Thinking Kinky : The Nappy Haired Diva

I lived most of my adult life believing I was meant to work for myself. I started off selling Avon. I would hustle my catalog to my colleagues at the investment firm I worked in and fill orders. I was building a decent client base and was receiving a small profit, however, I spent more than I earned to remain active as a distributor. Strangers had their own distributors and didn't want to purchase from me. I got tired of hitting up my clients for more sales and giving away trinkets with each purchase was dipping into my profits. Parties dwindled after the first one. Avon wasn't turning out to be the escape I needed from Corporate America. Fast forward to Arbonne. I was a beauty consultant or whatever we were called and I hosted a successful party along with developing a business selling gift baskets to peoples wives for holidays and birthdays. Again, I was obligated to have a base amount of sales so during slow months, I cut into my meager profit to meet the amount needed ...

Funny that I created this blog years ago in effort to draw positive attention to what so many others were scorning at the time; natural hair. I used to be a natural hair stylist and I met so many women who were either afraid to "go natural" or were struggling to stay natural. Seldom did I meet someone who was content and simply needed styling services. I won't say that learning navigate an entirely new hair texture doesn't come with it's fair share of challenges. I will say that so many of us don't want to deal with our hair once it's restored to its original texture. I have to admit that I have been one of the women that I used to tsk at years ago. I always have in hair extensions by way of weave, braids or crocheted something. I say that I am doing a protective style which is sometimes true but most times I am just trying not to do my hair at all. I don't want to bother to manipulate my hair into elaborate twist outs and take time to do intricat...

Photo courtesy of MotherTruth About 11 years ago, my mornings typically consisted of me hoisting a sleeping toddler into a stroller, speed walking to a train station, granting obligatory good mornings to day care staff, signing my child in, and rushing back to the train station to go to work. Somehow my heart got the best of my mind and I was insane enough to hit the reset button after 5 years and start the routine all over again with my second child.  I recall nervously avoiding mentioning my children during job interviews knowing that it would hurt my chances. I was a single mother, with two children and every sniffle, fever, and boo boo was going to take me out of the office. The realization that this information is unfavorable to the employer will make any hopeful candidate nervous. Even after being hired, I would try to keep my status as a parent private until I felt secure in my position.  With a pre-teen and tween, the pressure hasn't been alleviated. I'm n...

Each time I meet with a client, or go to a job interview I have long straight tresses. They cascade down my back. They float in the wind. They come off at night.  I wear wigs. While I enjoy changing my appearance, I also enjoy donning my natural tresses. The issue? I'm not sure if Corporate America embraces a foot tall afro. My "foxxy cleopatra" can easily be viewed as a "crazy nappy afra" to employers. While this can be a non-issue for some employers, one never knows when hair is an issue. This knowledge serves as the catalyst for a more "corporate appropriate" appearance. It's not worth taking the chance of losing a job opportunity when I can increase my chances by putting on a hairy hat for a few hours. Sometime after I have earned respect and tenure, the wig is retired. I arrive to work with a spongey mass of hair on my head and the comments begin.  I'm flooded with "Oh my God" 's "Can I touch it" 's...

For almost two decades, my career has existed within the corporate world. My mornings have been spent either spewing a variety of profanity words from behind the wheel of my 8 year old Chrysler or ironically spending my most intimate moments chest to chest with strangers on the train. By the time I've made it work, I'm ready to go home. Each day is the same. Someone will gossip about someone else. We'll all lament about how life is nothing more than indentured servitude and once our time was up we would be free but impoverished. Our bodies will go into shock after having been conditioned to work and therefore shut down and die. It was really uplifting conversation. We all wear the same outfits. The blouses and pants and blazers and pencil skirt and cedar colored shoes and ties and suits and make up and comb-overs and phony smiles and cruel intentions. It's pretty much a uniform. But underneath all of that, there's me. Me is...