An obsession since age 11, love nail art. Really want to do the different blush pink hues, which is perfect for spring. Via: Nail Bae La, Nail It Mag and This Is Lauren Davis
Do no harm, but take no shit. Always try to view other’s with compassion, walk in their shoes. Still, stand up for yourself if people take your kindness for weakness. Are you someone who tries to comprehend, or do you have tunnel vision and only see your point of view?
Bobo’s and diamond entwined cornrows. Ciara’s ode to black hair is the vibe. For centuries people have demeaned black women’s hair as nappy, or tough. In reality we have the most versatile hair, we can do any style, our braids stay twisted, it can be knotted, silky, whatever we want it to be. Society is full of it and it’s refreshing to see something so magnificent being praised, instead of condemned with perms (which continue to do if it’s your thing) to fit the white aesthetic. Which one is your fave? I’m so here for the first photo, legit this was my look for picture day in third grade. Photos: Ciara
Going to the beach with a bunch of gays who make a living on ranking women is not for the weak of heart. Thank the lord I was snatched to the gods and could handle it. These were model agents after all, women are merited based on aesthetics, which can sometimes spill over into real life. More than a time, or two I had to get them together. You aren’t in front of the camera for a reason, lest you forget.
Elite’s Manhattan office after hours, it was a special occasion. We drank remnants of an opened bottle of champagne from clear plastic cups, against a jaw dropping view of the skyline. Givenchy was debuting at New York Fashion Week, Riccardo Tisci at the helm. Three agents (DNA, Ford and Elite) and I sat encased in a glass box staring at the big screen. I’ve had an affinity for models since elementary school. Being the tallest girl in class most of my life, it was a relief to see people as gigantic as me. I was casted as a young girl, but my mom would never take me. Glory be, the industry is brutal, kudos to those who traverse it successfully, self-esteem still in tact. While I watched the show for the theatrics and artistry, they watched to see how the girls performed, the clothes completely escaping their minds.
Pat McGrath make-up and masks couldn’t conceal them from spotting whose who. They spotted a model based on legit her ears! EARS for christ sake! In light of fashion week coming to a close here are some things I’ve learned based on the insights of agents:
- Agencies Are Ranked: If you don’t work for a top ten agency, you’re considered a joke. They will cackle and drag you to the catacombs, especially if you’re not in the top three. Forget about it.
- Rankings Change: All the time, depending on who is traded where, earnings and how many supermodels are on the roster. One month it’s IMG, the next it’s The Society.
- Weekend Of Tears: Is a thing, girls cry when they don’t make the cut for the big shows. You can find models in and out of various offices, faces stained, because they didn’t book Alexander Wang or Chanel.
- Broke Until You’re Not: A lot of girls come as, well girls, teenagers who are placed in a model house. If you aren’t booked and making money, you’re going home broke and in debt (rent, transportation, food…) That’s why getting the big shows and campaigns matter, it means visibility and big bucks. Especially if you’re supporting a family overseas. No one wants to be dropped and owing the agency what they didn’t make back.
- Male Models: Struggle more than anyone. Unless you’re a top male model, you’re nobody.
To be a success in this industry takes skill, tenacity and a thick skin. They make it look easy, because that’s their job. Whose your favorite mannequin? Photo: Riccardo Tisci Instagram
There are a plethora of people in my drunken moments who would demand (rightfully so) an apology from me. To the people I’ve soberly done wrong in the past, I’ve made amends. Nothing free’s the soul more than owning your crap and taking accountability. Even if you’re scared, you can go to sleep at night knowing you did the right thing. Who do you need to say sorry to? Dismantle your ego, it’s blocking your blessings.
Khloe has had some major hair looks, but this one is hands down my favorite of all time. This bob screams Dynasty, she’s ready to throw down with Dominque and them. It’s glamour, sophistication, chic. This is a woman who shits gold. EPIC EPIC EPIC look. All she needs is a lavish necklace and a single oversized diamond encrusted cross earring, that states, “Yeah I’ll drag you, but I’m still of the lord.” Do you love it, or prefer her other styles? Photos: Khloe Kardashian Insta
And so Time goes on as it should and events that were once fated to happen are left instead to chance, and Chance never falls in love with anything for long.
Artist: Titus Kaphar
Keep your martini’s dirty too. Can you name something else best sullied?
“You’re that conspiracy theorist that nobody believes, but you’re always right.”-Rakim
Demons, ghosts, the soul within your flesh chamber you name it I see it, or have seen it.
As I grow older all these ancient proverbs ring truer than true. The eyes really are the windows to the soul. At first it started off as clairsentience, the ability to feel clearly. Energies, other peoples emotions, beguiling objects; walking down the street I could look at the 15th floor of a building and know it was haunted. That whatever resided in there was looking down at me, sensing my acknowledgment. Male, female, century, attire all things I could pick up. I’d never seen anything when I was younger, with the exception of my grandmother’s house at nine.
Red numbers beamed from the small radio alarm clock alerting me that it was precisely 2:38am. How bizarre, I never wake up from deep sleeps, was my first thought. The air was stiff and eerie, all the lights out, creating different hues of darkness, the only way objects stood out in the landscape. Separating our room from the living room, where my grandmother slept on her pull out couch, leaving the bedroom to us, were these wooden venetian doors. They were kept open so the industrial fan could rotate air between us. There it was. At first I thought I was seeing things. But this figure was shorter than the fan and it’s eyes beamed red like the clock. He was wearing a hat, with a shirt the shape of a Hawaiian button down, it had shorts on and a grin that was somehow contained and exceeded the oval shape of his face. But it was the arms. Longer than it’s body, the arms curled up behind him swinging back and forth, never touching the floor. This being was not human. Scared to death I nudge my sister Whitney and cousin Breon silently awake, was the apparition real? None of us said a word, but we all saw it, we stared at it as it stared at us grinning insidiously. We were entranced for a good ten minutes. Afraid it would come closer, we wrapped the blankets over our heads, leaving only space for our noses to peek out. I found out that this demon was called the Short Man, often accompanied by the Tall Man. Shadow people. Years later my sister described them both, as she saw the Tall man too that night.
Twenty five was a turning point, my abilities magnified and I couldn’t control them. I started to see things, I mean really, really see them. I was terrified living in a haunted apartment in west Harlem, 3am on the dot and the whole place would come alive. I found myself unable to move with an animal growling in my ear, I’ve waken up with three doctor like figures looking down at me as if they were operating, I’ve heard my name called down the hallway. One day I told my roommates and they’d experienced some of the same things too. However no one saw anything like me. This is why I went to the psychic to know what I was. My estranged father is Haitian and openly practices voodoo. These capabilities are in my blood. The psychic taught me how to meditate, creating a barrier between myself and unwanted entities.
It bogles my mind that humans are myopic minded to believe we are the only things that inhabit this universe. Animals can pick up ranges of sensory information unbeknownst to us, a dog whistles frequency exceeds our scope. A born seer, I never had a choice, this gift to see souls, to pass spirits along to the other side (which I’ve done for friends and those who come to me), premonitions…it was passed down to me. So when I warn others about someone’s true intentions, or a nefarious being I only need say it once. I have a proven record. Heed my advice, or learn the hard way, either way it comes to pass. Photo: Elle Gramm
I can’t stress enough that to be human is to be flawed and imperfect. If we were perfect we would be robots. Stop trying to be everybody else, be you, the sperm and egg that made it. You can always be a better version of yourself and evolve. I will tell you the older you get the less your care about what others think. What do you hate about yourself physically? Why?