my imagination
my dream space
now as i face an age beyond the age of my mommy in hell
the struggle is to protect
my dreamy dream place
to remember to believe in magic to remember i am magic
i reckon it will always be about me and mommy
she fought the good fight for her life
and won
mommy won
and now i am a mommy
and my heaven is bigger, accomidating the 3 of us
but hell is patient
and is always ready to welcome us back
March 1 through March 10
Day 29 to 39 #50DaysTo50
March 1 in 30 Days I'll be 50 year of age. Oh damn. ok.
March 10 in 3 weeks I'll be 50 years of age and I think about Harriet.
Happy Birthday Harriet
Self Liberator is what you called yourself.
Your Self
Yours, you dared to be yours when some folks tried to own every body.
Every body. Every black body they could own.
But not you Harriet. You will not be owned.
Self Liberator.
I know you see me running from you.
I've been running away form Harriet for years
So who is enslaved here
Enslaved by my fears and boring rituals
I call you a Real American Gangster and you call your self
Self Liberated
Harriet Tubman
you spy
you lover
you activist
you patriot
you warrior
you sister
you abolitionist
you revolutionary
you strategist
you American Hero who lived long, in poverty
you woman you black woman black
you true
gangster
you true
African
you real
American
you Self Liberated
Liberated from Self....the ultimate freedom
Harriet for your birthday I will be more brave than slave.
Day 23 Day 24 Day 25 Day 26 Day 27 Day 28
#50DaysTo50
and so another week waves good bye
and i did not show up for myself to write
oh and other ways too
my eating was imbalanced and a bit emotional
feeling sorry for myself craves sugar and spice
not so nice
i didn't move my body closer to its strength enough
i did a lot of sitting and laying down
sitting down being addicted to distractions and manic conversations
dis tractions
laying down all sugar smacked up listening to other peoples opinions
it sucks for me I am so aware of when I deny my self
myself
so i'm not going to Tunisia until May
look at dis
appointment
I've had a long illustrious affair with disappointments
dis appointments
dis appointment
dat appointment
missing the appointment
missing the point
so what's the point
i am the the point
i am the point of arrival and departure and
the point is
dis disappointment shit ain't coming with me to fifty
but i'll always occasionally dream in North African
Pictured: Moroccan inspired fashion story for Honey Magazine shot by Marc Baptiste
Day 15
Day 16
Day 17
Day 18
Day 19
Day 20
Day 21
Day 22 #50DaysTo50
boys in the hoodies
I like to think my heart was consumed with the burden of the boys
but really
just really i have not made enough time to write
like this
this is my kind of writing
mine for me kind of writing
short truth telling
or at least i'm not looking for lies
long list of lies
lies to impress you
i aint looking for lies
my life has gone too far liking lies
to lessen pain
lies to diminish disappointments
but truth be bold
lies just postpone and compound
what it is i'm hiding from
i'm trying not to hide in this time
i remember this week because every day
i found a way not to do this
hide and seek
from and to my damn truth
Art: In the Hood 1993 by David Hammons
Honey Magazine fashion shoot at Bronx Museum
One Planet Under a Groove: Hip Hop and Contemporary Art 2001
Day 13 Day 14 #50DaysTo50
i think i got so heavy remembering
Michael Stewart
all all the other stolen black young men
i didn't want to come here.
hard writing these days....but it's breaking
but I won't
break
pictured: the beautiful Michael Stewart
Day 12 #50DaysTo50
Free Angela
I talked to my friend today
she made
Free Angela And All Political Prisoners
Angela be Free...yeah
Angela be.
the film will soon be on TV
mostly for black folks to see
on BET
what's so clear
revolutionary women
make me
free
Michaela
Angela Davis
I be
pictured: original film logo, Shola Lynch director of Free Angela and All Political Prisoners, in conversation w Angela Davis at FA Harlem Premiere
Day 11 #50daysTo50
be free beautiful black boy body
be free
beautiful
black and boy
body and free
be
free
if i had a son i would name him
Jordan Trayvon Sean Amadou Michael Stewart Emmett for short
a short list from a long history
of black boy bodies
stolen, clipped, boosted, ripped off, ripped out, torn off, torn away
from
mothers and fathers and friends and they people
they people
we the people under the beautiful black boy bodies
we be wailing
we be raging and be wailing and trying to
be ha
beautiful ka
trying to be
free
i talked about juror #8 today on tv
and she said she didn't see
race
she didn't see
race
but race sho do see you black girl #8 ha
it see you
race
but she didn't see ka
and the burden be
and the burden still be too heavy not to see
young black girl #8
i see, i see
i see i will enter another decade with another
beautiful black boy corpse hanging from my heart
the burden be too heavy
not to see
my beautiful little Jordan Trayvon Sean Amadou Michael Stewart Emmett for short
doing a haka
all blacks
ha ka ha ka
a warrior dance on they ass
all black
beautiful black boy body be free
ha !
pictured: Bill T Jones by Ruven Afanador
Beyonce doing haka inspired moves from the Maori in New Zealand
Day 10 #50DaysTo50
in 40 Days i will be 50 years of age
ok
i can't remember a time when i didn't
have a glamorous imagination
when i didn't notice clothes and hair and makeup
first
i entered through style
then all else followed
it was my orientation the nonverbal communication
stories were told through clothes and coiffures
stories through style
life in layers
and though i've added to my points of entry
style has sustained
Diana Ross
The Boss
was the one
the one who first defined glamour
for me
when i saw her in Mahogany
i wanted for nothing
every scene every stunning outfit
was on par with the pages I poured over
in Vogue and Bazaar
where we were always gone
missing
The Boss held up to them all
with a little bit more
in all her refinery
she had the tiniest taste
of Bessemer Alabama hot sauce in her mouth
she came from somewhere
deep
and layered
she came from and came up
from the delta
and that baby gives you
a mean mojo
it was Ms Ross who gave me the vision
of what 50 years of age could look like
when I was working with her as a stylist she was in her 50s
we were somewhere on location
this i will never forget
she emerged from the RV
in a black bikini
i audibly gasped
she wasn't that model skinny chic brown waif
i had idolized
she was warmer, rounder, sexier
her skin was smooth and taunt
no way 5 babies
it was not lost on me that she was a super star
and had all the privileges of such
but i'd never seen 50s and utterly glamorous so close up
my mama en em were certainly fine at 50
but Ms Ross was beyond fine
she was still on fire
though I was in my 30s
she burned in me what my 50s could look like
so here i am 40 days away
still thanking Ms Ross
for being so damn boss
pictured: probably the most unforgettable shoot of my entire career.Ms Ross in back home in Mississippi...so black...so beautiful...so boss.
photographed by Ruven Afanador
