It all started with my discovery of Lightbox.
Recommended by my homeboy Nudy (an officiando of “the next big thing” in many facets of life, but that’s another post altogether), Lightbox is a photo sharing app for Android phones that is most comparable to iPhone’s Instagram, which as we all know, has taken the world by storm by allowing folks to dress up their everyday experiences with fancy photography filters.
To be young, gifted, and Black.
Lord knows I love the velvety goodness that is the voice of the late great Donny Hathaway. What I don’t love is the pressure that comes with being “young, gifted, and Black.” I touched on this last year when I happily revoked my Black Card. I like to think that I’ve lifted the burden of having to represent the race in every aspect of my life, but it’s hard not to cringe when I see my peers refer to behaviors and habits that I routinely partake in as being undignified or “ratchet” as the cool kids call it.
You know the standards: “If you still [name behavior here], #killyoself,” or “Only #basic hoes like [name behavior here].” Lately, I find myself hesitating to do things I find fun and harmless because the standards of the self-proclaimed Talented Tenth are dancing around in my head. Should I do this? Should I feel ashamed for liking this? Nah. People can’t know I do this.
I mean you. Yes, you hyped up on boredom and keyboard courage. You ain’t got no kind of manners. Ain’t seen no paaaaarts of decorum. And you need to be stopped.
That was a little venomous, huh? Hold up. *readjusts afro puff* *straightens sweater dress* *counts to three*
Okay. Now that I’ve got my swagger back, let me say what I came here to say.
So we all love celebrities right? Some of us more than others, but we can agree that we are a culture obsessed with the comings and goings of those shiny, sparkling faces we see on television. I won’t claim to be above it. I geek out over pictures of Hov and Bey staring lovingly into each other’s eyes, and enjoyed reading Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade’s tweets about their adventures overseas during the NBA Lockout. We live in the world of constant access, where our celebrity crushes are just a tweet away, allowing us to touch them in a way no generation has before.
If you’re like me, you wake up every morning a little grumpy, but grateful. Unless you’re one of those annoyingly optimistic “I hop out of bed every single morning because I’m so excited to start my day” types, your mood about life registers somewhere around “Life is good. Sure I wish I could lay in bed, watch TV, eat sandwiches, and have sex all day, but I’m grateful for what I have.”
To quote the great Laurence Fishburne, “WAAAAAAAKE UUUUUUUUUP!” Log on to your Twitter account, using some of that data plan on that fancy pants smart phone you can afford, and see what’s going on in these streets. It’s the end of the world as we know it, and you’re walking around thinking shit is sweet. There are ills in the world that require your outrage.
Just a girl with a writing habit, using a blog to share my stories and passions. These are the tales, interests, and observations of the quiet nerd in the corner of the bookstore; the professional woman strutting down the street in slacks clutching her Blackberry; the dork in bed by 9pm on a Saturday night; and the B-girl in the middle of the dance floor getting down in her sensible shoes. Welcome to the world of The Skinny Black Girl.
