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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

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

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

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

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