While we are celebrating the great glorious highlights of black history, we still have a long way to black liberation. One of our biggest highlights: Mass incarceration. The United States of America has more prisoners than any other country in the world per capita and it is a direct result of racism. The criminalization of black and brown people, which started during slavery, is so ingrained in American culture, it is enumerated in the Constitution’s amendments. There may not be an end in sight to racism but we can beat its systems to get to liberation. In order to beat the systems, we must arm ourselves against the knowledge of how it works. Here are some resources we think could help you get acquainted on the subject.
In 2018, we would like to introduce a new monthly column: How To Fleurish. We want everyone to live their best lives and How To Fleurish is here to help. Wanna learn how to survive music festivals or get better at thrifting? Would you like to become more mindful during meditation or how to start a small garden in your apartment? We understand and in the spirit of thriving, we are here to help. First up: A New Year’s vision board to keep you on track for your goals.
Saying goodbye to our beloved Sapphire Blue hasn’t been easy. We really fell for this color and enjoyed integrating it into the site. But alas, all good things must come to an end and we’re excited to welcome a new color to the family.
Considering the failed expectations of 2017, a color like malachite green signals hope that better is on the horizon. Malachite is one of our favorite stones, as it represents transformation. It is associated with the heart chakra, imagination, and decision making. Green is a healing color, one that is tied to renewal, growth, and harmony.
We know that growth is not always pretty or even easy. With the power of healing green on our side, we are keeping our hearts open to new and enriching experiences. Grow and go green in 2018!
(Photos are not ours; credits can be found by hovering over each picture)
So, you must have noticed that we have been gone for a while. There’s a reason for that. I (Dream) have been on vacation. Not just any vacation, the Welcome to JamRock cruise. Before I get into this, I want to thank TIDAL for this trip of a lifetime. If you were trying to buy my loyalty, it worked because I will never pay for any other service ever. Y’all lit.
So the story about how I won the cruise was a bit sorted. While listening to BAM, TIDAL had a pop-up that said those who listened to Bam enough times would be invited to an album listening party for Damian Marley. I was going to listen to Bam anyway. A few days later, while in DC, I got an email I won tickets to the 40/40 club for the party. I tried to rush home from DC to get to the party on time but I only arrived in the city after 9. Despite everyone telling me I was being stubborn, I still made a mad dash to the party and I barely made it. I had pretty much missed Damian Marley and the whole party but I took photos to post under a hashtag because hell, at least I was in the 40/40 club. I wasn’t really thinking about the cruise promotion because who the hell wins a cruise? But a TIDAL rep reached out to me to enter me in the contest and bing bang boom, I won! So now, the story begins.
This cruise was designed for reggae lovers. And basically, I had the time of my life.
We’re not really the lovey-dovey types but even we have to admit, fallen leaves and falling temperatures make us feel like falling in love or at least, listening to music that makes us feel loved. Here’s a playlist for the lover in you to help you fall in love with this week, Fleurish femmes.
[Trigger Warning: This letter contains graphic descriptions some readers might find personally disturbing. Discretion is advised.]
It’s your senior year of college and you are confused. I apologize that I cannot assure you any relief in the coming months or years but I know how you feel. You feel trapped. You feel scared. But most importantly, after a lifetime of defiance, you are actually feeling the pressures of an unjust society and “the real world” in your life. You may not know this but you soon become a statistic albeit not one that may occur to you right now. My dear, you will be sexually harassed.
It won’t be at work, it won’t be at school. It is somewhere you almost always lets your guard down, in favor of relaxation. It will be on the bus, at your bus stop. And it won’t be someone you suspect or can easily avoid, like a leering business man or that guy with the ponytail that makes an effort to sit next to you whenever he sees you. It will be the bus driver. Not just any bus driver, the “nice” one who sits and talks with you about poetry and politics. Like most predatory men, he hid behind a façade of kindness to gain your trust before trying to take advantage. To you, his compliments mean nothing but unbeknownst to you, he takes your uncomfortable polite smile as sexual interest, not as the manners you are accustomed to showing people of older age.
The incident will be Labor Day weekend. You will be wearing a miniskirt, perfectly suited for the hot weather that accompanies the final days of Atlanta summer. He will feign interest and try to make conversation while you wait for your mom to pick you up. He will pretend he is being watched or listened to and push you further away from the crowd. In all the peculiarity, you will follow but not by choice but because he is pushing you. He is bigger and stronger, 6 feet tall by estimate. You are 5 feet 2. You will be perplexed. And once everyone is out of sight and earshot, that is when the ordeal will begin.
The next part is the hardest part to write, little me, because the violation that ensued will never quite feel like it wasn’t violent. When you think of it, you will close your eyes, trying to erase the feelings of his hands on your body. You will pause when you talk about it, trying to recenter yourself and reacquaint yourself with reality. You will need a moment, deep breaths just as I needed when I wrote this and later when I typed it. It will stay with you, like a stain or bruise. You will remind yourself that now is the easy part. It happened but it is over. But not for you, not yet.
He will suddenly position himself behind you. Kiss his toothless mouth to your head and cheek. Then, he will press his penis into your back, a move you will gag over later. His hands, like a viper, will move under your blouse and try to move under your skirt. His hands will squeeze as they reach your breast.
During the first few seconds of the ordeal, you will freeze. Olivia Benson of Law & Order SVU says this is normal. You will feel like you never freeze, especially during critical moments like this. The truth is, though, you did because you are blaming yourself. In your mind, you should have said you have a boyfriend. You should have questioned him more. You shouldn’t have been so polite. You should have screamed. You should scream now.
Instead, you fight. You try to push his hands off of you, you attempt to move away from him. You gear your elbow back to defend yourself. But he is stronger than you. You will blame yourself more and more. Do not worry, it will end almost as soon as it started but not before another one of his disgusting puckers hit your head. You silently continue to blame yourself even after it is all over. Let me assure you, just as Olivia Benson assures the victims, this was not your fault. No matter what you may have done, you did what you could. You did what you felt necessary to survive. And you did. You survived.
In my humble opinion, what saves this entire ordeal is what you did next. Instead of carrying it in shame, you tell. You share the story on Twitter, on your Snapchat, much to the dismay of your then kinda-sorta beau. You call your friends. You text them. You tear the veil of silence so many end up carrying. That is your saving grace. Some semblance of self reinforced your decision making here. I want to thank you for this. Your voice, our voice almost completely shed the burden of blame. It saved me. It saved us.
In the coming months after the attack, you will not call what happened to you ‘harassment’. In your eyes, it was nothing short of assault. It wasn’t an inappropriate stare or a knee touch with a lewd suggestion. It was an intentional, sexually motivated, non-consensual physical attack to your person that left you feeling violated and vulnerable in the worst way. You were preyed upon, you were targeted. Some people might attempt to ‘correct’ you on this but do not let this deter you. This experience didn’t happen to them– it happened to you. You have a right to call it as you see it.
The one criticism we will carry is the choice not to report it. You definitely know he deserved reprimand. But out of a strange sense of racial obligation and with your own guilt and victim blaming bias, you hesitate. You think, who will believe you? You were wearing a mini skirt. You didn’t stop him from moving you away from the crowd. You didn’t scream. Who will believe you? You settle on not reporting it but it leaves an odd taste in your mouth. After all, you can still feel his hands on you. Even now. It is the decision I struggle to grapple with but I recognize that you had a lot to deal with. You didn’t need the added stress of a report, a follow up investigation. An emotionally abusive ex, a cheating boyfriend, launching a media platform plus Dr. Barthlow’s & Dr. Welch’s classes and volunteering. You had a lot on your plate. I understand your choice to not pursue the issue. But it will still keep you up at night. Especially since your brother’s friend admits she only narrowly escaped his claws. You will wonder how many other girls he has and/or will hurt. If he continues to use the ruse of an innocuous bus driver. If you could have saved any other girls from your pain. Understand this: this choice is not an easy one for anyone. It is alright not to report it. It is alright.
I know you are wondering why I am writing this. To tell you the truth, I struggled with this decision. No, you don’t owe your story to anyone for whatever reason. No, you don’t have to justify anything to anyone. That is not what this is. This is… catharsis. This is a release. This is speaking truth to power. This is your hammer swinging against a wall of bullshit patriarchy, out there in the real world and even inside you. This is a declaration, a line in the sand. But even this is secondary to the real reason: this is a message of unknown strength to who you are and who you will be.
Yes, right now, you are hurt. You are vulnerable and scared. Rightfully so. But at the end of the day, you are resilient and powerful beyond your wildest dreams. Know this. There isn’t a man who can stop you from anything. His hands will haunt you but it is over. You are past it. You have survived. You will always survive. Above all else, remember that.
With the utmost love and respect,
As the seasons change, we like to stay prepared to strike the right pose. Dressed in shades of our favorite fall colors, strutting is the name of the game. We’re into silhouettes that make a statement as soon as you walk in the room: capes with tall leather boots, (faux) fur and/or vinyl in fun colors, rich hues, and pantsuits that pack a punch. This fall, it’s all about stepping into your power and being as fearless with style as only you know how. Strike a power pose and go conquer the world.
“Keep Your Head Up, Keep Your Head Up. Whenever this life gets tough, you gotta fight with your homegirls standing your left and your right. True blue and tight like glue.”
Living Single is probably my favorite sitcom ever. If you’re unfamiliar with the iconic sitcom, it’s based around four black women and their two male housemates, living together in their Brooklyn brownstone. Successful, black and living in a non gentrified Brooklyn, the women were inspirational to me. They were black women who had fruitful careers, real conversations with each other and a friendship that could not be broken, no matter the circumstances the world threw at them. They were grown but they were still just figuring it all out with the help of their friends (albeit sometimes unwarranted). Just as their creator, Yvette Lee Bowser, had intended, the foursome’s interpersonal dynamics was real, intense, frank and funny. My sophomore year of college, I almost planned my entire schedule around its showings on TVOne. That’s how much I love Living Single.
But despite my exhaustive efforts, it seemed that I could not recreate those same relationships in real life. In terms of friends, I was mostly alone. I had friends but I found myself profoundly detached from them, no matter how close I believed they should be. I was infamous for falling out with best friends. Truth be told, I didn’t think I needed them when it was all said and done. I rationalized, “I came into this world alone and caskets don’t have bunk beds.” Their presence was never a given so I learned how to be alone. I supposed I wasn’t as invested as I thought but either way, it didn’t really matter to me. It wasn’t until I found myself truly alone that I changed my mind. Continue reading
Don’t Play | Louis York
I’ve been somewhat of a recluse lately. There are various reasons why but in the interest of saving time, I’ll spare you. However, during my little hermit time, I was listening/watching BET Soul (which I’m convinced used to be VH1 Soul but feel free to correct me) when this little jam played. It was so enchanting to me, at the time, I even waited four more hours to catch the name. I can’t tell if it’s the lyrics, the piano or the beat which have infatuated me but overall, it feels like it was made to dance on a club couch. It single-handedly made me want to get up, do up my hair and my Rooch lipstick from Karreuche’s ColourPop collection and put on my sequin skirt to dance the night away. I’ve already come up with video treatments in my head for the IG slide thing to this song! P.S. Karreuche’s ColourPop collab is back– I personally recommend Rooch and Glo Up but I hear Saigon is really pretty on darker skin tones as well.
(Images not ours– click through to source)
Growing up, I had a camp counselor whose nails of the week were downright… incredible. They were longer than anyone really had use for, some would be twisted into loops and they were decked out in Swarovski crystals and dollar bills. It was gaudy but nails ARE a well known artistic expression in the hood. It’s my personal opinion nail art is one of the purest forms of femme artistic expression. While I admired my camp counselor for her boldness in nail design, I could never do the same because my life is spent at a computer. But these contemporary nail artists are far more accommodating to my style and nail length. Now, I don’t have acrylic nails and I would hate to ruin my beautiful nail beds by getting some but I wouldn’t mind some decorated press ons. Artists shown here: KitOffKilter, NinaNailedIt, Madeline Poole, Primping Ain’t Easy Continue reading
(Photo via Pinterest)
Like every other little girl, I used to dream about getting married. And when I dream, I dream big. I’m talking 3.5, vs1, pear shaped, near colourless brilliant cut diamond on a 14K white gold band married. Cupcakes with initials married. Three tier cake, flower canopy, a peonies, calla lilies & roses bouquet with a dessert bar and me in a long, dramatic white dress with a train and a cathedral veil in front of all my friends and family with candles and fireworks married. My husband– who in my head looks like something like Trevante Rhodes– in a white tuxedo and a calla lily boutonniere bawling from my beauty married. I have dreamt about being married. (OK, I didn’t dream all that– Pinterest filled in some details.)
And it would be lit, a dream, truly. But the reality is… I’m too dark skinned to get married.