I can say that growing up in a black neighborhood, watching black tv and listening to black music, at a certain point and time, I held a soft spot in my heart for what the folks outside of this little microcosm would call the ghetto lifestyle. I couldn't wait to buy my own car with the big rims on them, with my fake designer shades on and my lipgloss poppin, sending all other people driving in the opposite direction skidding off of the road. I longed to step out of my car with my Baby Phat outfit (back then it would've been the one piece jumpsuit) that fit too tight on my body, some Air Force 1 high heeled boots, and a nice brand new set of gel (not acrylic, chile) nails, with the nail art in 7 different colors and toes to match. I laugh looking back at how my folks put that up on such a pedastal. That was considered living "the life". An absolute shame that your status, as insignificant as it is now, was completely dependent upon who's knock off Louis Vuitton looked better. By the time I was sixteen-years-old, I had read a few Vogues and had started emerging myself in the "outside" world. I was a lucky one. Highschool was nothing but a parade of urban branded clothing. Not that there's anything wrong with them (I own a few pair), but to have my peers try to give me advice on what to wear to get the guys to like me, just made me sad for them. I once had a girl ask me if I knew anything at all about fashion whilst looking at my Levi jeans, no name tank top and blazer with an eye of disgust. She, with all of her Rocawear on and her "designer" Baby Phat purse, was left completely dumbfounded when I commenced naming designers left and right: Vera Wang, Coco Chanel, Adrian Gilbert, Marc Jacobs, Cynthia Rowley, Alexander McQueen, Isaac Mizrahi (yes Isaac), and so on. I walked away feeling sorry for her and less sorry for my new label as SNOB. I was told I dressed like a white girl. I didn't know that fashion was divided into race. I wasn't "down" because I didn't care to look like I just "chicken-headed" out of a Nelly video. After exploring a whole new world of clothing, art, and what it all really meant, I must say I experienced my own personal renaissance. Fashion, then became way more valuable to me than a pair of $100 gymshoes (
even if I do drop $300 from time to time on a pair of good designer shoes). It became true self expression, and not self expression through the eyes of BET. No super models will be seen off runways rocking 3 inch long nails calling it cute. You're not seeing Michelle Obama with pink and yellow streaks in her hair. I feel sorry for these girls, many whom I personally know that will never understand that there is more to living a prosperous life than "name brand" clothes and riding around in a kool-aid colored car. But they don't know any better, and probably never will.
I can say that growing up in a black neighborhood, watching black tv and listening to black music, at a certain point and time, I held a soft spot in my heart for what the folks outside of this little microcosm would call the ghetto lifestyle. I couldn't wait to buy my own car with the big rims on them, with my fake designer shades on and my lipgloss poppin, sending all other people driving in the opposite direction skidding off of the road. I longed to step out of my car with my Baby Phat outfit (back then it would've been the one piece jumpsuit) that fit too tight on my body, some Air Force 1 high heeled boots, and a nice brand new set of gel (not acrylic, chile) nails, with the nail art in 7 different colors and toes to match. I laugh looking back at how my folks put that up on such a pedastal. That was considered living "the life". An absolute shame that your status, as insignificant as it is now, was completely dependent upon who's knock off Louis Vuitton looked better. By the time I was sixteen-years-old, I had read a few Vogues and had started emerging myself in the "outside" world. I was a lucky one. Highschool was nothing but a parade of urban branded clothing. Not that there's anything wrong with them (I own a few pair), but to have my peers try to give me advice on what to wear to get the guys to like me, just made me sad for them. I once had a girl ask me if I knew anything at all about fashion whilst looking at my Levi jeans, no name tank top and blazer with an eye of disgust. She, with all of her Rocawear on and her "designer" Baby Phat purse, was left completely dumbfounded when I commenced naming designers left and right: Vera Wang, Coco Chanel, Adrian Gilbert, Marc Jacobs, Cynthia Rowley, Alexander McQueen, Isaac Mizrahi (yes Isaac), and so on. I walked away feeling sorry for her and less sorry for my new label as SNOB. I was told I dressed like a white girl. I didn't know that fashion was divided into race. I wasn't "down" because I didn't care to look like I just "chicken-headed" out of a Nelly video. After exploring a whole new world of clothing, art, and what it all really meant, I must say I experienced my own personal renaissance. Fashion, then became way more valuable to me than a pair of $100 gymshoes (
Lol! What more can I say, this is all very true, and it's just sad that some people will really never get it. Some people will always think that being "ghetto-fabulous" is what's "in," i. e. that damn couple on their way to prom in the pics above. Hell, I bet they would even get married in another dress and suit like that if they could find them in more colors! 'That ish ain't cute, goofies!' Lmao!
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