Muse: The Brand

Bohemian Chic

Evolution of the Afro

Ok, so one of the things I am best known for is my hair. Right now I have a huge red afro so it makes sense, but this has always been true even when I was like every other black girl from L.A. with a "wrap." Besides my big eyes, nothing about my person is commented on more (and I would say the hair has been trumping the eyes for the past year or so). What most people do not know is how the afro came about. It was not some calculated fashion statement or ode to my roots or anything like that. It really started out as an experiment and a little silent rebellion against the law firm life I was living.

During the summer there would sometimes be events that fell on the weekend and, little black girl that I am, when I was invited to a white water rafting trip with my firm, I decided to wear my hair "natural" as opposed to either not going or spending the whole time trying to protect my "press" from getting wet. For generations we have been told that "natural" hair is not "professional" hair, so no one at work had seen me with "big hair', for lack of a better description. Needless to say, not only was I not recognized by most of my colleagues but once reminded (being one of only several black people period, this did not take long) my hair became a major point of intrigue. Why didn't I wear it like this to work? How did I go from the flat straight hair to this curly beehive overnight? Can I touch it? Honestly, I was as intrigued as they were because it never ceases to amaze me how people react to hair, which, if I am not mistaken, is just dead skin cells.

Anyway, I slowly integrated the "natural" look into my wardrobe. Mind you, my wardrobe was also a point of intrigue as I am forever my mother's child and refuse to live without color in my life. Always professional, I was still already pushing the envelope with my steady rotation of yellow, purple, green, and intricate print stilettos. I started off with a more curly version of the natural, where I would take care to wet it daily and use ample product to keep the curls in tact. By the end I was in full afro rebellion, my only saving grace being the headbands I wore to prevent innocent bystanders from being confronted by my "nappiness" right at the nape of my hairline. Once I left the firm, the experiment was over and this afro that I rock, that is definitely a major part of my personal brand, was simply an economic decision. I no longer had expendable income and, therefore, could not afford the $60 to 125 every 2 weeks to have my hair done professionally. I have never been a do it yourself kind of girl and I honestly did not care that much, so afro it is.

"When you step out of the house, always look like you have someplace to be"

I was given this advice over a year ago by "My Diana" George Worrell, DC's resident style expert and Muse's first client. (sidenote: He is Diana Ross because I am Barry Gordy; I started out by being Puffy (which would make him my Mary), but he edited this right away). Since I have been on a whirlwind of self analysis and growth over the past several months, earlier this week I had been seeking his counsel and making sure he "let me have it" since I want to become the "Boss Bitch" that he and Donovon envision me as and telling me how fabulous I am is not going to get me there. Anyway, he found a subtle way to mention this same advice again (really in relation to the fact that I wore jeans to a meeting where I was there to talk business, his business at that (I wore a blazer and heels as well, in my defense)). My rationale was that I had already had several meetings and the deal was done and this was just a final wrap up...and really, I felt like wearing jeans.

I, of course, listened to the advice especially because it was coming from a good place and it was accompanied by the retelling of how me and George met and how I had so much swagger and confidence "way back" then. In the midst of the storm that I believe all visionaries and entrepreneurs encounter, I had lost a bit of my "Museness." It was not completely gone, but it is difficult to feign confidence when you are confronted head on with all of your weaknesses, most of which you previously thought were strengths, after 30 years of "skating" by on your talent, looks, and wit.

Anyway, because God or the universe or whatever is in on this mission to make my vision a reality, I was twice reminded of this little tidbit of advice and I will now be mindful of its importance.

Encounter 1:

On Tuesday I had no outside meetings and I spent most of the day contemplating starting this blog and trying not to freak myself out by the fact that I would actually send it out for people to read and evaluate not only my writing, but my frailty. At 2pm, I was put into the unfortunate situation of having to rush to the bank and be home by 3pm for my bi-weekly session with my Nutritionist. I threw on some jeans, puffed the afro out a bit (or did I, lol) and rushed out. As fate would have it, as soon as I was in "eyeshot" of the teller counter, I could see that the bank president who I know from social circles and is the reason why I am a customer of the Bank of Georgetown was standing there talking to the employees. I had been hoping not to see him during my 7 minute ride to the bank, but no such luck.

Since there was no turning back, I walked in, had a brief conversation and let him know that I would be calling him about an opportunity I am contemplating involving The Lincoln Theatre where, a quick search a few weeks ago revealed, he was a member of the Board. I gave myself some points for this one (see fault #7) as sometimes you have to seize the moment, even if you are sporting a lopsided fro, jeans and a baby T with Pipi Longstocking on the front.

Encounter #2

Everyone who knows me knows that I hate the grocery store and any other store that is not for the exclusive purpose of clothes/accessories shopping. This includes Target (it is almost sacrilegious to "hate Target", but it is what it is). Anyway, my Father-in-Law got in his mind that we "had to" get Ryan a potty chair "today" (Thursday). Trying not to be ungrateful for his offer to purchase it and implement his time tested "method" for getting her to learn to poop in the potty, I said let's go now (lest I have a minute to devise a seemingly innocent reason why this Target trip does not occur). Anyway, the whole 7 minute drive there I was hoping that I would not run into George (who lives across the street from Target and whom I encounter every time I go, which is very rarely) because I was wearing pretty much the same getup as Tuesday except the baby T had some kind of retro 7 Up logo on it. I walk in, make a stop at Pizza Hut, which is the only thing that made the trip worthwhile, sit and eat my pizza and slurpee and walk right into George as I begin my trek through the store to get "this one thing" and get the hell out of here. (Sidenote: I am not that big a fan of Pizza Hut pizza, but the individual size pizzas are to die for...I guess size does matter).

Needless to say, I am still sticking to my Bohemian Chic style (it is who I am--no make-up, natural hair, trend defying style) but I am going to be more careful not to leave the "chic" at home.