All this talk about drilling really has me thinking about one of the items on my Bucket List:

· Learn how to use a drill to absolute perfection.

You see my Bucket List isn’t a summary of things I want to do before I die, but rather it’s a compilation of things I want and need to learn, and here’s the best part, while I am still single. Not to say marriage is akin to kicking the bucket (although quite a few of my married friends may say that it is), but there’s just some things I want to know and accomplish especially while I’m single. Learning to drill so that I can put up my own shelves, install my own cabinets and fix my own stuff is one of those things– a marker if you will– in my journey to live liberated and independently.

For years, I’ve had a myriad of men—my daddy, boyfriends, the super, a neighbor, all come over to play handyman with their drills and bits. I’ve watched, even held the screws and nails, but usually end up in the kitchen cooking some fab meal as part of my payment for said work. Totally clichéd and ladylike… yuck! Lately this scenario has grown real tired because inadvertently, I’m also at the mercy of these handymen. Waiting for them to be available, hoping they can swing uptown when I’m home, hoping they won’t want more than baked chicken and okra for compensation. It’s a pain in the you-know-what and leaves me feeling quite disempowered. So screw them and their nuts-n-bolts! Right now I have five brown boxes from IKEA that have been sitting in my apartment for six months waiting to be assembled. My tiny NYC kitchen longs for those two beautiful chrome shelves to take the burden up of all the pots, woks and pans currently strewn about haphazardly. I feel like if I can get those heavy boxes home by myself from behind God’s back in Red Hook, Brooklyn, which involves a ferry and a somewhat long subway ride home, then I can put the blasted, yet beautiful two-shelf wall console together by myself. Waiting almost half a year for someone who has yet to show-up to do an installation is akin to waiting half a lifetime for a man to appear and put a ring on it. So on Sunday I’m off to Home Depot for my drill and my lesson. Even though I’m hoping BP and our current administration will find alternative sources of energy, my personal mantra is now drill, baby, drill!

Regardless of your marital status and gender, is there anything you hope to learn or accomplish this summer? This year? If so, what & why?

Whoo-weee Memorial Day Weekend is here and for many of us that means the first real break since January. Now summer is upon us and I can feel New York City finally ease back into a rocksteady sexy sway. This weekend as I remember all those, including my uncles and father, who courageously fought for a country that so often denied them their manhood, their American-hood, I’m looking forward to celebrating life with all of my Gemini friends, chilling-out, and seeing Sex And The City 2. Speaking of SATC 2, I am reminded of a story that writer and author Thembisa Mshaka contributed to theHotness back in 2002 about the absence of brown girls on SATC. Looking back at how Michael Patrick King created a New York City where Black and Latina women were largely invisible, Thembisa and I are both wondering now how much has changed for Carrie and company? Tomorrow night we’re going to see the flick and I guess we’ll know for sure then, but it seems that the ladies have to go to Dubai in order to mingle with people of color (not withstanding Jennifer Hudson’s lame role last time around)! So in tribute to summer days, full moon nights and all around general Hotness I’ve gone into the vaults and dug up Thembisa’s essay. Enjoy and have a fantastic weekend!

Sex And The Homogenized City
by Thembisa Mshaka

I don’t watch network television. I’m all about cable: reality TV, useful news information, music videos and tons of HBO. I am big on The Sopranos, OZ, Arli$$ and the subject of this month’s story, “Sex And The City.”

Let me say this up front. I am not complaining, just thinking in a Perfect Brown Girl World, if you will. I enjoy this show and have watched it religiously since it began. It sparkles with wit, candor and the glitz of the Big Apple. The ladies are all too believable as tightly knit friends. What’s unbelievable is that among these urbanitas, there is not even one sista. This is Manhattan y’all! Don’t even tell me you don’t know any six-figure makin’, $500 shoe-buyin’, livin’ off-credit swipin’, advance-degree havin’ divas with great bodies, fabulous hair and a terrific bedside manner. The closest the show’s characters have gotten to a Brown Girl was once when Sonia Braga appeared for an episode and half as Samantha’s better half of her experimental lesbian fling and then there was Adina on the July 9th, 2000 episode. But before we could even get to know her, she and Samantha ended-up cat-fighting over Adina’s objection to Samantha doing the interracial nasty with her brother. Two questions: Why is it that as soon as one of us enters the picture, we’re the one with the race problem? Did it occur to the writers that we’d be more interested in a sista who is preoccupied with a sex life of her own?

But I digress. In real life, the same eligible (mostly white) men portrayed on Sex And The City have also been known to taste a lil’ urban flava, or at least be as curious as Samantha about it. Is it a truth that today’s audiences are still unable to handle from the living room? What about the sight of a voluptuous, naked dark body arching in ecstasy (or deciding not to) on her own terms? I can see TV executives gulping on that jagged little pill already. I know they feel much more comfortable writing us as…

Go here for Thembisa’s full story

This past Tuesday I went to Centric’s executive offices in midtown Manhattan to preview the first episode and to meet Tracey Ferguson– the protagonist of this Houston-based reality show.  And in classic southern gal style, Tracey greeted everyone with a smile, flawless make-up, hair styled tiz-zight, manicured nails and her gold watch was dazzlin darlings. The thing is, once Tracey, who is a widow and a mother of two, opened her mouth I really liked her. She’s charasmatic, but she’s honest, vulnerably so. Her scenes with the grief therapist talking about death and loving again resonated the most and will surely be what keeps this series from staying in the land of mall-shopping, society-ballin and other superficiality. I will surely watch it and see how things proceed. You can catch the premiere tonight @8pm and I’m sure there will be reruns this weekend. Hit me back with your thoughts!

Last Saturday’s dreary grayness did not stop me and about 100 women from attending NY Open Center’s panel, “From Hottentot Venus To The White House: Black Women On Beauty & Bodies.”  The panelists were Veronica Webb (Super+Role Model), Tricia Rose (Chair, Africana Studies @Brown U.), Susan Akkad (SVP Corporate Marketing/Diversity for Estee Lauder) with Michaela angela Davis (Cultural Critic) moderating.

I settled in with style maven Sharon Pendana sitting on my left and Ngozi Odita, founder of Society HAE, on my right. I had seen the flyer for this event weeks before and noticed a glaring theme with the featured panelists, but had hoped the lineup would “diversify” some by the day of event. As I looked up on stage I realized it was as the flyer had suggested. I immediately took out my Blackberry and tweeted: “It looks like u had to pass the brown paper bag test in order to be on this panel. (Panelists) r all very light skinned & ‘good-haired.’” From my discussions with other attendees, I clearly wasn’t the only one disappointed with the very high-yella panel. Afterwards I spoke to Michaela and here’s what she had to say:

Tricia, a former professor of mine, opened up the discussion stating, “I’m very critical of the industrialization of the world of beauty.” Not one to mix words or hold her tongue, Tricia continued by sharing, “I have to selectively reengage with my history or I’ll be like one of those angry 80’s rappers.” She was humorous, insightful and delivered the academic goods– including a detailed history of the life of Saartjie Baartman p.k.a. Hottentot Venus.

After hearing how Saartjie was taken from her home in Africa to England where she was publicly exhibited naked in a cage and then later sold to a French animal trainer who exploited her body and abused her further in Paris, it was ironic and displeasing to then hear Susan Akkad describe her introduction to cosmetics. “I never bought Fashion Fair. My mother told me to go to the French counter for make-up because their men love us.” She is now a SVP at Esteé Lauder. I’m sure Hottentot Venus would be proud.

Veronica, who shared that she was the first Black model to secure a major cosmetics contract, talked about her love of fashion, fashion mags and style. “I like putting together things I love, to attract what I want.” This was a cute sentiment that got a few pleasing ah-ha’s from the audience although it was soon overshadowed by the advice she said she gave her two young daughters who said they’d like to be in the White House like Sasha and Malia: “Maybe you’ll grow up to be President,” which was great. The gaffe was when she followed up with “or maybe if mommy gets married again she’ll marry a President.” Huh?

Tricia, who really was the centrifugal force of the panel talked a bit about women in hip-hop, the subject of her latest book. Even though hiphop has become increasingly less relevant in my life, I was amped by some of the questions Prof. Rose posed: How do we make ourselves beautiful within hip hop– an industry complicit in creating a demand for things and ideals that are damaging to Black women? Another question: “How do we know about Hottentot Venus and not live like that is all we know and can be? To this I would’ve answered Michelle Obama. Crazy thing though, Michelle Obama was never mentioned in the three hour discussion on images of Black women in major media. Suddenly Susan’s joie de vivre for French make-up counters seemed inconsequential. Not talking about the mass mediated image of the 1st Lady, a Black woman with her bare arms standing in front of a portrait of Thomas Jefferson, in a context about Black bodies and resistance was, as we hashtag on Twitter, a #FAIL.

Instead the Q&A centered on the hot topic of the hour– Good Hair. One audience member believed that “Chris Rock served up Black women as a deviant scientific experiment.” Yeah it was like that! Women had strong opinions about the subject and ladies in the house were excited to talk about the movie. Susan responded with what I thought was a damn near profound realization when she said: “Hair is to Black women what weight is to White women.” Then Michaela testified, “You’re only as sick as your secrets,” and encouraged conversation about our painful issues. Many women shouted in agreement. Not only had we gathered in a church, but at that moment we were having church. I think it was a good conversation that unfortunately lasted too long. Considering all of the panelists, except for maybe Susan, had what Black folks deem good hair and therefore could not fully understand or articulate the pain, shame, and anxiety many women internalize and young girls feel who have “kinky” hair, and considering that half the panel had not even seen the flick, we should have moved on to other subjects (i.e. Michelle Obama). When Tricia half jokingly suggested we petition Oprah to charter a plane from Bed-Stuy to Mumbai so all the sisters buying weaves can do so directly straight off the heads of impoverished Desi women who ritually sacrifice it for nada except a blessing, I think it was a good laugh that signaled the end of any further critical thinking of Chris Rock and his documedy. Personally, I’ve been to so many panels like this and even wrote my college thesis (“From Hottentot to Hip Hop”) on the subject more than 10 years ago so I was definitely looking forward to and in need of a more timely conversation to get my wig blown back.  One that went beyond Chris Rock, hip-hop and Azzedine Alaia to involve a discussion of  Michelle Obama, Caster Semanya and even Gabourey Sidibe, the star of the much talked about film, Precious. The space that these three women, these three Black bodies take up and hold in pop culture is groundbreaking and how they resist and revise racism, sexism, and patriarchy is crazy interesting.  I definitely was disappointed, but so grateful for the community of sisters that I connected with that day.  I left meditating on two quotes that resonated with me and my desire to engage women in work that is socially transformative and empowering. The first: “Many of us look for love, but will settle for attention,” said by Michaela. And Tricia shut it down when she stated, “It’s not just about accepting love, but we have to be willing to give each other transformational love. And then we have to be prepared to be ignored.”

For those that attended this panel, I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Hollaback and post a comment. Everyone else please tell me what you think about the post and how we can have more transformative dialogues about our beauty, our booty and ourselves.

Ngozi & Sharon

Marcia C., Crystal W., Me & Aissata D.

Tgist, me & Sharada M.

I guess it was yesterday or maybe Wednesday when singer, Solange Knowles was snapped by paparazzi rocking a very short-cropped coif. And before this young mama could get back home, the Web was a’buzz about her buzzed cut. Of course the haters had their Yaki Platinums in a knot over the do saying she and others are allegedly biting “the bald look” of Kanye’s ex Amber Rose. And those were the sweet comments. Other bloggers and the like called her ugly, butch, and alleged that she was having a nervous breakdown ala Britney Spears. I’m always surprised by the drama that hair or the lack thereof creates in chocolate ciphers. It actually seems more of a spectacle than ever, which is surprising in this alleged post-Black era. And even more startling in this post-Badu era.

Erykah has had long lock extensions, a massive cloud of an afro, braids, and even a straight punked out shag– all wigs and non-permanent. The one style that I know was real was her beautiful baldy. Yes, Badu made a few people squirm with her numerous looks, but in the end we love her because of her killa style not inspite of it. So I thought we had moved on past the Happy-To-Be-Nappy backlash. Well apparently not. Comments about Skip Gates’ arresting officer (heck about Skip too) were more genteel than the rants I read about Solange and her lo’ fro. Clearly not interested in being the reticent media darling that her sister has become, Solange gave the finger virtually by posting a smart, self-determined response to her critics on her Twitter page:

ive. had. my. hair. cut. like. this. for. two. weeks. i. was. NOT. inspired. by anyone. but. my. self. i. have. done. this. twice. in. my. life. i. was 16. i was 18. did. not care about your opinion. then. dont. care. now. dont. need. your. attention. or. your. co-sign. i am #3. trending topic. before. IRAN. &. some of you cant even locate it on a map. its sad. dont. want. a. edge. up. or a perm. because. im not trying. to make this “a style” or a statement. i. just. wanted. to. be. free. from. the. bondage. that. black. women sometimes. put. on. themselves. with. hair. this. phase. of. my. life. i. want to spend . the time. the energy. and the money. on something else. not in the hair salon. m. not. mad. at . all of you. that have made your opinions known. and have sent negative. energy. my way. i expected this of you. ONLY reason i responded to this i have is because i was disappointed to see my name more talked about then #iranelection we. gotta. do. better. people.

I read this and immediately clicked the “Follow” button to make my respect and love official. I mean I had her CD and was digging “T.O.N.Y” and “Would’ve Been The One,” but there’s nothing like finding out a woman is a bad mamajama that doesn’t give two dabs of Afro-Sheen about the opinions of others. I just interviewed India.Arie for Heart & Soul mag and she echoed similar sentiments:

I never thought I would like having short hair, but when I did cut my locks I felt free. It was a very valuable experience, especially as a Black woman, because we just don’t tend to think short hair is cute.

This bald banter is just a vacuous crater that ironically is brimming full of notions linked to beauty, race and sexuality that can be traced back to slavery. Like why when Amber Rose, an exotic, eurocentric-looking woman, sports the cut it’s considered sexy, trendy even, but when MeShell NdegeOcello (who’s been rocking that cut for a good decade now) does the same, she is marginalized? Hint: it’s tied to sexuality and race– House Negro vs. Field Negro.

Secondly, and this is small in the whole scheme of things but totally irksome to me: the styles that Cassie and Rihanna are wearing should not be classified as bald. Their sides are shaved low. Nada mas! Media and mainstream heads always trying to make cute grrrls more radical than should be.

Bald, Black, and beautiful is Sheila Bridges, Nnenna Agba, Grace Jones and previous to 2008– Tamarkali. Plenty of my homegrrrls rock the same look and they are not making a statement or trying to push a new record or makeup line. They are reveling in who they are and enjoying the freedom of hassle free hair—humidity and flat irons be damned. So can we move on and use our energy to analyze something a lil more interesting like this.

Props to Bilqis M., Karen H., Alec Wek, Roshumba, Bethann H. , Moikgantsi N., Penni, Elayne F., Laini M. and Bashir for keeping it low and drama free!

I love rocking high heels and wedges and especially love kickin up snow in my pumpkin orange platform boots, but really I’m a sneaker freak at heart. Living in NYC I’ve been blessed to have access to some of the best sneaker spots in the world. Not like I’ve ever paid more than $100 for a pair of kicks, but it’s so nice to try on the classic, crazy expensive limited edition joints every now and then. And wow, when they opened this spot just for us grrrls I was in 7th Heaven.

But lately, like in the last few years I’ve noticed an awful trend that’s got me pulling my laces out in frustration. I don’t know if it started with Sex & The City and Carrie’s addiction to Manolos, Choos and all manner of 4-inch heeled footwear, but now it seems that wearing sneakers is deemed so unsexy, so uncool and so unfemme by men and by society at large. It’s like when I wear my Pumas or my newest purchase– the Nike Court Force Lows-Copper Pack from their Limited Edition 2008 Olympic series (that’s a mouthful), I get dudes saying, “Yo ma why you being such a hard rock today, what happened to the sexy lady I saw yesterday?” I’m like, ‘she’s right here baby!’ Dang, when did wearing sneakers render us grrrls frumpy, hard (read masculine) and asexual? Even when I reflect on today’s pop music scene, it’s like the only chicks that rock sneakers are the ones that people allege are gay or are considered Tom-boys (i.e. Teyana Taylor, Lil Mama, Missy Elliott, Da Brat).

Then there’s those paparazzi pics like this one of Alexis in her stilettos and beautiful designer dress lounging on the arm of her former significant other who’s dressed in jeans, t-shirts and Air Force Ones, err I mean Bapes. I guess this is the double standard whereby industry jiggas get off wearing rubber-soled kicks and its considered appropriate formal attire. Beyonce was even spotted leaving a Rite-Aid in these and don’t let Janet Jackson get caught out at a party in a pair of Adidas. It would be considered another wardrobe malfunction, no doubt.

I remember when hip-hop first emerged. Grrrls weren’t considered funky fresh unless we were rocking a pair of Nike Pegasus or suede Pumas with big fat pink laces. That was instant hotness back then that kept the boys coming to the yard. Now I go out for a drink at The Mandarin Oriental and I’m rockin’ my red Nike Sprint Sisters and they tell me I can’t sit in the main lounge cause my kicks are not suitable. Whut da? Now I must say, for a while there was another double standard (and there still is to a large extent) where a woman (read non-celebrity) can wear sneakers to clubs and lounges and be allowed in, but men cannot. I guess those days are fleeting. And it’s funny because down South “tennis shoes” are relegated to the kiddies and sporting activities only. Believe me you will be hard pressed to spot a woman over the age of 22 in Atlanta wearing sneakers in a mall or even at Whole Foods. I guess BBQ isn’t the only thing we’re assuming from Southerners.

Living in Harlem, which is the sneaker capital of NYC, gives me firsthand, up-close, intimate moments with some of the hottest kicks out there and so that makes the double-standardized backlash tolerable and well worth it. I love ATMOS, the Japanese-based, 125th St. sneakeria and also Training Camp Store on 116th where I copped those copper Court Force joints. This summer I’m feeling like something customized so I plan to get a pair of Nike Air Rifts and in the back the label will read: theHotness… but of course! It’s so on and I’m so glad to see fellow scribe, friend and VIBE EIC, Danyel Smith, put her sneaker love on Front Street too. And even though the sneaker freaker bias pisses me off, mostly I try not to give a swoosh. I’m going to keep on being the sneaker fiend that I am and rock my sneakers with pride. I’m a B-Girl at heart and everyone knows that a woman who knows her heart and loves herself in Louboutins as much as she loves herself in New Balance is the sexiest kind of grrrl there is!

Check-out other Sneaker-Freakers.

Recently I spent an entire day reaffirming myself, my sense of purpose and my personal goals for prosperity all in the company of a very powerful sisterhood. Our gathering was extraordinary in its depth of knowledge, passion, and reverence for the ancestors and for its respect for current sisterhood. As much as I write about the importance of having your grrrls and repping for women’s issues, I, theHotness Grrrl had even forgotten how good just a simple hug of encouragement from a sister you don’t know can make you feel. In NYC, like every other metropolis city I have ever worked or lived in, there is almost a cut-throat competitiveness amongst women, and the competition is that much fiercer between women of color, specifically Black grrrls. Whether you’re looking for a job, a husband or even a fly pair of shoes, so often I am confronted with jealousy, secrecy and a myriad of non-supportive gestures from many Black and Latina women I encounter. And I would be skrate lying if I said that after awhile this didn’t start to harden a sister up like a chewy piece of caramel left out of of its wrapper for too long.

There’s this email my homegrrrl sent to me about 5 years ago and I read it from time to time when I start feeling my edges hardening. She wrote:

What do goddesses do when they get lonely? There are times when my hurt consumes me so much that I can’t even remember the goddess in me. I want to honor her and myself. I want to find my creative healer spirit again and this is my process. I need these answers to help find something really real. Those very still truths found in conversations with your grandmother when she was just cooking, pressing hair or telling you something she knew your butt would need later.

And my response, which I need to heed more often:

Girl everything you need, you already have (read The Alchemist)! Use the time spent alone figuring out what makes you happy instead of dwelling on why you are sad. I’m saying this because I’m just coming out of one of the MOST difficult times of my life. I know about being lonely and waking up sad only after crying myself to sleep. But my lonely alone time has made me so much more independent and mindful and focused. So yeah, I’m still dealing with pangs of sadness and loneliness, but I try to find ways that I can consistently move through that ish. I have this line in one of my rhymes that goes, “That’s what sistas do, we bitches brew when sh*t gets hot…” So what are you gonna start brewing? That’s what you have to ask yourself. Clearly you have the talent, so cry your tears and get it out and then work on you– create, think, rest, and (re-)build your foundation.

Yesterday just reminded me that piecing together that foundation has to begin with me, but that does not mean I must work alone. If there is strength in numbers, (and there is), then certainly there is a lil’ sweet softening in the midst sisterhood.