98 Percent (75/90)

I'm swamped tonight, and I haven't much time or energy for a whole lot. Which doesn't mean that I have nothing to share. I do.

I'm finally finishing up my 12-page campaign critique for Dove's Campaign For Real Beauty. Which, for the most part, I love. Dove's mission: To make women feel more beautiful every day by widening the definition of beauty and inspiring them to take great care of themselves, is one that I can totally stand behind.

For the past four days I've been reading poring through the  research of The Real Truth About Beauty study, in which Dove sought to explore what beauty means to women and why.

And the findings, though somewhat expected considering the overwhelmingly homogeneous portrayal of beauty in pop culture, were heartbreaking.

Dove collected data from a global study of 3,200 women aged 18-64.

One of the statistics that has been swirling in my head since I read it this weekend is that only 2 percent of women felt comfortable choosing the word "beautiful" to describe their looks. And I was disturbed by that fact until I wondered more about it and became angry.

Not being comfortable describing one's looks as beautiful is not the same as not feeling beautiful.

Comfort, in this case, is an external factor. It is my assumption that only 2 percent of women choose the word beautiful to describe their looks because 1. they look similar to what is what we are quick to call "beautiful" by societal standards, or 2. they are not afraid of the judgement of those that don't stand behind their personalized ideal of beauty.

And both of those things are great. But, the other 98 percent of us have work to do. We can only sit around and wait to be represented for so long. We must represent, proudly.

 One of the things I really appreciate about Dove's Campaign For Real Beauty is that it calls on real women to redefine and widen the definition of beauty.

So it's up to us. And time is of the essence.

Excited Indecision (50/90)

My sister wanted me to get a tattoo today on the fly.

I don't think that's going to happen. Four-plus years of thinking can't boil down to a snap decision. Well, it could and it has before, but that's now what I want now.

But if I do decide to get one, my sister wants to be there. It will be a bonding moment for us. I was there with her, along with my godsister, when she got her first. I watched as flipped through the design book, asked us for our opinions nervously and then teetered on her decision before finally sitting down in the chair. No turning back.

But I've never been as spontaneous as my sister. Especially when the decision holds permanency. She's tried to get me to just make a decision on the tattoo thing for years. But, I can't. Not in a hurry, anyway.

And I'm sure that I frustrate her  because I so often entertain the idea. I love tattoos. Well, let me be clear, I love thoughtful, artful tattoos. And when she called me yesterday with fresh ink on her ankles, I was upset that she didn't invite me to go along. But that's just the thing, for her, it was a snap decision.

But I've entertained the idea for years. Never in a rush to decide. Because, like with many things in life, I think that I'll just feel when the time is right and when it is I'll know without a doubt what I want to be permanently etched on my body.

Until then, I'll keep admiring the ink on others and asking intrusively for the stories behind it. And I'll keep frustrating my sister with my excited indecision. Because I'm of the creed that there should be a story, or a compelling reason.

And so when there is, then I will be inked. And it may just end up being spontaneous after all.

Finding Me In The Media, Part 1: Natural Hair (47/90)

The influence of the media is powerful. Especially in our perceptions and attitudes about appearance. It seems natural to want to see a vision of ourselves represented in the media. It serves as some sort of validation, without which we too often  go to great lengths to conform to whatever it is that is represented and appreciated,  at the cost of the beauty that is our individuality.

I've decided to begin a search for myself in the media. I'm curious to see what aspects of my appearance are represented in the media, and which aren't and explore reasons why.

First up: Natural Hair.

I've pulled ads of  several ads of people with natural hair from two issues of Essence magazine, a publication that targets African-American women. I expected that it would be easy to find representations of natural hair in an African-American publication. And it was.

                                              

                                                  

Of course, there are still some issues. This ad, for example, is full of irony. Mizani is a black hair care line. In this ad, the featured product line is for natural hair. Only this model has a head full of weave, with a curly, kinky texture. What is that saying? To me it screams that real natural hair isn't good enough, not even for a natural hair product line. 

Then I searched in five different mainstream magazines. And here's what I found.

I'm pleased with the amount of ads featuring people with natural hair, but  again, I expected what I found there. It's a black publication and the advertisers tailor their ads for their target market, which are African-American females. 

As for the five mainstream media magazines that I searched and found only two ads with natural hair, I'm disappointed.  I think it's sad that I had to search several magazines and found only 2 non-weave, natural hair images. And I'm sure there are more, if I search. But should I have to search, becomes the  question. 

But this is only my experience on finding me in the media, what's yours? 

An Uphill Battle (46/90)

From the start of the day, I haven't quite felt like myself. That isn't exactly true, I've felt pretty good. I was surprisingly chipper and excited to be back on campus today after a wonderful Spring Break in Tampa that I wasn't quite ready to be done with.

But, I struggled this morning when I looked in the mirror. I fiddled with the hair for far to long, whether I should pull it up or leave it hanging and I just couldn't get it to look right or figure out what the problem was.

Then I fiddled with my earrings, trying on three different pairs before I went back to my big basic studs. This odd fidgeting happened all day, I found myself pulling at my clothes and feeling a little uncomfortable for no good reason.

But we all have these days, I think. Just off days where it's hard to even pinpoint the issue.

And then tonight, I watched this video that I made for my social media project that I've been worried about ever since I made it. I knew that I didn't want to see it before I made it, but of course I watched it anyway.



And I cried.

Which, although it's no secret that things like this tend to embarrass me, is not my typical reaction. I think it was just a big dose of reality for me. I tend to be avoidant at times, and this has been no different with my struggles with my appearance. I've been in denial about my weight, refusing to get on the scale, and refusing to deal with the awkwardness of my hair now. And I think the reason this killed me so much is that I've been trying to tell myself that I'm okay. That my weight is okay, that my hair looks good, that I look okay.

 But what I saw in that video is just not okay with me.

Thankfully, I'm ready now to deal with this. Which for me means figuring out what will make it okay. Or how to be okay with it. External validation will never be enough. I've got to find a way, within myself, to really be okay with it or to do what it takes to make it okay.

The one good thing that came of this though, is that I know I'm in the right place with the writing that I'm pursuing, and the social media project. This is something I struggle with, and may always struggle with. But, the feedback that I've gotten so far on writing about the struggle, is that other people do too.

And I've always wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself, to share openly, the way that other people have with me, the things that make us human and relatable.

The first step I'm taking in being okay, in gaining power over this struggle, is finding little things to celebrate. I'd love for you to join me here.

Tomorrow, I'm celebrating with a post (and pictures) of natural hair in advertising.

Invisible Fence (39/90)

I’ve made promises that I’d start wearing my hair big. Because several people have asked. But, more importantly because I want to wear it big, in its natural state, which was the whole point of the chop.

I’ve made excuse after excuse, even going so far as to say that that I feel restricted because of where I live and the lack of diversity therein.  And I even feel silly typing that. Because freedom is not predicated on one’s environment, although my perception has had me convinced me otherwise.

I thought for sure that it would be no big deal for me to wear my hair big here in Tampa. This city is truly a melting pot. I knew that there wouldn’t be the questions and the comments that I’m used to at home.

           

And on Saturday when I wore my hair big at the art festival, there weren’t. Only because no one was worrying about me. Or my hair. They were going on about their day, the way that people do.

But I fussed over it all day, and my Mom kept encouraging me to let it be. And I did, because I had no other option at the time, but I pulled it back before I went out to meet friends later that night.

The more that I type, the sillier I feel about actually having such a hang-up. But this is real. So, I’ll continue.

I’m kind of a control freak, and that manifests itself in every area of my life. Including the way that I wear my hair. Next week I’ll be a year natural, and one thing that I can say in retrospect, is that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I don’t regret the chop. At all. But, it’s taken me a year just to adjust to the newness. And I can’t say that I’m fully adjusted. It’s odd to have a totally new head of hair. One that I couldn’t predict or prepare for after having my hair relaxed for longer than I’ve been styling my own hair.  

Before the chop, I had my hair down to a science, no pun intended. But, I knew how to work it, how to get it to do what I wanted. I even had certain hairstyles for certain outfits. It was the way that I perfected my image.

And now, I am lost. Things don’t match up in my eyes.  But I guess that’s okay. Because I know that we don’t see the same things anyways. I’ll never see what you see when you look at me. That’s my reality, and the reality of many I presume.

That in mind, it’s foolish of me to try to control what others see when they look at me. Or to blame my fear and discomfort on my environment. Or to hand anyone my freedom.

I can’t control this hair. And already, I’ve grown tired of trying.

It took me several years to decide to transition from relaxed to natural. I endured 8 months of said transition, and decided in a moment of bravado in New York City to chop. I’ve begun adjusting now after this first year of naturalness.

All that’s left is to let it be. Which for me, of course, will be a process. 

Conscious Or Confident (22/90)

Today was an incredibly self-conscious day for one reason only: The hair.

For the first time in several months I wore the hair free, with no headband to hold it back or stretch the curls. I didn’t even bring a just-in-case headband, which was a bold move for me.

“You know why I don’t do this, right,” I said to my sister as we sat at dinner after she told me that she liked it.

“I can’t control it,” I said.

It has a mind of its own.

I spent the whole 40 minute drive to school this afternoon hoping that it would look the way that it did when I jumped out of the shower, looked in the mirror and decided to just let it be.

And it was. But, by the end of the night, it was not the hair that I was confident in when I looked in the mirror this morning.

***

There is a moment in childhood, once we are outside of the bubble of our homes that we realize that we are different. That our story is not always a shared story.

Mine wasn’t the day that I was called the “n” word as I waited to join the game of foursquare on the playground by a girl that I’d hoped would be my friend. Or the day that I realized I was the only kindergartner without a homemade lunch, rather $2.00 in a Ziploc bag in my backpack.

After having adjusted to the stares and requests to touch my hair from kids who had probably never seen a black girl before, mine came on a particular day in the classroom.

“Your hair stinks,” a little boy said as he sat at the desk behind me.

I had freshly relaxed hair, which means that day was probably a Monday after a Saturday visit to the salon. It was silky and straight with curls at the ends. After salon visits I was confident. I’m sure that I had been flipping my hair, twirling the ends and whipping my head around all day to be sure that everyone noticed the hair.  

I don’t remember what I did or said back, if anything.  I remember being so upset that the teacher took me outside to talk. She struggled as she tried to comfort me.

“You’re hair is so pretty today,” she said. “Let me smell”

She told me it didn’t stink of course. But she was lying. It smelled.  It smelled of chemicals that are not familiar to everyone’s nostrils. But as young as I was, after one Saturday a month in the salon, it was a smell that I no longer noticed.

I went back into the classroom and was still. I stopped flipping my hair, twirling the ends and shaking my head. The confidence I’d walked in with that day was gone.

***

This was one of the first of many reminders that I did not fit. And the very thing that made me feel like I did was the very thing that reminded others that I did not.  

This was not a black or white issue though.

I always kept my hair long and relaxed. 

I learned to anticipate the arguments from black girls that told me it that it was not mine. There were too many times that one would put her hand through my hair as if she was just enjoying it only to give a tug at the end that she’d hoped would reveal a lie.

I learned to keep it up in an inconspicuous bun except on special occasions. I learned to keep the curls pulled back with headbands.

I’ve chosen confidence over consciousness. The less I could get people to look, the more confident I would feel.

But despite my experiences, that choice is one I required of myself.  It’s one that I’ve grown tired of making.

Because there is no winning in this culture with this hair, unless the winning is inside of me. 

Obsessions (20/90)

We're 20 days into the  90 in 90 challenge now. On day one, 20 seemed like it would never come. And 90 is still very far away, but I've settled in now. A few hours each day are reserved for writing, and this will continue, even beyond the 90 days.  It takes three weeks to create a habit, tomorrow is day 21.

What I didn't know on day one is that the writing wouldn't get easier. It actually gets harder because after about a week or two you've written all of the easy, surface stuff.  All of the stuff that keeps you from actually writing.

And then what?

I've been asked, over and over what kinds of stories do I want to tell?  What will the blog become? What's the theme?  These questions stumped me. I didn't know, I just wanted it to come from a real place.

Without realizing it, I've been writing about appearance and self-image quite a bit. This is what I'm interested in, these are the stories I want to tell, for now. I know this is right on because just thinking about it excites me, and I'm not easily excitable.

 For the first time in 20 days, I've already got plans for the next few posts. And, I'll be building a social media project around this idea. I'll be asking people to share their stories of their struggles with their appearance, self-image, and the ways that they use their appearance to express their individuality.

But, it wouldn't be right of me to ask for such openness and honesty from people without doing the same.

***
I looked through a ton of pictures of myself in preparation for this blog post. There are two things that I looked at first in each picture. First, my weight. It is constantly fluctuating, and it makes me cringe most of the time. Second, my hair. Most of the pictures I have were intentionally taken on good hair days.

These are major obsessions with my appearance: weight and hair.

These things don't just happen though. Tomorrow, I'm going to start dealing with the first.

***
I've got a doctors appointment in the morning. And while I should be  nervous about it for different reasons there's one thing circling in my mind. The scale. I've chosen not to worry about my weight for now, because I've got no more room for worry.

But, first thing in the morning I've got to get on the scale and face what I've been avoiding. I already know the range of thoughts and emotions I'll face, which still leaves me ill-prepared.

Weight has been an obsession in my life. For as long as I can remember. And, my trying not to obsess, is actually obsession. *Sigh*

But tomorrow, I'll be open about why. And, I'll share some of the pictures that make me cringe.