“What are you going to write for your research paper?” one of my suitemates asked me as we all congregated into our common room.

I smirked as I had already calculated what their response would be.

“I want to study the homophobic tension in hip-hop” I replied.

And just as I had predicted, they all waved their hands at their ridiculousness for even asking the question.

Anyone who knows me can attest to my impenetrable love for hip-hop culture. I have been digesting rap and R&B music since my birth, being spoon-fed Eminem and Tupac right in between my mashed carrots and peas. The culture, the attitude, and the style have been cultivated into my being and it often irks me to no end when I hear outsiders lament about the woes and troubles that hip-hop has brought into the world. Blindsided by their ignorance, these people are unable to comprehend the autonomy that hip-hop has brought to our youth and future youth generations to come. And even though hip-hop has a dark side, just like every culture, it also has genuine lasers of light beaming through its dark history in search for the truth. I like to envision myself as one of those lasers every time I dedicate one of my research papers or articles to hip-hop, as I have devoted myself to exposing the truth about hip-hop, the good and the ugly.

My love for hip-hop culture often baffles many people seeing as I am an African-American woman and hip-hop is notorious for its misogynistic language and dehumanizing portrayals of women, especially African-American women. So how could I ever want to work in that type of industry? Well, I feel that lack of women present in the corporate and professional hip-hop industry has played an important role in the depiction of women in hip-hop culture. What many people do not understand is that hip-hop began as a space for men of color in low-income communities to reassert their masculinity within a society that prided itself on the feminization and objectification of the black male body; thus hip-hop was not created with women in mind except to act as sexual objects of their fantasy. Even though this is where hip-hop began, it astounds me that people do not recognize that this is not where it necessarily has to remain. I want to assure you that I am not excusing rappers or members in hip-hop culture for their awful portrayals or their repugnant attitudes towards women, but how can we really make a change within the industry if women do not take the time to understand the foundation of hip-hop? How can we really make a change within the industry if the only women present are video hos? The hip-hop industry needs more of a female presence in higher up positions if there is ever going to be a change in the culture. I love hip-hop and even though it has its flaws, that still does not detract from its beauty or its resiliency. Hip-hop may not appreciate my womanhood now, but if I turn my back on it, it just might not ever.

I’ve been flirting with fantasy for a long time now. In an ideal world, I would not only get to have the delicious ice cream sundae with a nice, big cherry on top but I would eat it too and even go back for seconds, and not even have to think about the calories. One of my goals in life is to be a successful CEO of my own magazine company, but I’ve found as a successful woman that it is much more difficult to get “the cherry”, or in my case, the guy, too. Despite the great amount of success I have had in my school and work life, I used to feel like none of that mattered because I did not have someone at my side to share it with. In high school, I sadly remember wishing to trade in my success as student body president or my amazing grades just for a boyfriend. I never have, nor do I think I will ever, understand this “mystical” spell that the male species has over women, but I am hoping that this blog post will act as an antidote to its destructive presence in the lives of women everywhere.

His name was Walker and before I came along he was the top sales representative in my office. This summer I worked for a marketing company distributing kitchen cutlery, which I discovered that my uncle had done 10 years before. When I told my Mom about the job she scoffed at me and told me that I was no salesman like my uncle. Yet within my first weekend out on the job, I sold $3,000 worth of product, the fastest of anyone in my office. I used to hate the thought of coming into the office once a week or going to a business conference but once I met Walker, my enthusiasm and thus my success continued to grow. Even though being successful at this job would have meant having an amazing resume booster and given me valuable business experience, not to mention a nice pay day, I only attempted to do well  at the job because it meant I would get to spend more time with Walker. Interestingly enough, when I finally surpassed Walker in sales, however, he unexpectedly disappeared. Week after week I would inquire his whereabouts from my boss, who would only reply, “He’ll be back next week.” Sadly that “next week” never came and when I finally realized this, my enthusiasm and thus my sales began to suffer. I had lost my appetite for the job even when I had a plentiful feast right in front of my face. I knew that letting some guy, that I barely even knew, affect my job performance was so ridiculously stupid but I wanted it all and for some reason the greater powers of the world did not want me to have it. Stubbornly, I starved myself of the success I knew I had worked hard towards all summer for the next few weeks. I was hindering no one but myself. The summer just seemed to drag along after Walker’s abrupt departure but fittingly enough, his absence forced me to reach out to my other successful co-workers; his absence allowed me and my boss to grow closer as friends as we both tried to deal with the loss; his absence allowed me to realize that I actually really loved this job.

At the end of the summer I ended up selling over $15,000 worth of product, won a President’s club award, was in the top ten for sales reps in New England for July and finished the summer at #14 in the top 25 reps of the summer in New England. Not only did I make my Mom eat her words which she willingly took a huge bite out of, but I proved to myself that no man or person is necessary to complete my success; they are simply the cherry on top of the sundae and I don’t even like cherries that much.

As this girl went in for another puff, I watched as the embers smoldered at the end of her cigarette; I imagined myself smoldering like the embers of that cigarette as I tried to think of a topic to write about this week. With my brain still fuming, I decided to do what most (pretty much all) college students do in times of desperation; I went on Facebook. As I flipped through countless pages of close friends and acquaintances, old and new, I noticed on my home screen that it displays older statuses from my friends, one of which read “I have a woman’s body. I will not apologize for that.” I not only liked her status but it got me thinking about how for years I have always been sorry for this womanly body that has be blessed upon me.

Growing up, I always felt like I had to choose between my beauty and my brains. My family luckily endowed me with curves so I never felt afraid to show off and dress up my figure. When it came time to do work in the classroom, however, I always felt as if I was not taken as seriously as the girls who just decided to wear sweatpants and a North Face to class. One of my biggest fears is that this same issue transfers into my professional life. When interviewing for a job, you’re always supposed to go one step further than what your employer expects in terms of attire but your safest bet is to dress “conservatively.” For some reason I find that women read this term as meaning “manly.” It feels as if women believe that if they dress more like a man then they will have a better chance of being hired or taken seriously. Echoing the wise words of my good friend, I have a woman’s body so why would I ever think it is ok to drown myself in shoulder padded blazers or bland colors. It makes me sad when I see smart and capable women taking over the world looking like what I would call “a hot, sometimes flaming, mess.” If you’re struggling to figure out what to wear to your interview, then I would highly suggest looking in the Career Planning & Resources Career Services Guide under their section titled “Interview Attire” where they give some very handy do’s and don’ts. I would also recommend browsing through the store New York & Company, a store that I believe does the best job of complementing the woman’s body in professional clothing. But don’t be afraid to flatter your figure and/or give a little color because at the end of the interview you will always have a woman’s body and should never have to be sorry for that, so don’t let your clothes say otherwise.

It gurgles and splats its way down into the pot as I wait in anticipation. The sweet aroma of french vanilla fills up the room as the steam wafts through dry and bleak air of the early morning hours. I never really got into drinking coffee until I got to college. If there is one thing I hate most, it’s drinking black coffee. There is no zest; no excitement.  I like to add some cream and sugar to my coffee to mix things up. The cream outstretches its long legs and arms to create endless swirls dancing around in the cup into a harmonious blend. There are also times, however, when I have too much cream in my coffee and instead it begins to look like tainted glass of milk.  In life, just like my coffee, there needs to be a balance; whether it be of people or things.  It is important to seek out a balance in life to feel good and in control.

I have always felt like I have control over my life, my classes, and more importantly my jobs. Whenever I walk into an interview, I have no doubt in my mind that 1) I will rock at this job, 2) I am well qualified for the job, and 3) that I will be hired by the end of the interview. Sure, there are times when I don’t get the job and some people would say that the rejection is the hardest part. For me, however, the hardest part is not getting hired but being hired and being one of the very few, if not the only, woman or person of color at my job. Continue reading →

The flame flickers. Slowly. She sways her hips around the contours of the wind as she searches for the perfect beat amidst all the clamor and the energy that is the dinner table. As she wiggles and gyrates her way onto the dinner table, she sweats. I watch as the scolding hot wax slithers down her pinstriped uniform in excitement. Then she multiplies. Slowly. One by one, the flame’s sisters lurk out from the shadows of dusk as she tries to blanket the room in darkness. The air stiffens as the room simmers down to a mere bass line and the flames continue to seduce the room with their dance. It’s time.

“Happy-birthday-to-you. Happy-birthday-to-you. Happy-birthday-dear-Daysha. Happy-birthday to you!”

My 19th birthday stealthily slithered its way in front of me this year. I always knew the day would eventually come but watching another flame sway its way onto my birthday cake only sparked my burning realization that someday I was no longer going to be a teenager; that someday I would be plagued to cut my hair in a short bob, put on a pinstriped pants suit and join all the other  20-somethings in their quest for “adulthood.” But the worst part about this dreaded lifestyle flickering in front of me was that someday I would eventually have to abandon a piece of myself in order to maintain the “perfect image” of my future employer. Currently I have two tattoos and two facial piercings which often sparks the question: “How are you going to find a job?” Continue reading →