Everyday Black Matters
Last weekend, Manhattan was mine to behold. The run-down, the clothes, the madness –oh my– are sure to follow in a coming post.
In the meantime, a story…
When I was 14, my friends & I were gettin’ jiggy at a party in honor of my boyfriend, Le’John. A girl from my high school, Corey introduced me to her little sister, Sharry. Sharry had on the most trendy jeans at the time, regular wash with two giant leather patches on the entire front on the legs: from pocket to feet. Everyone I knew lucky enough to have those jeans had their pair in black. Not Sharry, hers were in hunter green. Her black, green & pink button up silky shirt matched perfectly. Her hair was perfectly pressed & curled. There in front of me was my fashion hero. We clicked instantly.
During the summer we were thick as thieves, patrolling Fairlane and NorthLand Mall with general regularity. In 10th, we worked together at the 8 Mile Ponderosa where we would sing at the top of our lungs as we cleaned up for the night. After high school, we were just bored enough to do what everyone else was doing in Detroit: drive up and down 7 mile with no particular plan. Every few feet a gas station parking lot would be filled with folks blaring the rap beats and feeding off the energy of one another. Looking back now I will freely admit how remarkably lame it all was, except that in our defense thousands of Detroiters’ with nothing else to do joined in the 7 mile thang. i.e. “What are you doing tonight?” “Nothin. Just goin’ to 7 mile.”
Our favorite -nothing-else-to-do activity was to hit the clubs. Half the fun was –of course– getting ready to hit the clubs. Hours, I tell you, entire blocks of hours, could be spent doing one another’s hair, nails, toes, make-up, eyebrow plucking, rivaled only by actually putting together the right outfit. It was as if every night at one those jenky clubs was our red carpet debut. Back when clubbing was actually fun, was when we were between 16 and 19 years old. When you’re not old enough to get into a club where alcohol is served, you make your own fun. After 21, guys get drunk, fight and push people. Said people then spill their alcoholic beverage on your suede shoes that you couldn’t afford in the first doggone place.
At the clubs, Sharry was the good girl. Never drank, never swore, never left with anyone. She was the angel on my right shoulder, my voice of reason. For example, one time we were at a 21 & under club just off 96 on Telegraph. I wish with all my might I could remember the name of that club! Anyway, I was wearing Sharry’s navy blue & white striped tank top dress, shin length, with a side slit up-to-there, from Limited Express (back before they dropped the word ‘Limited’). I paired the dress with my navy blue & white Chuck Taylor’s. I felt so look-how-casually-cute-I-am-with-gymmies-and-a-slit-to-there-tight-fitting-dress-on-my-little-size-3-body with not even a hint of cleavage. (Ahhh, those were the days). My hair was in a perfect bob, of course. Eventually, I brought Carl over to Sharry like a cat drags home a mouse and drops it on the floor for her owner expecting an ‘atta girl.’ I was giddy with expectation that Carl was going to wind up being my one true love when I tried to casually explain that Carl was taking me out to the after-after party.
No, that wasn’t going to happen, she said. She pulled me aside and gave me the whole –are-you-outta-yo-damn-mind — speech in which I responded that even though I had just met Carl 20 minutes earlier it would be hard for to deny our obvious chemistry. To which she replied that our “obvious chemistry” wouldn’t stop him from raping, killing me & leaving me in a garbage bag on the side of the road. Which, she amended, would be far easier for him to do if I left with him that night. She offered to drive me all the way out to my friend Jodi’s house in Canton. Back then, Canton felt like 5 million light-years distance from the actual city of Detroit so the gesture of kindness was not lost on me.
If you don’t think this was an outstanding act of friendship enough listen to this: she even waited patiently in the parking lot while we made out and did that whole “I love you more,” “no I love you more” thing. Yeah, that was me. These were dark times.
Sharry drove me out to BFE just to keep me from sleeping with Carl that night which she knew I would most certainly regret later, because I ALWAYS did. My being a “troubled teen-aged girl” was only the tip of the iceberg in describing those precarious years. By the by, Carl and I phased out after about 6 months. So that whole true love thing? Not so much. Six months of a relationship for little Gracie Green? A lifetime. See. I told you we had chemistry. So much chemistry he ditched me for his ex, Lauren. Yep, her name was Lauren. I remember. I was a psycho-path, clearly.
In many ways, Sharry was my voice of reason for all things men. She is now, and has always been, stunningly beautiful. She’s really the type of girl that you wouldn’t want to be around if she had a big head about it, but she never has. Never. She’s never felt like she was better than anyone else for being that doggone pretty, and never treated us less-prettier-than-her types any differently. Growing up in Detroit though, with all that prettiness to boot meant dudes were ALWAYS tryin’ to holla. Like for-crying-out-loud-have-you-ever-seen-a-pretty-woman-before-sheesh-you-big-horn-dog. All. The. Time. When we were together, dudes came out of the wood work. I thought I got a lot of attention, compared to her –quadrupled.
While I would be jumping around with giddy anticipation at every new possible (shallow) relationship, Sharry would be like, “um, no thank you.” Some dude would be spittin’ some lame game and I’d be smiling and about to give him my number and Sharry would grab my arm and take me away and simply say “no.” And I’d say “wait, Sharry he’s really cute, he’s really really cute” and she’d say “no. Let’s go,” and that was that. She had this uncanny ability to be able to completely ignore all the men who would be screaming “hey gorgeous,” “hey pretty lady,” “hey come here girl”,” yo cutie”, “hey shortie let me talk to you for a minute,” and every other pick-up line you have ever heard or may ever hear. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was always like this. Even this past weekend I watched as about five dudes tried to get her attention and she walked by blissfully unaware. When I told her this she gave me the exact same response she used to give 12 years ago…”oh, guuuuuurl I just block that mess out.”
Another gift that kept on giving? Sharry taught me how to DRESS. She is my fashion inspiration and always has been. When people ask me where I got my fashion sense I always credit her. Here’s the fun facts:
- She challenged the idea of not buying outfits straight off the rack the way the stores make you think your supposed to. She taught me how to dress in separates, which if you know my style, is all I do. I love separates!
- She taught me how to use accessories to change clothes from a day-time outfit, to an evening outfit, to an afternoon date outfit. With her accessories, she’s a bit of a miracle worker.
- She taught me how to really experiment with my hair. The fact that I change my hair so often? It’s really Sharry’s fault. Once she told me, (and I quote) “Never. Never ever be satisfied with your hair until you like it. Just bust out the Bobby pins and keep pinning until you get something you like. With bobby pins, you can never have a bad hair day. Just keep pinning and pinning. There is always a way!” I still remember this and yes, I still live by Bobby Pins!
- She taught me how to fuss with clothes until they were what you wanted. For example, about a full-year before the standard boot-cut jeans got popular, Sharry was cutting little slits in the inside bottom hem of her jeans. When I asked her about it she said she’d “seen the look on the runway,” and wanted to fit her jeans over her boots. I thought she was on crack. The next Fall, boot cut jeans were all the rage.
- Once she took a shirt of mine, cut the arms off and made a headband. When I came over to get the shirt back, she handed it to me and smiled, “oh, I hope you don’t mind…I made it short-sleeve, it’s cuter that way.” How the heck could I mind? It was cuter that way!
- She gets really bored with her clothes really fast (kind of like how I do with my hair styles) so she gave her “old” stuff to me. And by “old” I mean she would wear them for one season! One! It was FANTASTIC! When we were both size 5, my closet was amazing. Now, well, um, she is still a 5, but I’m…. well, let’s just say, not even close.
She ended up studying fashion and textile design and moved to the big Apple to pursue her dream of starting her own line. She designs all the INC brand for Macy’s, and I’m such a proud big sis! (Well, I am older than her albeit only by 7 days). =)
So. I knew it HAD to work out for Sharry & I to get together in NYC after not seeing her for 10 years, since August 25, 2001. I’m not obsessed but I remember the last time I saw Sharry because it was the night Aaliyah died. I remember hearing the news on the drive home and feeling like a real booty-hole because I told Sharry how sick I was of Aaliyah’s swoop bang. (As an aside, feeling regret about speaking badly of a Detroit-bred, international singing-sensation may just be one of the big regrets of my life. I loved Aaliyah). Sigh.
Back to Sharry, I was really feeling SO special when she took me to Macy’s corporate offices, but then so stupid when I tried to fit into the revolving door with her and my purse got stuck as someone from the outside tried to push herself in.
I was feeling a bit stupid when I said I was hungry, pointed to and suggested we eat at “SUBWAY,” when she replied that that was the sign for the actual subway, NOT the restaurant. After seeing almost all 9 floors of the Manhattan Macy’s, we sat in the shoe department and told our sordid stories of love and loss in the last 10 years, ate chinese food in her cute lil apartment and took in the Manhattan skyline at 2am. It was so fabulous. After a few months of really tough stuff, it was just what I needed.
And at the end of the night, you guessed it, she gifted me a giant bag full’o’goodies, including all the stuff she gets from Macy’s at sample sales: about 5 statement necklaces —with tags still on, the crazy woman– , eight dresses that I can sort of squeeze into as shirts and a few pair of size 5 jeans for me to give away to friends who can actually fit them. Laugh. Out. Loud.
She’s the same old, Sharry. Godly, smart, beautiful, sweet as pie. And I love her.
Anyone else have any sweet reunion stories??
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