My Photos Tell A Story

Usually, I have these long, drawn out blog posts about identity or weight or the usual struggle. We are nearing the end of 2017, gearing up for the new year. A fresh start as I like to call it. But, for right now, I’d like for you to enjoy this photoset as I have enjoyed creating it with my #BlackGirlMagic team.

ELOQII allowed me to choose two items. I searched high and low until I stumbled upon this one. I’ve always been a fan of the vintage glam look. The kind of look that you’d imagine in the Great Gatsby. Which is my fave, by the way. Of course, women who look like me weren’t the pillars of those stylish times. They were usually white, thin and most likely, weren’t Muslim.

Dress: ELOQUII

I like to take concepts and make them my own. Make them modern. I want them to tell a story. What does each photo say to you?

The day of shooting, I was very tired and had just started my period. Score! I had wanted to buy a pair of shoes to match the outfit better, but hadn’t had the money, so I found the ones I’m wearing at the bottom of my shoe bin from two years ago and made it work.

I told my makeup artist, Madinah, that I wanted makeup with red and blue hues.

Makeup: Madinah Muhammad

We picked up Tiarra, the photographer, then drove all the way to Ann Arbor to Graffiti Alley.

Ann Arbor is a suburban city with lots of white folk. I was a Muslim gal wearing an award show dress and face beat to the gawds. As, we made our way to the location I got lots and lots of stares. I wanted to ask, “Have none of you ever seen a celeb in real life before?” Instead I sashayed down the sidewalk. LOL.

When on set, it takes me a moment to get into the ‘modeling’ zone. The first photos are usually trash because I am trying to get a feel for the ensemble, the photographer, and the mood.

Model: Kostya Dombr

What helps is taking on a character. Any character that fits what I want to portray. For this golden dress, I imagined myself as a confident yet sassy ‘Roaring 20’s’ speakeasy owner. The kind that smoked cigarettes from fancy, bedazzled holders and wore feather boas on Friday nights. She probably knew how to use a shotgun. She was feminine yet strong and hadn’t taken no shit.

After we took photos with the graffiti, we went back towards the car. We stumbled upon an old-style looking theatre. My friend said, “OMG. You gotta take some photos here.”

We took some more amazing shots at Michigan Theatre.  

Then my friend, pointed through the glass door. “Yo, we need to get that guy inside to take a photo with you.”

“Go ask,” I said. “That’d be dope to have a male model.”

Minutes later, my friend emerged with Kostya, who did an amazing job.

Location: Michigan Theatre

When I model, it’s all about expression and going with the flow. I love how I can just be. I feel most confident in front of the camera, creating these amazing images that will forever be floating around and inspiring others to continue to create visual masterpieces. Create content, written, painted, drawn, or digital.

Just keep creating.  

xoxo,

Leah V

Inclusion: The Perception of Perfection in Islam

Photos Courtesy of Eric Puschak

Recently, I’ve been politely shunned because of the kinds of videos I make and the kinds of things I say aren’t ‘halal’ enough for Islamic audiences. I’ve also been outright told by another Islamic organization that I “don’t meet the needs for their current student body” and was denied a speaking engagement. Times like these I want to move further away from so-called Islamic organizations and communities.

Because I talk about bikini waxing, I’m not Muslim enough.

Because I talk about dating, I’m not Muslim enough.

Because I wear tight jeans and turbans, I’m not Muslim enough.

Ever since I was a young, Black Muslimah, I’ve always felt displaced. No matter how hard I tried to outwardly appear Muslim and fit in, it was never enough to just believe. To the Arab-speaking Muslims, I wasn’t Arab so I was immediately dismissed. They wouldn’t give me salaams even though I’d offer it first or embrace me like they would other Arabs. I was ignored, pushed to the side. When I was in the Black Muslim communities, I hadn’t covered my face with niqab or wore black all the time, so to them I wasn’t Muslim enough because I was chasing the Dunya.

I’d go to the mosque seeking spiritual cleansing just to be stared down for wearing pants or bright colors or nail polish. I’d been told that my prayers weren’t going to be accepted. Basically, why are you even praying was what I heard. I always thought that in Islam, you come as you are.        

When I think of Islam, I imagine acceptance and openness and beauty and a sense of calming. Instead, I am met with opposition, fakeness, sexism, and criticism.   

I’ve been invited to speak at the University of Ottawa next month about Islam and feminism. I was so shocked that Muslims at the collegiate level wanted me to speak about such a taboo topic. I thought that I’d reach out to other Islamic organizations as well and propose to lecture on topics like prejudice, sexism, and feminism within the communities.  

It’s 2017 and with all the community based campaigns that have been going on about tolerance and acceptance, I thought that perhaps some change had occurred.

I’ve emailed about 60 organizations. Not one has accepted my invitation to speak. Will my Black face tarnish the other male speakers or the perfect Middle-eastern or Indian hijabi speakers? Will my turban, red lipstick, and nail polish create a frenzy at your panel discussion?

It’s funny how I’m too risqué for certain Muslims. What uproar do you see when DJ Khaled partners with Ciroc or when French Montana was dating a Kardashian but was openly fasting during the month of Ramadan or how Nouman Ali Khan was playing the field but still keeping it halal? How interesting that communities want perfect, virgin Muslim women to speak, be in the forefront, but men are judged on an entire different level.

The truth is, I don’t belong. And, I’m not sure if I should be sad about it or liberated. I’m too out there. Too opinionated. Too real for the organizations who like keep up appearances. How sad that we can’t include all Muslims in discussions. Include all Muslims in community campaigns and events. As a Muslim woman, why do other organizations welcome me with open arms? The LGBTQ community, the body positive community, random artists, and loners and the small amount of Muslim sisters who rock with me. With no judgment. They care about my character more than my appearance as a human being.

As for me, I’m going to reach out to other organizations that can handle and will celebrate a fierce, Black Muslim girl.

xoxo,

Leah V

One-Year Divorce Anniversary

I knew this day was coming. Just not so soon. I remember the moments. All of the moments leading up to the day where I would no longer be a wife, but a divorcee. A branded woman. Someone with more baggage than she already had. Someone that men would try to come at now because she was fresh out of a situation to see who could claim the floating prize. Tame me.

All have tried. Not one succeeded.

When I was living with my ex during the divorce process, I used to sit in the backroom, that was once our room, alone. At this point, I’d made him retreat to the lumpy couch. That was the least of his punishment for doing what he’d done, was still doing.

On said couch, he used to talk to other bitches on Facetime. Yes, I said bitches. Because that’s what a woman is when she knowingly enters into a relationship with a man whose married.

He’d have his little earbuds in, giggling and laughing at the side girl’s jokes.

I wanted to laugh, too.

I knew it was a female because of the way the tone of his voice changed. It was the same way he used to speak to me when we were young and in love. When he was trying to semi-court me. Before I just became a waste of ten years. Something disposable. A working vagina to him.

I’d lay in bed with only the thin door separating the both of us and not cry. He’d made me cry so much in the first few days of the initial process that I had used my allotted number of tears for the entire year. So, I’d NOT cry in the dark. I just laid there as he giggled with some other lady that was taking my place and thought about how fucked up that was. How fucked up that I thought I was safe from being cheated on like the rest of the women in my family and friend circle. That, somehow, I had the magic touch and that a calamity so great would never touch someone like me. How fucked that he could’ve at least gave me the decency of a human being who’d he’d known and grew up with for a decade, been to hell and back, to at least talk to that ‘other woman’ privately at his friend’s house, work, maybe, or his car. The same car that I helped him get that now she’d be driving in.   

It’s safe to say that a year later, I’m still bitter.

And, I don’t mean bitter in a messy way. A way that has me stalking the alleged girl’s Instagram page or calling him late at night or randomly popping up at his mama’s doorstep and beating the first bitch ass that tries me. But bitter in the fact that I feel as though he hadn’t gotten what he deserved. During the divorce, I was too nice. Too understanding. Yeah, I had my moments of complete insanity where I said some really fucked shit, but I didn’t do him like the black women do in the movies. Like my mama had done.  

He forced me to make him lunch. Pack it when he went to work. Wash his clothes. He tried to solicit me for sex, but I told him that I’d rather sleep with a hobo than ever touch him again. Yeah, that’s the kind of stranger that he turned into. An emotionally abusive stranger. I didn’t take his iPad and smash it to smithereens. I didn’t blast him on the internet. I didn’t bust the windows out his car. Bleach his clothes. Toss them on the porch. Harass his family. Harass the new girl. I stayed quiet. I stayed calm. I took the high road. Why? Because he wanted me to wild out, so that he’d have more ammunition to claim that’s why I was the ‘bad guy’. That’s why he did what he did because I couldn’t control my anger. And, I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of being able to talk more shit about me with his knucklehead posse. He’d already spewed enough one-sided lies. Playing the victim as usual.

One day, we were halfway into the divorce proceedings and he was getting ready for work. I was in the kitchen making a meal. Playing house in a house that was burning fast. He sat down and I placed his plate in front of him. I handed him a napkin and then poured him some juice. He looked at me with that awkward smile he had. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re getting divorced,” he began. “You’re being too nice. I’m starting to think you’ve poisoned this food.”

I smiled an uncomfortable smile. At that point, he was a strange man sitting in my kitchen. “All the shit you’ve done to me… If I were going to poison you, I’d have already done it.”

***

Last night, I was scrolling through Instagram since it’s like my very private yet public diary. I went back to the posts of last year around the time I was officially divorced. Officially moved out on my own. Officially confused and stunned. No job, no insurance, or income. Just a bit of savings. He left me with nothing. No alimony. Nothing.

One of the photos, I openly express a looming mental breakdown. On another, I’m celebrating my first Huffington Post feature. On another, I talk about hope. During that week, those following months, I had to pull myself together for photoshoots, for events, and projects. Although, I was going through deep pain and self-hatred, I still had to work and keep my brand going. I still had to blog and work my social media sites. I still had to show my face and let people know that I wasn’t all the way dead. That although I felt like shit, inside was a glimmer of me still in there buried somewhere.

I was told by many divorcees that it’d take me years to get over, completely heal from the trauma of divorce. Having someone there but not anymore. The familiarity being disrupted. The meanness that was so easily given in those last months. I told them all that it wasn’t me. That I was going to bounce back quick. I was going to work twice as hard to not fall into the category of the ‘usual’ damaged divorcee.  

And, I’m not going to lie. I had my days, still do when anger and resentment creeps up. When I have those woe-is-me moments that I just can’t kick. When I ask questions that I will never get the answers to. But, overall, I cannot deny the work that I’ve put in. The glow up that I’ve received one-year post divorce. It would be ungrateful to even skim over that.

I’ve accomplished more than I have creatively and professionally. I’ve been featured in newspapers, magazines, countless blogs and websites. I’ve been flown to NY. Modeled in LA, London, and Paris. I finished my memoir. Landed an agent for said memoir! My book will be on bookstore shelves. Mark my word. You’re witnessing the makings of a NY Times Bestseller. I’ve partnered with large name clothing companies. I won the Gilda Award. I’ve ate good food. Traveled to distant lands. I’ve got lost. Fallen on my face. Lost friends. Explored my body. Gotten stronger.

In twelve short months, I’ve done a lot.

Yes, today is the day that my divorce was finalized, but there is so much more to me than that.

So, here’s to another 12 months of growth, prosperity, and change.

xoxo,

Leah V

How Well Do You Know Your Muslim Friend? (Pt. 1)

Leah V. pulled four of her random friends to have a seat on the orange couch for part one of the "How Well Do You Know Your Muslim friend?" segment..

Prior to the recording, none of them were told what they were being filmed for.

Big thanks to Lala Trips, Brian Peck, RV Mendoza, and Remus Roman far chatting with me. 

Don't forget to follow me @ LVernon2000

Taking Back the True Meaning of Beauty

Leah V. opens up about how she became a blogger, representation in mainstream media, and redefining beauty standards.

IG: Lvernon2000

Naturally Flyy Detroit

This is my 2nd year being asked by Naturally Flyy Detroit to run not one—but two ‘Headwrap’ workshops at their annual Naturally Flyy Detroit Presents: A Natural Hair Experience.

All photos taken by Madinah M.

I’ve always seen Etta and Jenn (the founders of Naturally Flyy Detroit) around the city at different cool events and their aura, their energy is none less than can be described as pure radiance. They’re the kind of Black, Amazonian queens that you just have to meet in person to bask in their sisterly glory.

So when they asked me to participate, I said ‘yes’ on the spot.

I get asked to endorse a lot of the things. But I think in these days and times, it’s important to ‘believe’ in what you’re endorsing. And as you gals (and guys) know, I have to believe in what I endorse. It’s gotta have that ‘umph’ factor that I’m looking for when collaborating with anyone, really.

Why I rock with the Naturally Flyy Movement? Well, it’s a dope and unapologetic movement for not just Black women, but ALL women to be just as Flyy as they want to be, in whatever shape or form.

In the age of everything is cut, snipped, and lightened, we ARE hungry for change and enlightenment.

And they bring it. 

There’s this old-school notion that sistahs can’t get together to support one another. And at one point, I believed it. It was always that one (or in my case, many) Black females who didn’t ‘like’ me or thought I was ‘doing too much’ because I’m confident in who I am and could care less about the thoughts of others.

They believed I should’ve conformed to the normalcy which is society.

#TellHimBoyBye

When my friend and I were invited to the 1st Naturally Flyy event, all that changed. As I walked through the very crowded corridors of Java City with my huge colorful turban on, I got smiling faces and bright eyes.

They screamed, ‘Yaaaaassss, queen,” “Lookin good, girl,” and “Tell me how you wrapped that turban!”

And They embraced me with hugs and kisses. Love.

Posing with Naturalista/Blogger: Naturally Act

That is #BlackGirlMagic people.

Uplifting. Encouraging. Smiling at another beautiful queen. 

Smiles are infectious...

Naturally Flyy just isn’t a natural hair movement. Oh, it is SO much more. It’s an open forum, it’s a community, and it’s love.

They embody empowerment, female entrepreneurship, and sisterhood. 

Keep on rockin’ Etta and Jenn.

The world needs more people like yall in it.

Let's talk about these accessories for a moment. The bracelets and earrings are courtesy of Trois Soeurs : Three Sisters a socially conscious brand working with artisans in West Africa & funding tutors for kids in need. www.troissoeurs.org/shop-1/natural-coconut-earrings

Check them out! They have some dope pieces for modest prices and I will be doing a giveaway with them soon.

Follow me on the Gram! @Lvernon2000

Wardrobe Breakdown:

Turban: Flossy's Suitcase

Shades: Alley & Eye

Jumpsuit and Vest: Target

Shirt: Forever 21

Sandals: Payless

Hollywood In Detroit Gala

Last month, I was contacted by Amanda Bankston who works with several organizations, including Detroit Passport to the Arts. I was referred to her by a friend, Ramona, who owns this fab vintage resale shop in Highland Park. She said that I'd be a great addition to co-hosting their "Hollywood in Detroit" event at the Detroit Institute of Arts.

Any reason I have to dress up and get my face beat, you know I'm there!

Photo courtesy of Grace Liang

A few other local bloggers and fashion enthusiasts joined me on stage to talk about their businesses and their fashion inspirations.

As you can see, I played the fashion curator here, which I was very nervous about. I didn't know there was going to be an actual stage and a real microphone. Haha. I was also given notes with key points to remember, and I have a really bad memory which added to the nervousness. All in all, I didn't eat much before the show, so I was good and most importantly, I didn't vomit!

Right to Left: Grace, Jason, Me, and Ramona

As you all know, I'm in the D (what us natives call Detroit). And there's not a lot of opportunity here for creatives like LA or New York. So it's a definite hustle. Also, finding a genuine support group is also one in a million. Did my ladies come and support? They sure did. I was happy to see my friends and blogger buddies weather the snow storm to come support me at the event. I love yall!

Plus my friend/MUA came to take my pictures. Hehe. She's the only one who can get my good angles.

Rocking the Sephora Matte lippie in red. It's a really great product that doesn't leave your lips too dry like a lot of matte creams do.

Feelin' myself. Ladies (and gents) I suggest you try it out sometime. lol.

Ain't nothing wrong with a little belly jiggle. Yall feel me?

Ensemble Breakdown:

Turban: Joanne's Fabric Store (Yup, I'm crafty.)

Dress, Accessories, and Stole: Forever 21

Long Sheer Outer Dress: Torrid

Flats: Christian Sirano for Payless  

Curvy Trend: Nicki Minaj Collection & Torrid

It's cold in the D! Well, it was chilly in Traverse City, Michigan. My friends and I piled up in a small, white rental car and drove four hours to a rented lake house for a much needed girl's escape.

I feel bad for saying this, but I was looking for some black slacks and somehow, stumbled into Kmart. And as yall know, I have short, wide legs, and no one had anything that fit right. So, I'm in my local Kmart and stumble upon some gems. We've all heard about the Nicki Minaj Collection at Kmart. We might have had some preconceived notions about how her line would be, but I found this sweater in the clearance section that I was delighted to buy.

When I tell you this sweater is everything. It Is EVERYTHANG! Here's why I love it: a nice silhouette, doesn't ride up the back, long sleeves, and the zipper detailing on the sides. It went from the basic sweater look to that Va Va Voom ensemble.

I'm not sure what the Nicki Minaj collection for Kmart will bring for the Spring/Summer 16' but I'll definitely be looking out for any new pieces that I can add to my wardrobe.

Love the zipper detailing. You can actually zip and unzip them.

So now let's go to the second part of my outfit. The jeans! I only own one pair of jeans and they stretch and fit good. Nice length, too. I got those from Burlington. I wanted a darker pair, so I visited my local Torrid. I am obsessed with Torrid. A little pricey, but just hit them with those coupons and you should be good to go.

I bought a skinny jean in regular and it's a size 4. The stretch is nice and I like the length. I've only worn them once, so I'm still trying to 'break them in'. But so far so good. Hooray for Torrid. Hooking up the big booty gals :)

Wardrobe Breakdown:

Shades and Hat: Forever 21

Sweater: Kmart

Jeans: Torrid

Boots: Burlington

Necklace: Claire's

Big Thanks: New Blogging Camera

For those of you who don't know, my refurbished camera from Amazon that I used for blogging and events broke near the end of last year. Samsung wouldn't honor the warranty and the Amazon seller went ghost. For most of us, money is always tight. As I sulked about not having a camera to continue my blog and vlogs, this organization I was working with told me that I should put my creative community to the test: start a GoFundMe page.

Like many others, it is hard to ask for something--anything. You feel weird involving someone in your own problems and issues. Siena (The Void Academy) told me that I had to get used to it. I was an artist and as an artist you create art and people WANT to help you succeed. They do? I pondered. Did the people around me really want to see me have a nice camera to continue creating?

In fact, they did. 

These pictures are the first photo I took with my Sony camera that my community allowed me to purchase. We raised $850 in 30 days. People shared, donated, prayed, and sent good vibes and we made our goal. I was like a kid in a candy store when I went to Best Buy to purchase it. I couldn't have been more happier.

So this post is for every single one of you who put in the work for little ole' me.  

Big thanks to:

Mary Carter, Dana Chase, Susan Cartsonis, Bonnie Culver, Taylor Polites, Siena Oristaglio, Kaylie Jones, Barb Taylor, Samia Bowe, Scott Mitchel, Lauren Stahl, Cynthia Ramsey, Linda Hunt, Zarinah El-Amin, Gregory Fletcher, Suzzane Ohlman, Stephen Gliatto, Shawna Farmer, Camilla Vernon, Nicole April Carter, Nisha Sharma, Jasmine Nicholson, Aleka Thrash, Victorious ME, and all the other countless supporters!

Photo: Madinah M.

Model: Leah V.

Dress: Forever 21        Shoes: Torrid

Lippie: Colourpop

Evolution of a Black Blogger

The photo above was my first real deal photoshoot for my blog: Beauty and the Muse. It was back in 2013, when I had a change of heart on the whole 'blogging' thing. I saw a few other bloggers have some professional photos on their sites, so I set out to do the exact same thing. But I wanted to be different. Daring. Shocking. I wanted to get the people talking.

Style Theme: Every freakin' color possible. I mean I wanted all the neons. I wished to look like a human bag of Skittles. And I did.

This photo made it's rounds on Tumblr and Instagram. I was pleased. I wondered what else I could do with this thing called fashion blogging.

I had blogged before. Had no idea what I was doing. People thought I was weird for doing it. I just wanted to write and be creative. A few people liked it, but not enough to actual keep the blog going, so I tore it down. Then I had an awkward YouTube channel where I disrespected reality stars, modeled the worst fashions, and suffered a public mental breakdown right on camera. Ugh. So this time, I just was going to put it out there, respectfully, and see where it went. I was going to be famous in no time. Ha!

Or so I thought.

Warning: I never, ever meant to become or aspired to be a blogger of any sort. I was just a black girl who liked fashion and liked writing. 

Anywho, I attended every event in the city. I worked at ghetto fashion shows in Detroit to get my name out there. I was used, misused, and abused by wannabes. Promised lies. I traveled to New York, got a little feature on HuffPost's Instagram page. I traveled to DC and did an awesome plus-size event there. Met some cool people. And then I went home.

I posted about how much fun I was having while going through my own internal struggles, the ones that weren't so fancy, weren't so pretty like the pictures I posted. But as long as I kept up the façade, right? Who cared about a blogger and her issues...

There was something missing. I enrolled in a masters program for creative writing. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that life was too short not to take chances. So I took one that changed my life forever. While in school in Pennsylvania no one really cared about how I dressed or what I posted on social media; they were more interested in me, my writing. Wow, I thought, that was definitely a first. I felt like I was finally at home.

I learned something while going through those highly rigorous two plus years of graduate school; I learned influence. Attention is great. Especially positive. Praise is even better. But what do we choose to do with the influence that we have is the most important of all. And it doesn't really matter what field were in, creative or non, its all the same.

So I pulled back from blogging and asked myself: why are you blogging?

At first I wanted to snatch the campaigns and work with the top people and be noticed by those who supposedly mattered. I wanted to be flown out to the important places and catered to like a queen. I wanted to soak up all the fame and glamour. 

Women, my audience, would message me and belittle themselves and say they wanted to be and look just like me...I was disgusted with myself. Why would they want to be me? Who am I? I posted pretty pictures with no substance. I became a droid blogger just like the others with amazing backgrounds and perfect teeth but with nothing to say. I had influence but not a lick of substance.

In 2016, I re-launched an entirely new site. I have a clean slate. My goal for Beauty and the Muse is to not focus on numbers or stats or saying the right thing ever so perfectly, but to create and build a community of creatives. Black creatives, white creatives, plus or straight. I want this to be a place where we can have open and honest dialogue. I want you, the reader, to take something from me, anything, and share it with someone else. I want my influence to matter. Even if it is to just one person. That's one person more than yesterday.

Let's keep the conversation going. What are some of the ways you've come to a realization that you are, in fact, evolving? I'd love to hear your thoughts.   

Reflection. Growth. Evolution.

Curvy Conversations: Who Am I to the Fashion World?

Right now, I'm in the experimenting phase of my life. I'm 28. I'm Black. I'm a covered Muslim who models on the side. I write some stuff. And I'm just trying to figure out how to make my small mark on the world...Oh, and the fashion world. This is where it all started.

I've been heavy set, fat, obese, whatever you want to call it for most of my life. There were 'NO' stylish clothes for people like me, not like now. I grew up in an era where there was no body positivity. If you were fat, then you were lazy, hard to look at, never the apple of anyone's eye. Your goal was always to be skinny. Why? Because skinny equated good.

So, I set out to be skinny. To fit into those size 8's. No problemo. I worked out to Richard Simmons, the 70's fat blast. I'd be skinny in no time, I thought. After the workout, I'd ride my bike to the store to grab a candy bar and a pop. After a few weeks, I was no smaller than when I started. What was I doing wrong? 

My mother had previously told us that she used to have an eating disorder. At the time, I thought that was sad, but paid no mind to it until I was in the same predicament. Eating a handful of pretzels, a piece of gum, and sugar-free drinks became my routine. I exercised excessively and weathered the hunger pangs and migraines. I remember one day, after a workout, I just laid across my bed and watched the rail thin models strut down the runway. So fabulous and confident. That's when I had the crazy notion that I'd be a model someday.

My mom put my little brother in modeling. He was cute but didn't take direction very well. I'd watch the well-dressed teens go on stage and pose in front of the judges. A smile here, a twirl there. I looked at them, studied them. Then I looked at me. I had crooked teeth. I was short. I was fat. And I was Black. I was Muslim so I couldn't wear the skimpy clothes that would be required for me to model.

It'd never happen.

I lost weight. The wrong way. People said I looked good. Inside I was still that 'fat girl'. I was sick. I compared myself to others. I belittled myself. I hated my body. I gained the weight back and more. I wanted to model. Be apart of the fashion scene, but I couldn't because I didn't fit in the tiny confinements of what society said was beautiful or acceptable.

I hit rock bottom. I mean I was down and out...Years later, I found inspiration in seeing women who looked like me. Who had round bottoms and large chests. They took bomb photos and said bomb things that made me feel good about my double chin and short legs. So I started a vlog, after a few months it failed. I had no idea what I was doing.

So who am I to the fashion world?

I am that black child who grew up not liking herself because the images on the screen didn't match. Not my nappy hair. Not my wide toes. Not my brown skin or flabby arms. 

Who am I? I am the one who now walks into a room a demands attention with the sway of my thick hips and the twinkle in my brown eyes. I am the embodiment of every female (and male) out there who looks at themselves and grimaces because of what someone else told them is beauty. I am a force in itself with my own solar system. I walk to the beat of my own drums. I don't need anyone to validate my existence, my beauty, my ugliness, or my aspirations.

I AM ME. Unapologetic. So watch out world, I'm coming for you.