Day 1: 30 Days in NYC

Photos Courtesy of The Travel Critic

Last month, I decided to buy a ticket to New York. To live for 30 whole days. To feel what it feels to be a New Yorker. To see if I can “make it” here.

Why? Well, several reasons. Detroit is a dead-end for me. I keep trying to figure out why I’m still there, actually. Also, people never believe that I am from Detroit. It’s like I’m so freakin unicorn. They always guess New York or LA. Anywhere but Detroit. Every time I come to New York on business and see all of my friends, they always end the conversation with “Bitch, would you move here already!” I usually chuckle and say, “It’s not the right time.”

When is the time ever right, though? With the whole “time” thing, I also just don’t have the income. But, when do I ever have the income? LOL.

I am also slightly fibbing. Not like a whole ass lie, but a fib.

Although, I really don’t have the income to support myself in the Big Apple, I am scared as fuck mostly. Moving to NYC is a whole ass change from Detroit. All of my friends are in Detroit. Like my real-ass-down-for-whatever-type sister friends are there. I also hate the subway system. People just not washing their hands and touching on everything. Ugh! They also put their garbage on the sidewalk! Double ugh.

I might’ve also been in some mental distress during that time of said purchase of the ticket. But before I bought it, I asked myself. Are you really happy here? I also added: Are you truly thriving in Michigan?

My finger hoovered over that final submit button as I made sure to pick that date of February 12th (cuz I wasn’t trying to be in Detroit surrounded by all the lovey-dovey couples on V-Day). I’d rather be alone in New York than in the seemingly relationship capital of the world, Michigan.

Which brings to me why I dropped in (y’all know my blogging is sporadic af). Well, there’s several reasons. All which lead to fear. I’ll explain because I’ve been talking a lot about that lately.

Because in my 31-year-old mind, I feel like I’m anxious about everything. I’m constantly jumping up at the most minor surprises. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve literally screamed when my roommate appears out of nowhere.

For the last month, I’ve been preparing for New York. With each passing day, more anxiety surfaces. There’s not enough time to get it all done. I’m under deadlines galore. People are texting and emailing and asking for shit, that I may or may not have. On the flipside, bills are like everywhere. On top of my hijab, whispering in my ear, and putting me in headlocks.

What if you fail? I asked myself the night before my flight. I had been packing for two days straight and in a slump because New York is so expensive and for me to be here for a month will cost me too much and I still have to pay for rent and car note back at home. Double the bills!

The morning came and I felt like shit. Like complete and utter shit.

“I’m not going,” I said to myself. “Nope. Imma stay right here. Cuz it’s easier.”

I text my friend. She was like nope. I burst out crying. It was too much to uproot my entire life. What the fuck was I thinking? I can’t compete with the New York crowd. They are the top of the litter. Who was I? Just a Midwest gal trying to level up.

What had I expected to get done in 30 days? I knew I wanted to meet folks and try to get a few gigs, but other than that I hadn’t had a plan.

No plan at the age of 31 sounds messed up. By this age, I’d thought that I’d have the answers. Or at least most of them. Right now, my gut is telling me to be in New York. That there is something here that I need to discover, uncover. Yet, I have no idea what that is.

I sound crazy. Maybe I am crazy.

I’ve always wanted to be in New York, but I always wanted the glamourized version. The Caucasian movie version. With the income I have I gotta take the thug version, leap, and see what happens.

My insecurities have been heightened. Am I unique enough to break through that ceiling? Is my story worthy of being told here? Will I have the stamina, the perseverance to continue to pitch myself even when I’m told to fuck off?

Right now, I am second guessing my strength because I am in a foreign place. Right now, I am struggling to find—remember my whys. The why now? The who cares?

I don’t give myself enough credit either. I have forgotten how much shit I’ve done, accomplished from little ole Detroit, the almost middle of nowhere. How many people in New York hadn’t even gotten the same opportunities as I had, and I don’t even live here? That says something. That means that I’m valuable enough that folks have sought me out and would spend a budget to have me flown in. I still can’t believe people fly me out to give talks and model. That’s nuts!

I don’t give myself enough credit for continuing to tell my truths, my story even after the way I’ve grown up, how my marriage went, how I fucked myself over by caring what others thought of me. Even after all the shit that has been said and done to me, I am still here. I remain. Just as hardheaded as ever. Although, I have my afraid moments, I do it anyway. Although, I have no idea where I am going, I go anyway. And, that is admirable in my eyes. It means something.

I guess what I am telling you is that at some point you will be scared to do things, you will absolutely not want to do it, but if you want to metaphorically fly at some point, you’ll have to step out of your comfort zone and take the leap. No one is going to make you do it. No one is going to show you the way. You have to pave your own way. You have to be uncomfortable in order to grow. And, I don’t know about you but growth ain’t an option. It’s a necessity. I’m trying to grow beyond my wildest imagination.

So, here’s to Day 1 in New York.

xoxo,

Leah V     

F is for Fat

Last week, I was asked to be on a panel discussion for Lululemon for International Women’s Day. It was entitled Worth 100, aiming to highlight the idea that all women should feel worthy and valued, no matter what. I was a bit skeptical about being on the panel, not because it scares the fuck out of me to publicly speak, but because it was hosted by Lululemon. None of their workout gear or t-shirts fit me. Their merchandise doesn’t include people like me. I am not their audience.

I am too fat.

I thought about it and ultimately accepted because if I hadn’t showed my fat face, then who would? Perhaps they’d replace me with a smaller, less Black, and less Muslim counterpart.

Bestie Blogger Friend Ushshi 

I was surprised that among myself were other plus-size women on the panel. There’s a first step for everything, right? Perhaps corporate at Lululemon will see our curvy bodies, hear our plus-size voices, and get the idea that fat women also workout and become a size-inclusive company.

The room was filled. All 100 seats. And, a standing room in the back. The moderator asked each one of us to say three words that described us. There were two people before me. I had a bit of time to possibly change my answer if need be. My initial words were fat, Black, and unapologetic. I looked at the audience. It was mostly filled with straight-size white women. I contemplated switching out ‘fat’ for ‘Muslim’. I knew the word ‘fat’ would cause a Caucasian unrest as it does for many other kinds of people.

I stood up. My stomach churning with IBS issues as I prayed that I wouldn’t shit myself (because that’s a legit fear). I said, “My name is Leah V. And, my three words are fat, Black, and unapologetic.”

Shirt Courtesy of Addition Elle

I heard scattered claps. Some faces remained stoic as their minds scrambled to figure out why in the world would this chick use such negative word to describe herself. I heard one ‘WOO HOO’, which I’m quite sure was my friend, as I smiled and took my seat.

I was going to blow their minds later on.

When people used to call me fat, I’d melt into a puddle. I’d crumble into a million particles and blew away with the wind. The word held so much weight—no pun intended—that it riddled me worthless, not valuable. I’d used to want to crawl into a hole and never emerge until I was perfect and thin. I hurt myself trying to be thin. I was almost thin only once in my life. And it wasn’t as perfect as I thought it was going to be.

Why? Because in my mind, I thought that thin people had more fun. I thought that they frolicked around in daisy fields and were debt-free and could pull any man they wanted. I thought that they were outgoing and smart and nice. That they didn’t have body image issues. That it was just fat people who hated themselves and their bodies.

And, was I ever wrong.

At my smallest weight, I believe I hated myself more during that time than at my heaviest weights. Mind blowing! Yes, I know.

Fast forward back to the panel. Stay with me. LOL.

It was my turn to speak. I told them a little story about why I reclaimed the word ‘fat’. Words only carry as much importance as we allow them to. And, I was tired of people having that much power over how I viewed my body. People—bad people—get off on disarming folks, making them think lowly of themselves. But, what if we could reclaim our power? Take that shit back?

By claiming fat-ness, I am taking back what is mine, rightfully. I am turning a negative into a positive. I am, hopefully, educating people about the word and about our bodies and how we view them.

Fat is a descriptor. Just like smart. Short. Tall. Busty. Brown. Pale.

Yes, I may be fat, but I am so much more. I am Black. Muslim. Obnoxious and impulsive. Loud. Loyal. Cute AF.

Fat isn’t a bad word. Its not forbidden or evil. It doesn’t mean worthlessness or ugliness. It means what it means. Extra rolls, curves, lumps and bumps, plump, and soft.

And, if someone does try to use it on you, or someone you know, negatively, then flip that shit around like I do. Tell em: I am fat, and so much more.

xoxo,

Leah V

Dating in a Fatphobic World

There’s been many, many fat activists and body-positive folks responding to the topics of dating, finding love, and intimacy while being fat. And, let me tell you, the responses have been ridiculous and the backlash agonizing. Anytime, I post commentary about plus-size dating, the conversation grows long and weary. I mean, dating in general has become trash since the boom of internet faux-ness, where you can get anything and everything in the matter of a few clicks, but dating for straight-size versus plus-size is very different.  

When I got divorced, I went on a dating frenzy. Like, I had something to prove. I had never been boy-crazy prior to my marriage, but something about asserting my sexuality after years of being repressed was attractive to me. It became a sick obsession.

I had four dating apps in rotation. I’d spend hours swiping to the left or swiping to the right. I was on them so much, that I started to see some of the same guys on different apps. At a few points, I came upon the profiles of a friend’s ex and dudes I worked with in real life. So, if I saw them then they had to have seen me. And although embarrassing, it hadn’t deterred me from having seventeen separate conversations with different dudes in the city.    

I was born in an era with one foot in the age of online dating and one foot out. Basically, I was still a bit clueless on how to navigate them. I thought the guys on the other end were like me. Just wanting to test the waters and perhaps find real companionship. Boy was I wrong.

On my dating profile, I was covered. Like if you were to go on my Instagram account, you’d see the same photos. I mixed in face shots with full body photos. I wasn’t trying to catfish anyone because I wouldn’t want anyone to catfish my ass. I wanted the possible suitor to know that I was, indeed, a fat woman.

The first message I got was a couple trying to have me as their third, as in third wheel, as in a threesome. I politely declined. The following messages would start off with men requesting that I ‘sit on their face’. No hi, hello, or how are you? They’d make disgusting comments about my hips and butt. Some of the white dudes, especially, would objectify my Black body, highlighting the size of my lips and what they’d do to them. I was sent unsolicited dick pics by the dozens. Being asking to send nudes was a common request. I was also fat-shamed by angry users who I wasn’t interested in.

I would tell my smaller friends who were using the same dating apps my stories. They’d shake their heads and tell me that they weren’t getting the same messages. They weren’t having men ask them to sit on their faces or make comments about how big their butt was or any body shaming comments.      

I decided to delete every dating app because I was tired of being reduced to the curves on my body or the thickness of my lips. I decided to do some research on dating while fat and found so much stuff. I was not alone in my struggle. Women shared stories about being hidden away by their boyfriends because of their weight, being oversexualized and objectified based on the shape of their body, being fat-shamed, called names like pig and fat bitch when they declined sex or dates.

For women online who were plus-sized bloggers who dated or married a muscular or a socially ‘attractive’ man, trolls would leave nasty comments about how could someone so fat be with a fit guy, or he’s only using you for sex, or that’s impossible for him to actually love her.  

So, according to the census, fat women don’t deserve love, their bodies are only reduced to an object only used for pleasing sexually, and no one who is socially attractive should ever want a fattie.

Kimono: Black Lace Boutique

Before, I go any further I want to give folks who indulge in fatphobia a few facts:

Fat people are human beings. Stop asking fat people to hide themselves. We are allowed to take up as much space as we want. Don’t worry about why fat people are fat. Do you worry about why skinny people are skinny? You are not a physician. Clearly, you aren’t smart enough. Fat people deserve love. Fat people deserve intimacy. If you like fat women, that’s okay. Stop allowing your friends to dictate who you love. Stop being a coward and enjoining in fatphobic rhetoric when you truly don’t feel that way. And, lastly fat people aren’t fetishes.  

By no means am I saying that smaller women and men don’t get picked on or objectified, but we don’t experience mass skinny-phobia were a model has loads of trolls under her photos saying things like omg, she’s just so small, is she even healthy? Is she anorexic? Why doesn’t she just eat a sandwich? She’s so ugly, who’d want to be that thin?  

Instead we see comments praising her, we say that her body is bodygoals, we demean our own bodies, and skip a meal, we show our little girls that skinny is good and fat is bad. That if she is thin, she will be deserving of intimacy and love and money and beauty, but if she is big that she should go hide behind ill-fitting clothes and shrink herself. That she should just be happy with any man who deals her any ole kind of attention. That she shouldn’t strive for better because of the shape of her natural hips or the hugeness of her breasts and stomach.      

Stop allowing men to body-shame you. Nip it in the bud every time, so that the next time he approaches a big girl he’ll know what’s up. Stop allowing thin privilege to shrink you. You do not have to be skinny to live your best life. Stop teaching your little boys and girls that they don’t deserve to take up space. Teach them to be healthy and confident at any size.  

It’s time we nipped fatphobia in the bud.

Xoxo,

Leah V  

Boys Will Be Boys

I don’t like to be the bearer of burden. And, I’ll probably receive hella hate for writing this, but I’m about to be a young-looking 30 and as I age, I’m figuring out that I have very little fucks to give.

I’m 100% sure that this happens in every religion and culture, since the beginning of time, but because I’m Muslim, I’m going to focus on Muslim men.

Islam is a fair and peaceful religion, way of life. It lays out women’s rights; the ability to own businesses, seek divorce, and attain quality education. It clearly speaks against oppression. To even be a Muslim and oppress is an oxymoron, but time and time again we see these acts in our communities and abroad. It isn’t the religion, people! It’s the individuals obsessed with greed. It’s culture. And, it’s just plain not caring about what the religion says and using it as a form of control. From what I’ve seen mostly of the control and policing of our girls and women. Yeah, kinda like how Europeans used Christianity on African slaves or cults use ‘belief’ to control their followers.

With that said, let’s talk about the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality that I’ve seen in several Islamic communities.

One of my friends had a brother who wasn’t forced to cook dinner for the family like his sisters were. He did have dishwashing duties, but would often neglect them to hang with his friends. His sister and I were chillin’ one day and her mother called her. My friend told me that she had to go. When I asked why, she said because her mom wanted her to wash dishes.  

Another unequal rule that was enforced was girls staying out past Mahgrib. Every Muslim boy could be found playing basketball, walking to the store, or just hanging at a friend’s house while the girls were forbidden to leave the confinements of their home. When asked why, the responses ranged from it was ‘too dangerous’ for the girls or plainly, because he was a boy, he could run the streets, and you can’t so just deal with it until you get married.

I’ve had friends that brothers were allowed to receive phone calls from girls, have porn under their mattresses, and even date. If a Muslim girl even looked at a boy, it was over for her. She’d be banished to the prison that was her home. For eternity.   

Infidelity, adultery is a biggie. Muslims love to skate over that one. Especially if you have a penis. You get a ‘get out of jail’ card immediately. You get 99 excuses plus one. Basically, you didn’t even do it, even if they got you on tape. I’ve heard these responses in regards to Muslim men cheating. “Well, maybe he cheated because she wasn’t satisfying him.” “He only cheated once. What’s the big deal?” “He can have up to four wives anyway?” “You want to divorce him just because he cheated?”  

If a Muslim woman cheated, the Day of Judgement would have truly arrived. The woman would literally be pulled out of her home, beaten in the streets, tongue whipped on Facebook, scolded by all and every family member, even cousins she’s never met before, ‘whore’ stamped on her forehead, then divorced and tossed into a deep, dark pit with a hungry lion inside.

And, don’t get me started on old, crusty Muslim men or Muslim fucbois requesting virgins…

I was in college when I started partying. I ripped my hijab off and put on a little black dress. Inside the club, my friends and I noticed a few Muslim guys we knew from the local mosque with drinks in their hands. I wanted to duck and dodge, but my friends told me that they’d already seen us. I rolled my eyes and followed.

They gave us salaams.

“Why are you guys here?” one of them asked.  

I put my hand on my hip. “The same reason you guys are.”

He scoffed. “No hijab?”

“Not tonight.” I grinned.

“Y’all better not be drinking.”

I pointed to his glass. “Like you?”

Of course, he went back and told the whole community about our indecencies. So, we were deemed ‘those kind of girls’. They warned the good and holy Muslimahs not to speak or hang around us. But, the Muslim guys totally soared past the important portion of the discussion: we were all Muslim and none of us should have been in the club with drinks in hand and hijabs left in the backseat of cars. But no one, not one person pointed that out that fact as they hyped the story of us being bad Muslims.

Can we please stop this? Stop enabling these boys. You’re creating arrogant, Muslim fucbois who feel entitled to bigotry and sexism. Stop telling them that it’s okay to treat their women as if they are their mothers, that it’s okay to drink liquor but not eat pork, that it’s okay to marry a virgin when you smashed half the team. Stop making Islam look, appear to be one-sided. Stop using Islam to validate your foolishness. That is not ISLAM!  

As a Muslim girl, I feel like you have to be everything to everyone at all moments of time. How tiring is that? What kind of life is that to live? You have to be pure to Muslim men, nonthreatening to white people, become Mufti Menk at the mosque. We all can’t be Mufti Menk.   

I know that I’m not the only one whose experienced these ‘boys will be boys’ moments in the Muslim community.

I want to hear your stories. Put them in the comments below if you’re tired of the bull!

xoxo,

Leah V. 

Momentum: The Life of a Black Socialite

I had just come back from a long, adventurous, and life-changing trip to London. I got lost on the subway, on the street, had to carry like my entire life on my back. My ankles were sore, my back demolished, and my arms ached. But I had companies and designers depending on me to make those photoshoots happen, to deliver what I said that I’d deliver. To show up on time and produce bomb photos. With no phone, shotty internet, and a bad sense of direction, I made it happen. But when I tell you that I was beyond dead, I had turned into a fashionable zombie. Dark circles under my eyes and the works.

Traveling had taken its toll on my mental and body and I needed desperately to regroup. I’d finally made it back to Michigan and passed out, but I knew with my schedule that I’d have maybe a day or two to recoup.

“You need to rest.” My friend messaged me.

“What’s rest?” I replied.

“You play too much.”

“You know how my life is. When opportunity knocks, I gotta jump on it. I’ll stop when I’m dead or when I start my period. Whichever comes first.”

She sent a trillion laughing emojis.

Neckpiece: Leyton's 

But it was true. I haven’t gotten to where I’ve gotten by sitting down, taking the safe route, watching other people move forward and trying to drive in their lane or hopping in their backseat. I’ve had four failed blogs and Youtube channels over the span of six years. I’ve been used and abused by local (so-called) fashion influencers in the city of Detroit promising glitz and glam. I’ve been side-eyed and at certain points, disrespected by bloggers who thought that I was ‘taking too much of the spotlight’ in a very weak ass fashion/social climate in the city as well as in the suburbs.

I’m not trying to take shots, but unfortunately, Detroit, Michigan isn’t a hub for true fashion creatives. I rarely get paid and certainly others are struggling that freelance model or style or even blog. We have pockets of bomb fashion influencers but for the most part, people who have ‘connections’ (usually white girls) with very little style, get the play. And that’s cool. But we won’t ever elevate to a New York or a Paris level with that type of mindset.

But, I digress.

Cape/Jacket: Forever 21 + Leggings: Lane Bryant + Shoes: Torrid 

In this industry, mostly any industry can you sit still and comfortable and become an icon. Become national or international. The process of creation, invention, and reinvention is painful, it’s slow, and it takes time. It takes failures. It takes guts. It takes people behind you, real people to support. To believe in what you’re doing is going to make a difference. It takes relatability and a certain kind of vulnerability. It takes being able to get ready for a full-fledge shoot in twenty minutes. Borrowing clothes and accessories from a friend because you have $2.14 in your checking account. It takes humbling yourself. Shutting the hell up and just listening. It takes helping others to achieve. It takes changing in the backseat of your car. Changing in a greasy bathroom at a Coney Island. It takes working with a stuck-up bitch you may not like.

Self-worth and value.

I wish that someone would have told me in the beginning to find the value in myself and to know my worth. I went in the door of some places with my head down and willing to do anything for some sort of gain in the industry. Ya know because I was new and I didn’t think what I knew held any weight. I was lesser than this and lesser than that. I hadn’t valued myself so why should I have expected them to? I got used, a lot, and I’m sure the people who had used me in the past are reading this piece right now. But, I want to thank you because you taught me such a valuable lesson. And the lesson isn’t to burst down the door like Mariah Carey and claim that you are the shit, but to go into situations knowing what you are and aren’t willing to do. You’re not being difficult and you’re not being a bitch. You are being a businesswoman and you are claiming, and or, reclaiming your stakes.

Stop saying what you can’t do or what’s impossible. I’m talking to myself as well. We complain and complain and moan and complain. Which is fine, but when all is said and done, what are you going to do with what you have right now? Not what you could have or should have if blah, blah, blah. But what are you, with your two hands, a camera, and a janky set, going to do with the resources that are available to you? Creativity. The best campaigns I’ve ever done have literally been with the smallest to zilch budgets. So, stop saying what you can’t do or where you can’t go. You can. You just don’t want to.

All of this is to talk about momentum, that thrust forward. Right? It’s a valuable key to achieving stuff. Momentum is hard to get. No lie. But once you get into the groove and start to get it, really get it then you’ve got to push it. For example, this shoot with my friend, Remy. Now, when he messaged me, I was dead in the bed and very jetlagged. He says let’s shoot in two days. In my head, I’m like how can I put together two looks when I can’t even string together a coherent sentence? I was backlogged on blogging and my wallet had been stolen. People needed answers to questions and emails were in the hundreds.

Here’s where the push came in. Just for Remy to even reach out to me is humbling. I mean, his work is amazing. Who was I to lose an opportunity for a pro bono shoot with a photographic genius? I sucked it up, placed heavy concealer under the racoon rings around my eyes, and met him at the Detroit Institute of Arts.

Yes, I was tired. My feet burned. And modeling is fun but certainly not as easy as it looks. But I was there, and he was there, and I gave him not 60% but 110% of my energy and zest. And he did the same for me. Then, he made me look like some sort of Baroque painting. He played with shadows and lighting and mood. I fell in love.

Keep that momentum going. When you’re at the bottom of the barrel and life’s piling on top of you, I need you to dig deep in your gut, your soul and with that last bit of energy left, I need you to push to the end. Jump on those opportunities. Stop doubting yourself. Complain less and do more.

xoxo,  

Leah V  

The Non-Valentine’s Day Valentine’s Day

This is my first Valentine’s Day without a Valentine in about ten years. Which may seemed fucked up to the naked eye, but because I’m trying to live my ‘new and improved’ life as an Optimistic Sally, I’ve come to terms with my current situation.

I’m divorced. Single. I ain’t got no man. Or woman. Except for my friends, but that doesn’t count. I had a few suitors, but they got swerved and didn’t make the cut. Which again, makes me very single. I’m not bitter, though, I solemenly swear it.  

I won’t be getting any flowers.

I won’t be getting one of those cheap little bears with the heart in the middle that says ‘I LOVE You” that was made in China.

No romantic dinners at the local Coney Island.

Jewelry. Nope. Hotel. Nope. Sweet nothings. NOPE. How bout dah?

Turban: Flossy's Suitcase + Faux Fur/Pant: Forever 21 + Long Sleeve: Rainbow Shops + Booties: Pay-Less Shoe Source + Shades: Alley and Eye

All this in theory sounds great, until my timeline starts getting flooded with ‘happy couple’ selfies and photos of bouquets of roses. What is a single girl to do? Well, if you’re like me you can totally stay off the internet for that entire day. But because we are lurkers, we won’t. Which is fine. At least you’ve admitted it.

Valentine’s Day isn’t really the issue here. It’s the stereotypes of being single that irks me. If you aint got a man then what are you doing with your life? If you don’t have a bae to cuddle up with at the end of a long day then you must be unhappy, desperate, undesirable. The only goal in life is to marry, have kids, get cheated on, then ultimately be single anyway! So, why not just start now? LOL. And, I’m not saying that being single is the way to go for every person, because we all have that friend who just has to have a man or she feels incomplete.

But isn’t that a sad existence? If you need another person to make you feel whole. Shouldn’t that be something that you should be working on within yourself? With these types of situations of heavy co-dependency, I notice that the co-dependent person always get the short end of the stick in the relationship. They usually do anything to keep that other person around. They ended getting mistreated by their significant other because they know that they need them in order to thrive.

I, for one, neeeeever want another person to feel like I need them or I’d just crumble into nothingness. No, sir. You aren’t about to have that much power over me. I hold my own power. Boom!

Whether you’re married or not, you need to be OK with being by yourself. And I’m not saying shut everyone out and become a recluse, I’m saying that there is usually too much noise going on and you need to have quiet, self-reflective time for you and only you. Whether it’s five minutes a day or for a month trip overseas. You-time is good for the soul. It regenerates your ummph. Puts a pep in your step. And allows you to think more openly and freely.

Do you know how much I learned about myself by doing things alone? I’ve traveled alone and learned that I’m able to hold my own in hectic situations. I’ve gone to the movies alone and figured out that I didn’t look weird by doing it, and I really enjoyed not talking throughout the film. I’ve gone to an opera alone, I’ve had coffee and alone and read a book, I’ve been to networking events alone and was made to feel like an outsider because I hadn’t come with anyone. You win some. You lose some, but it’s a very cool experience to be ok with yourself. You don’t always have to depend on another person to dictate whether you have fun or not or are able to experience the fullness of that activity.

So, Leah V. what are you doing for V-Day? Well, if you must know. I’ll be on my first “Eat. Pray. Love.” trip to London. This is my first time overseas without my ex. It’s very bittersweet. I want to prove to myself that I can and I will. And, I’m so hardcore that I’m not even going with a friend. Yeah, they’re still hurt by it, but this is my journey that I have to take alone. I want to explore the culture without bounds, I want to get lost on the ‘tube’, and party with the locals. I want to take a train to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower and take one of those very touristy photos in front of it. I want to eat good food and take cabs to nowhere. I want to take weird selfies and visit the Royal Palace.

And, that’s what I plan to do.

But, if you’re not planning on taking a trip or don’t have a bae, it’s all good. I want you to get dressed anyway, put on some falsies, go buy an expensive yet not-expensive matte lippie, and be your own bae. Make a fancy reservation at a posh restaurant with some girlfriends and have a photoshoot in the bathroom. Post it on social media so everyone with a man can be jealous that you’re having soooo much fun basking in the glow of your single-dom!

As always, you know I have to give you the word with a dose of V-Day outfit inspirations.         

Xoxo,

Leah V. 

How to Wrap a Pin Turban

Leah V. shows you how to wrap an easy pin turban with a Kermit the Frog colored scarf. 

And don't forget to follow her on IG: @Lvernon2000

*New Youtube Video* Leah V. Gets a Brazilian

It's been a hot minute since, I've done a video. But, I'm kinda, sorta back. We'll see how it goes! Haha. But today, I'll be talking about Brazilian waxing. And my oh-so-crazy experience. Enjoy and let me know what your thoughts are on the video!

xoxo

Leah V.

Identity: I Wanted to be a White Girl

It’s embarrassing to admit that I wanted to be a white girl for a large part of my life. I wanted the two-parent household, the bed with the canopy in the suburb, the size medium North Face jacket, the long, bone straight hair that always got in my way, and all the privilege and fun that came with it. 

I was in my teens when I drowned myself in white culture. I knew their white movies, their white songs from the 80’s and 90’s, and I just knew that if I lost weight and became ‘flat bodied’ I could pull a white male to marry and have mixed children with, just hoping that they’d have a much better grade of hair that I had.

I had my Caucasian future planned out.

MUA: Madinah M.

Pasted on my wall and doors were pages torn out of magazines of attractive white women. I studied them every time I woke up and every time I went to sleep. I cried softly in my pillow wondering why God put me in a black body. A fat body. An unattractive body.

Magazines were important. They held weight. They notified me of the trends—what’s in and what’s out. Black faces were out. Black bodies were out. White faces, no curves, and long legs were in. Straight teeth, full lips, and light hair was in. Smooth skin, cinched waist, and narrow noses were in. I had none of those attributes. And would never attain any without the help of cosmetic procedures.

I hated myself and no one even knew. I hid my identity issues behind aggression and haughtiness. I was that bitch. That no one could mess with, penetrate, or compete with. But in that mindset, I was stagnant and didn’t even know it. I was closed and warped. I was a white woman trapped in a fat body. I was confused and misunderstood. I was a ball of contradictions. Dying inside, nowhere to turn, no one to talk to about it, no role model to seek out.

Vest: Society+

Just thinking about it now, makes me sad. Makes me angry. It also makes me ponder, how many other girls out there are going through this silent identity crisis? Competing against magazine reality? Wanting to be something that they could never be?

The magazines I trusted and idolized, the magazine that utilized only one model of color in the entire spread who was usually on the lighter side or mixed had betrayed me. The media only highlighting rail-thin models who were as tall as giraffes betrayed me. Those very white movies that I studied weren’t real at all because white-based happy endings didn’t happen in my black, Muslim world. All of it was a sham. Created solely to boost the agenda of what the standard of beauty was and to degrade another. Photoshopped covers of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears was all I could think of. How smooth their skin was, no stretch marks, both breasts the same size, not one hair out of place. I believed that they had attained perfection. That God had given them complete bodily perfection.

Model: Leah V,

Until I figured out that the media wasn’t for me. For us. For the underrepresented. The disabled. The dark. The short. The so-called unattractive. The Muslim.

I had to hit rock bottom before I realized who I was. Who I really was as a person from the inside out. And on the inside, I was not a white woman. I no longer wanted to be a white woman. God didn’t make me a white woman for a reason. And I had become content with that fact. I dived in my blackness wholeheartedly like a mermaid. I created my own beauty standards. Producing my own body positive and beauty campaigns with my own funds. My blood. My mental illnesses.

I stopped believing in those magazines. That reality TV show. Those airbrushed and photoshopped photos that I silently died to attain and started believing in my own abilities. My skills. And I emerged as a stronger black woman. A proud black woman. A crazy Muslim girl in her voluptuous hips and thoughtful mind.

xoxo

Leah V.

The ‘F’ Word: FAT

At Buffalo Wild Wings, I ordered lots of food. Hey, I was super hungry. Plus, I have a tendency to order too much then complain about being too full halfway in. Yes, annoying. I know. I’m working on my indecisiveness.  

Anyhow, after the waiter leaves, I said to my guy friend playfully, “OMG. I’ve ordered half the menu. I’m soooo fat.”

His eyes swelled with fear then shock. If he had pearls, he probably would’ve clutched them.

At first, I thought I had lipstick on my teeth. “What?” I croaked.

“You. Are. Not. FAT!”

I rolled my eyes. “Boy, bye. I am fat.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You are curvy. Trust me, I know fat. You’re just thick.”

“I’m fat. I’m obese. I’m overweight. It’s fine.”

What was interesting was that the ‘F’ word for him was so negative, so vile that he couldn’t possibly equate that nasty attribute to me. He got an A for effort though. Haha. But like him, so many other men and women avoid the word ‘fat’ or if they do use it, it’s become one of the main cuss words.

I’m not even going to lie. In my adolescence and early 20’s, I was once one of those people that if someone called me fat, I’d melt and dissolve into the wind. No coming back from it. I’d go over it a million times in my head. Fat. Fattie. You’re FAT! Why the fuck are you still fat? Be skinny. Skinny is better. Skinny is acceptable. You will be great when you are skinny.

Funny thing is that when I did have an eating disorder and got ‘skinny’, I was the unhappiest I’d ever been in life. But, everyone else seemed to dote on the fact that I’d lost so much weight so fast and blah, blah, blah.

Why do we glorify thinness but bash fatness? And I know the internet trolls with their Google degrees are going to come out of their troll lairs with the following argument: fat acceptance glorifies obesity and health problems.  

Firstly, I welcome them with the real ‘F’ word. After that, my rebuttal consists of not only fat people have health issues. I’ve been fat mostly all of my life, and I’ve had no major health problems. I have fat and skinny friends with health issues. Good or bad health doesn’t discriminate like we do. And if I did have bad health from being fat, that still has nothing to do with you because you aren’t me nor do you pay my medical bills.

Back to our scheduled program…  

So why am I talking about this? In an interview, I was asked about the word ‘fat’. Why is it such a negative word? Why do most girls and women cringe and melt when they are called it? And most importantly, when I decided to reclaim it.

I reclaimed the word when I started having open conversations about body acceptance with other body positive activists in the community. The conversations were real and enlightening. These women (and men) were not only fat but they were other things, too. They were fat and business savvy. They were fat and confident. They were fat and stylish. They were fat and athletic. They were fat and sexual.

They smashed the fat stereotypes in half and I set out to do the same.

Let’s say this at least eight times: Fat isn’t a bad word. Stop making it that way. It’s starts with you. It’s an adjective, people. Just like any other adjective. Sometimes, we’ve got to take a look at ourselves and stop being so freakin’ sensitive. So what if your boyfriend calls you fat. Do what I do and say, “Yes, I know. Anything else you want to point out Captain Obvious?”

If you are obese, overweight, curvy, or thick, 9 times out of 10 you are probably fat. And that’s ok. And if it’s not ok, then change it. Simple as that. But let’s not wallow in the fact that our bodies are shaped differently or the scale gives us a number that isn’t ‘acceptable’ to society’s standards.

Why not start living right now? Don’t let a couple pounds deter you from enjoying what life has to offer. Your body is good so be good to your body.

You’ve only got one.

xoxo

@Lvernon2000

Fat Girl Style Guide: Color Blocking

Myth: Fat Girls Can't Wear Bright Colors or Color Block.

Why? Because it makes them look bigger or brings unwanted attention to their 'problem' areas.  

Photo: Danni Little

First of all, an area of your body is only a 'problem' if YOU make it one. If you decide that you do, in fact, have an area that you just absolutely hate, then my suggestion is to change it or learn to accept it.

We've got to rewire our minds and thinking about our body and how we view it. Also about fashion and style. Because rules are sometimes meant to be broken.

Color blocking is simple and basically utilizes two (or more) bright colors to contrast one another. So here, I have a white vest with a red skirt from Society+ 

Color blocking gives a clean, contemporary look with an edgy feel. And is a style technique that anyone can partake in, even fat gals and guys :)

Shades: Have H.I.P.S. + Turban: Flossy's Suitcase + Shirt: Wal-Mart

A lot of people ask me, as a stylist, how can the cover or hide a big stomach or flabby arms with clothes. I tell them that they can either wear black all day, every day. And that no amount or kind of clothing will 'cover' or 'hide' the parts they don't care for. 

And furthermore, why are we always trying to hide and conceal everything?!? Because when you take your clothes off, it's just going to all hang out there anyways. lol.

Shoes: Payless

I want all my fat fashionistas to choose some crazy, bright colors and try color blocking! Make sure you hashtag #LeahVDaily on Instagram so I can see how you rock it!

And don't forget to visit Society+ and check out all the cool new inventory!

How to Rock a Plus-Size Tutu Like a Boss

I have a vision board that I created with my friend a few years ago...three to be exact. It sits on my black dresser right behind my mirror. It's a staple, just sitting there reminding me of what I should be dreaming of every single day. It's a reminder that I CAN be whatever it is that I want to be. It's a reminder that I should strive for those goals every day. A few times, I fell away from life and I went back to the board and just read the quotes and glared at the pictures of plus models that I'd pasted on it.

When I was making the board, I thought it was only fun to cut out the pictures from the magazines and play in glitter. Three years later (and a whole lotta' shit), the things on the board has come into fruition. Whoa!

One of them was to model for a company out of state.  

We all know Jessica Kane. If you don't know, get to know her. She's a model, body pos advocate, businesslady, and mommy! She's also a great friend and a visionary...I'll tell you why shortly.

I know, your probably like, ALL bloggers do this. They work with a company and make us care but they only want sales! Let me tell you this, I'm not a TYPICAL blogger. I'm an artist first and foremost. I like quality just as much as you guys do and I've turned down countless projects because it didn't align with my brand or my community.

As you all know, I'm Muslim and I'm black. I come from the ghetto's of Detroit. Right? Cool. A lot of companies don't want to bother with me because I can't show my body. Yada yada yada. And me being Muslim is an issue for some. I'm waaaay too 'Out of the Box' for some so they'd rather work with other bloggers. I get it. It's safe not utilize me. You either get me or you don't.

Jess took a chance on me. She allowed me to be myself. Encouraged me to be different. And for that, she's got a fan for life.

So Society+ got in touch with me. I'm like waaaaaaaa! Someone gets me. Someone likes me and trusts me with their clothes. Man, I felt super accomplished. They sent me a few pieces and I'm like yaaaaas. This shit is on point. The clothes are great quality, true to size, and not too expensive. And the tutus... They are thick and full.

I did an entire shoot Downtown Detroit with Reel Clever Films and my little crew as we changed right in the middle of the street into four other outfits. It was fast-paced, fun, and tiring, and lovely. Lol. We got these great shots of the caged top (also from Society+) and the olive tutu.

Rock the TUTU! Why? Cuz it's super cute and feminine.

Wardrobe Breakdown:

Society+: Caged Crop Top and Tutu (Purchase here!)

Purse: TJ Maxx

Accessories: Forever 21

Shoes + Legging: Torrid  

Undershirt: My own

Body Positivity: All Bodies Are Good Bodies

I’m not sure if there is like a real proper term for Body Positivity and when it was actually coined is beyond me, but I stumbled into the phrase like two years ago and was immediately enthralled.

Wait a minute! I didn’t have to hate myself when I was around girlfriends that were smaller than me? I could actually do my makeup and wear a bomb outfit and feel equally beautiful? I didn’t have to worry about what other people thought of my fat ass eating in public? I could love my body and be ok with it and if I wanted to lose or gain weight I could without regret? Sign me up!

Kelvin

So here’s the thing, internet trolls have equated Body Positivity to fat people wanting to glorify obesity. Are you kidding me?!?! Let’s get the record straight. I don’t know any plus blogger, fat activist, or curvy fashionista that openly says ‘hey, be fat and unhealthy or skinny and unhealthy.” Health is always a concern, but it’s YOUR personal concern. I can’t make you stop smoking, make you put down the cake, or anything else. But for you, as a Troll, to imply that I’m unhealthy because I’m fat or that I’m trying to make people obese because I’m confident in my skin is a no-no. R-E-S-P-E-C-T goes a long way people.

Sarah Jane Adams

Body Positivity means, to me, that ALL bodies should be celebrated: old ones, wrinkly ones, tight ones, fat ones, thin ones, lumpy ones, covered ones, nude ones, black ones, yellow ones, and pale ones.   

Don’t knock me because I’m fat and fab and confident in my OWN skin. Just because you believe that you could never be confident at my size is YOUR issue. Not mine.

Ali R.

How can I be a part of the Body Positive movement? Great question. Straight sized people (and even larger ones) are often afraid to join in the movement. But I say, the more the merrier. This isn’t an exclusive club for fashionable fatties, this is a human movement. It’s inclusive. No one should feel on the outskirts of positive movements in the right direction. We’re all just trying to make it day by day.

By just being you, being confident in your abilities as a HUMAN being and respecting and encouraging others to be the BEST they can be, then you’re already involved. Speaking out against fat-shaming or body shaming is a major one as well. If you see someone getting harped on for their size (of lack of) then you should step in. No one deserves to be shamed openly because of a physical attribute. No one.

Eden S.

And when you post your fabulous pics on social media there are like so many hashtags to use to let people know that you have joined the movement. We have #EffYourBeautyStandards which was created by Tess Holliday, #HonorMyCurves, #SelfiesForSelfLove, #NoBodyShame, and #BlackGirlMagic just to name a few.

Leah V.

Here a few more things you can do to promote Body Positivity:

1.       Wear what you want, when you want

2.       Put as much (or as little) makeup on as you want

3.       If you feel like saying some hating ass shit, don’t

4.       Own it, whatever ‘IT’ is

5.       Smile at other people, a lot  

Sarah Jane Adams

The Perfect Blogger: Tips on Breaking into the Blogging World

What People Think About Bloggers:

1.       They get hella’ paid from companies and businesses (Make it rain!)

2.       They wake up every morning feeling and looking flawless

3.       They dress fashionable ALL the time

4.       Very little to no hardship in life

5.       Skin always perf! 

What Actually Happens:

1.       No money

2.       Usually, no money

3.       Always wanting to quit blogging, just because life

4.       Chin breakouts on the regular

5.       Sweats are our friends!

Of course, every blogger’s life is different and payment varies, but for the most part, the bloggers I know are fighting the same battles. Blogging isn’t all frills and happiness. Sure, it has its perks because a lot of people wouldn’t even bother to do it if it didn’t. But I’m here to tell you the nitty gritty about blogging if you’re thinking of starting one or if you just want a better appreciation for the bloggers you know and love.

1.       Our Voices

A lot of us started our blogs because we had something to say. There was a void in the fashion industry that we felt like we needed to fill. A few bloggers I know started because there wasn’t a lot of accurate ‘plus-size’ representation in the media. Bloggers and body positive influencers are changing that. They researched, they contacted companies, they called out ‘fat-shamers’, and modeled dope outfits simultaneously. They spoke out without fear against the ‘MAN’ that was fueling self-hate and unrealistic body types.

The reason, I started my blog was for the exact same reason. I didn’t see any Black, plus-size, Muslim chicks in the fashion game. So I made it my point to fill that gap. I wanted to make a difference. Show them whose boss! And break those stereotypes plaguing African-Americans and Muslims in the world today. 

On the other hand, some people become bloggers for the perks: the free tickets to fashion shows, the recognition, and of course, the money (if they’re lucky), and the big one is fame. They just want to be ‘in’ and ‘popular’.

If you want to become a blogger for those reasons solely, then don’t. Because you’re not genuine and you definitely won’t last very long in the field. People will see right through that transparent face you’ve put on.         

2.       Building Platforms

Most style bloggers, work full-time and blog. If you are able to blog every waking moment of your life and still have an income, then more power to you! But if you’re like most people, you’ll have to have an income to fund your blog. Blogging doesn’t come free, which most people just don’t get. Cameras, lenses, outfits, accessories, shoots, gas, websites, marketing, and time all cost money. Your money.

So right off the bat, companies aren’t going to just start sending you cash and clothes for you to post because they can totally see the value in your services over everyone else. You’ve got to understand that there are hundreds of thousands of bloggers out there in the blogger-sphere. Your job is to show them your worth by differentiating yourself from the slew of others, staying true to your readers—your platform, and producing quality content.     

3.       Prejudices in the Industry

Time to get to the dirty part. The part no one wants to talk about. The fashion and blogging industry can be, at times, extremely frustrating. There was a time that I wanted to quit because I felt like there was no taming the monster. Cliques form, other bloggers get very nasty and competitive, and companies can and will use you for your time and resources and dismiss you like a bag of rotted turnips. I have many, many horror stories.

Also, there is prejudice and racism that occurs. There will be events and shoots that will strictly have white bloggers present. There will be other times when the ‘lighter’ skinned bloggers will be chosen over the ‘darker’ skinned ones. Same with size and age. If your too old or too big then you will get overlooked and dismissed. 

With that said, it is your duty to rise above all the cattiness and bullshit that comes with any and all fields of work and creativity. You just keep doing you and do it unapologetically. What keeps me from quitting? Other bloggers that are supportive, who understand the struggle, and lets me know that it’s going to work out if I stay persistent and true. My fans and readers who constantly uplift me and send me nice and encouraging messages. That’s who I do this for, not the duds in the industry dictating what’s new and trendy and pretty.     

4.       Blogging with a Purpose

So many people inquire about blogging and how I’ve built and maintained my little platform. And I tell them everything I said above, but the one thing that I really want them to get is the purpose and the goal. Why do you want to do this? What do you want your viewers to get from this? And what’s the goals (big or little) to reach them?

If you’re doing this because you want to take pretty pictures and post them to get likes on Instagram, then do whatever floats your boat. If you want to make a difference in someone’s life, help someone who hates their looks and is unhappy all the time because of it, then go for it. Whatever angle you want to take just make sure it’s with a goal and purpose in mind.

Words are powerful. I think a lot of us spend too much time on social media that we’ve become invisible to one another. People still actually read and the words that we allow out of our mouths and through our fingers will float on in reality forever. So do yourself a favor and really think before you put something out there. Think about where you want it to go and what affect you want it to have on people.

5.       Persistence is Key

Sounds like an after-school special, I know. In anything you do, you must be persistent and confident in your abilities. You have to be that person that goes above and beyond. You can’t be a slacker then expect something to just magically happen. If you think that, then please stop. Because that, my friend, is pure insanity. Have realistic goals of yourself and realistic expectations of who you’re working with as well. Because your blog is your brand. And if you allow your brand to have a bunch of typos, collaborate with shotty people, and post once in a while then you’re off to a very bad start.

I’m not saying this to detour you. I’m saying this so that you can start your blog with good intentions, great work ethic, and a message that WE, the reader, can really relate to. I want you to feel confident about starting your blog, Youtube, and social media pages. Trust me, it’s all a learning process, but I know you can do it. 

So, happy blogging!      

#BlackGirlMagic

This right here...is the epitome of #BlackGirlMagic

Your too angry. Your too aggressive. Your clothes are too tight. You got on too much makeup. Is your husband old? Does he beat you? Why do you cover your hair? Oh, you're from Detroit? You need to lose weight. Do you carry bombs under your scarf? Oh, you write? Everyone does that. Hehe.

These are a few of the real life questions and comments that I've received over the past few years.   

With the presence of Google, people just don't seem to get it. They don't get that my labels or the attributes that I was born with don't always define ME.

I like 80's alternative rock. I love soul food. I have several piercings. No tats. I have like a trillion degrees. I'm butt broke. And I enjoy Sci-fi fiction and X-men.   

Out of the blue, a local photographer emailed me. She introduced herself very nicely as Brooklyn Cashmere, said she followed me on the gram, and would like to do a shoot collaboration.

Here's the thing: I love to collaborate with unheard voices, local businesses, people who are hungry but don't get the recognition they necessarily deserve, or just don't have the access. For me, it's like the underdog winning the race.

I emailed her back saying fa' sho! WHEN and WHERE?

We met up in Downtown Detroit at this little bowling/pizza place. It was a weekday. No one was there. Great. We sat down and just talked. I asked her what she was about, what her angle was. She told me that she connected to my words more so than my fashion. I thought that shit was deep. Because, I'm like a writer first and fashion is a close second. She said that she was apprehensive to contact me because people in this industry can sometimes have some fucked up attitudes. I told her, trust me, I know the deal. People get a couple of followers on Tumblr or Instagram and their whole attitude changes into Mariah Carey status.

If you know me, or met me in person, I'm the type of gal that goes off energy and vibes. Brooklyn's vibe was cool, down-to-earth. I told her what I was about, too. My journey. I asked her what concept she had for a shoot. She said she wanted to go with the flow.

I said let's do something powerful. I want to be a rock star. And not just any rock star, but a rocker turbanista. I wanted fierceness. Anger. Confidence. And beauty wrapped into one.

I wanted to scream, kick, sing, smash things, and bring the Naomi Campbell attitude to level: 1000. Brooklyn was like ok! Lol. I searched Pinterest for ideas. Found some dope photos. I sent my MUA, Madinah some beauty ideas. And the day came and I was excited to kick ass.

This shoot was super experimental, and we all went in with a positive attitude. As artists, we have this idea in our heads of how we want something to go and it goes the way its supposed to.

I love for my photosets to tell the reader or viewer something. I want these photos to get you talking, get you thinking, and get you up and out of your shell. The shell that we all have a tendency to hide behind. Trust me, I have a few of them.

So to loop back around, remember all those crazy comments above? The ones people had said to me? This shoot is for all of you. Yeah, I'm still broke, haha. But I'm much happier because I'm being true to myself, and at the end of the day, that's all that really matters.

Yes, I'm angry, and, yeah I'm assertive still, but I have some good qualities, too. And they all intertwine together to make me, ME.  

Shoutout to the genius behind the camera, Brooklyn Cashmere and my MUA and friend, Madinah M.

Yall want the look?

Turban: Wrapped by me!

Dress: Divno Je

Shades: Forever 21

Jacket: JC Penney's

Jewelry (including lace gloves): Hot Topic

Leggings: Torrid

Boots: Payless

Daily Inspiration: What's Yours?

Inspiration: The process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

Synonyms: creativity · inventiveness · innovation       

I don’t use a lot of mainstream media for inspiration because, at times, it’s frankly chocked full of lies and deceit. And we see the same things, over and over again. People using trends and taking them to the extreme where no individuality or originality is even shown. These characteristics still exist. You’ve just got to find something that excites you, then place your own spin on it.

Makeup Courtesy of Madinah M. (@Theeebeautyqueen)

Exploring Pinterest, I stumbled upon a few of Tyra Banks’ photos. I adored Tyra when she was on “Fresh Prince” with Will Smith and even more so when she started America’s Next Top Model. I learned soooo much from watching that show as a teen. Not only is she beautiful but she’s also a businesswoman. I like those ‘not just a pretty face’ types. The ones who have strong wing lines but also has a degree in philosophy.

But back to inspiration. I get inspired by many things: cool people, good books, bad ones, fat girl blogs, and movies. Photos and visits to the museum, pondering old art, and just plain silence. Sometimes, I inspire myself by looking back on all the dumb shit I’ve done and all the situations I’ve handled like a normal person which resulted in not going off on someone who probably deserved it.

I think it is very important to be inspired as well as strive to inspire others. People need that. Genuine inspiration. Because that leads to hope. And with hope, you can do anything and go anywhere and be ok. There was a time where I was hopeless, inspiration-less. It was the worst time in my life. To be in a deep, dark hole. Just stuck. You can’t see anything but that dirt wall. The sun is out there somewhere, but you don’t even know it’s there. That was me. Before I hit the deep end, I sought out help. Which was the best decision I ever made. She made me see again, and feel. I was inspired by the small things like the sun, and friends, and a good TV show.  

Now that I know how important it is to be inspired, I try to maintain that level of mental stimulation at all times. It keeps me sane. It keeps me happy. It keeps the darkness from seeping inward.

Fun Fact: I'm wearing raggedy socks underneath. HAHA.

It’s Friday. Go out and do something tiny. Smile at a stranger even though they may not smile back. Paint your toenails. Grab a scoop of ice cream. Or just sit in your car at the park with the windows down and let the fresh air flow through.

Wanna know what I'm wearing for the Tyra Bank's inspired shoot?

Faux Fur Stole: Forever 21 (Cancun)

Dress: Forever 21 Plus

Gloves: Claire's

Clutch: Target

Jewels: Hubby :)

Turbanista Chornicles: Detroit Street Style

On the streets of Detroit, I walked to my boo's grand opening for her new storefront located on Cass Ave. with my burgundy matte lippie and some dope ass shades from Forever 21. By the way, if you happen to be in Midtown go visit iLovePurple.com (cool accessories business locally owned by an awesome Detroiter named Brittany).

After the event, I wanted to take some outdoor photos of this historic area of Midtown Detroit. Unbeknownst to me, we caught the iconic W. Willis street sign.

So here's why this area is so iconic--to me. Years ago my mother used to take us to this very store on the corner (the yellow building). It was once a health food business (before being organic and natural became a 'thing'). We'd be in this store for hours. She'd talk to all her friends that worked there and shop for soy milk and honey. And to see where it is now, it's soooo different. New businesses are popping up and art venues. It's boomin'.

I lived and roamed Detroit before it became 'cool' to live there. We stayed in the bad parts, where poverty was real and unavoidable. Detroit isn't a fad. We've got history. So respect the city!

Ooooook! So enough of my angry black girl rants. Haha. Yall, came here to see what I'm wearing. So, let me tell you my fatspo (Short for: fat inspiration) first. I wanted to look cute and modern yet rugged like one of those people who read Vogue magazine but could also possibly start a fire without matches. Bingo!

Wardrobe:

Forever 21: Scarf/Shades

T-shirt: JC Penney

Sleeveless Vest: Target

Leggings: Torrid

Boots: Lane Bryant

Big sis took all the photos and had to get in on the shoot, too.

How much do we love that velvet blazer? A lot.

I want to see some of you guys' 'street style' looks. Make sure to hashtag #LeahVDaily on the gram (Instagram) so I can take a look at all of your street beauty :) 

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