JTGaze Fashion Show: Featuring @Deviant_Rebel and #612Clothing & More

Featured: 612 Clothing. Photo by Marcos TKE Sotomayor - View More Photos, CLICK HERE

      I had an amazing time hosting this show. On August 10th, I was given the opportunity to host my first fashion show, directed by JTGaze of Gaze Models. Designers included Deviant Rebel Clothing, 612 Clothing, Closet Freak Boutique, Keven Sharoozi, Accessories by Tavia Sanza, swimwear by John Falacco, designs by Duant Cooley, and headwear by Misa. Yes, plenty of high heels, high fashion & high drama.

#Fashion via Hani Hulu

Follow Hani at @BabyKhosh on Twitter & Instagram

        I get along with most anyone. Living at Loyola during the summer was always one of my greatest pleasures. I enjoyed the summer schedule more than the regular semester, so during the break between my Junior and Senior years, I had the pleasure of living with Hanyeh Khoshnevisan, now known as Hani Hulu, Fashion specialist for JWWWD Magazine.

         Religion is a weird topic. It's so heavy that I sometimes feel it becomes burdensome. Now, I don't have any particular feelings about religions other than my own (how can you judge what you don't know), but it doesn't take long to realize Hanyeh is Muslim - dope headwrap to match. If you take a moment to read her blog, my favorite part is where she speaks on being a Muslim woman, "I like to prove we are not oppressed or less than others just because we are Muslim or because we cover. In reality, we are among the strongest women around." Sometimes, when I see a girl who covers, I try to tell them about Hani and give them our card. One girl I see on my commute to work semi-ignores me now. I say "Hi" on purpose *shrugs* I don't care. I don't have much real live conversation with Hani (or anyone else) so I didn't want to butcher the word "hijab" & I'm afraid she might have checked me off as an idiot.  I know I'm fairly ignorant of the details of that side of the world, but I do know we're human. As much as we need to teach each other, we need to be willing to learn. Hani is here just as much for girls like her as she is for those who have no real knowledge of her culture. I'm honored to introduce Hani Hulu as JWWWD Magazine's official Fashion Specialist (I still hate the word blogger & Hani deserves a fancy title).

#HowTo Give a Half-F*ck

Reversible, leather and fur pull over, Calvin Klein Collection

It was... exactly what the f*ck it was. I had to get on the F train to get to a part of Long Island I had originally thought was Queens. Then I was standing at the wrong bus stop (let's not talk about my not having a vehicle. This is why I wanted to live in Manhattan). Eventually, I was supposed to walk 1.7 miles to an address in the middle of darkness, on the other side of a graveyard. It was f*ckin brilliant. I sat on the N6 debating meeting Shannon in a parking lot in the dark, and swiftly threw my house key between my fingers. "I'm not going out like that," I thought to my self, "he might, tho."

I loved a girl named Michelle once. (Not that way pervs -___-) Not so secretly, my brother had a thing for strippers *shrugs* & might I add, they were pretty dope girls. Besides getting paid to take their clothes off, they were good girls. They loved my brother because my brother (a sucker for love like myself) loved them back. Since I was too young to know about things like that, I knew far too much. Michelle was my favorite because she'd ride me around in her Mazda 6 and play Mya's Fear of Flying (and she let me pick my favorite song "Lie detector" and would sing the lyrics with me, "I became a freak under the sheets, put his ass to sleep. Creep into the kitchen. Got the remedy. It's call the lie detector, slipped it in his drink. Brought it to is bedside, said take a sip of this and don't think." She allowed me to be a person. That was the first time I understood individuality. Michelle didn't have the best family history. But she had great hair, a fabulous smile, a tight ass and a heart unlike any other I've ever felt. One time, Michelle's car ran out of gas on our way home from the movies. We had to walk to to a gas station in the dark (Attelboro, Massachusetts had not one cab, I promise).

"If you're ever walking somewhere alone," she taught me, "Hold your keys like this." She only had to show me once. As she held my left hand, I took my keys out of my pocket with  my right and adjusted them like she had showed me. I didn't question Michelle. I knew where she came from. But what I knew more was that she was still breathing. 

Clothing by SHANWEAR.com

        I'm un-f*cking-stoppable. Not to be f*cked with. I joined Model Mayhem on October 3rd; 9 days ago. Nothing fancy. Just real shit about my not really being a model. I like the model "thing" though, but I'm 5'2. Either no one is going to hire me, or only people who truly know what the fuck they're doing will fuck with me. As I told you all on on my post yesterday, I'm already super booked *stands and ovate my damned self* with my first shoot happening yesterday, and my first show on October 23rd (I'LL INSERT THE EVENT LINK SOON!). On my way to the shoot, I met a girl named Stephanie (spell it how you spell it lol) and we talked about not working for "The Man" anymore. Part of moving forward is simply to do. If you're not doing nothing is happening. You can't expect to move forward without any input on your part. The difficult part, though, comes in defining what exactly to do. In a "Public Relations/Marketing" degree saturated world (don't take offense, I'm Communications, but I'm more of a genius than all of you *promises*), it's tough to decipher what should  be done from what is being done. The key, is new shit. What you all want is new shit. *shrugs* It doesn't take schooling to know that. Books can guide you but your heart defines you, chica. The corazón is what [brings] us home. (HOV is everything.) 

THE ANSWER: 

You know how to figure out what to do next? Do everything in the order of what makes you happiest. Go where you're most comfortable.

       I only know half of why I'm doing this: I need to. I'm on an Oprah trip & still haven't decided against being on the cover of every issue of whatever it is I decide to do.  What I do, is I sell myself. I am the product. I am all I have. I can't be anything else. & those of you how fuck with me feel that. I appreciate it. I'm just here to provide a little bit of encouragement, so that you know what I'm doing and understand that you have the power to do as well. 

Clothing by SHANWEAR.com

       I broke all the rules cut the shoot early. Shannon and I took a break in shooting to spread love (the Brooklyn way?) and had amazing conversation. He provided most of everything: Make-up, an extra strapless bra (because I forgot mine), all the attire minus the shoes, but he had some there in case I didn't bring any. Most everything was new, still in the casing and had the tags on it. Instead of pay, he gives models a DVD of their retouched images and multiple outfits to keep. I was super rude when he asked my nationality, but had embroidered a tee and pair of panties for me. & I'm Dominican, so you know how ginormous my pride is. My first 2 outfits where "Asian" inspired (silk, intricate patters & traditional cuts). There was a lace top with skirt combo that went next. Then, My ass was all out in my Dominican thong. I got comfortable to do all that bar stool, ratchet BS (you won't be seeing those :) btw)  I had three outfits left, but I ended the shoot. The next outfit was a sexy, all black sheer & lace combo. Mask. Gloves. Everything, man. Unfortunately, the ensemble called for no panties. "Can I put my other panties back on?" I had asked. They'd have gone well, they were just black, but Shannon insisted it simply wasn't the same. So... I had to be a disappointment and tell him I couldn't take anymore shots. The Dominican thong was EVERYTHING, but I simply can't put my bare vagina on film. I simply can't.

Clothing by SHANWEAR.com

"Some people don't look at the whole picture," Shannon explained. After I said no, we encountered a little bit of awkward silence, but I helped him straighten up and clean. He ended up giving me a lift home and I think we got a lot closer simply because of my saying no. "It's tough to say no," I'd explained. I could have easily gone spread eagle and, Shannon can attest, once I get comfortable, I get the job done, but I have to set limits for myself. He'd told me about other model who have mangers/boyfriends who try to enforce those limits for them and I understand. Sometimes, it helps to have people around you who make you better than you are. It's not the reason I have my brother's and mother's names tattoo'd on me, but it's a benefit of it. People who watch over you lift you up. But, there may come a time when it's just you... then what? 

"I'm so sorry," I apologized to Shannon. 

"It's alright. I'm not sure what made you say no, but  I saw you got serious so I stopped pushing."

"My brother," I explained and had him focus on an example he'd shown me., "would have already whooped my ass for the pictures I took today. I can't do the others." I'm #NotBoutThatLife *shrugs*

 Shannon smiled. I think he respects me. You all know how much I love that shit :)

          Define your own limitations.  When I got home, I posted my vagina on Facebook. *shrugs* It was really Instagram, and that goes to my Twitter as well: My vagina is all over the web, now.  Honestly, I figured this picture wasn't so bad taking into account what I didn't shoot. The whole time, I had to sit and consider what was okay to shoot and what wasn't. This was my first shoot yall. & The truth is, if you're okay with doing certain things, who ever can make money off of it will gladly assist you. "She was okay with that," Shannon would say as he tried to provide me comfort in what other models had shot. That's fine. But I realized that those girls aren't me. I have to have a limit somewhere. I did do topless. Reason: They look terrible. I kinda just wanted to see (but didnt want to look). No one's buying those. *shrugs* he shots from behind look #dope tho.   I was on the phone with another photographer/promoter the other night "What would you say your flaw is?" he asked.  

"My breasts, I guess," I replied. "I don't care, tho." 

"Ok. So tell me this, how many guys have you been with?"

"Enough," I answered. He laughed. 

"Ok. So, out of those guys you've been with, how many complained about your breasts?"

Clothing by SHANWEAR.com

       You've got to hold your head high. That's all it is, really. We're our own worst enemies (and I'm not the first to say that). What we think our flaws are are only our flaws once we've allowed them to be. We try to see ourselves through forgeign eyes and pick out whatever you can pick out. We're mean to ourselves. When I got off the F, I stood next to two very pretty girls at a bus stop. Now, I could say they're pretty because I hope they read (because I hope they do) but I say they're pretty because they are (and I hope they know). When I first walked up to them --a fabulous hot mess in all-black-everything, heels and fur), I remembered what I was wearing. I don't know what the hell I looked like, but I felt myself itching. That's when you try to figure out what people see. You watch how they look at you. If they smile. If they stare. If they look you up and down. You try to figure out what they're thinking but... eventually, you have to realize you'll never know. And who gives a f*ck? I haven't quite figured out how to manage that as a normal person, but as ELLA, i just suck it up and give people my card. I allow everyone additional time to judge/love.

"What makes you different from other models?" the photographer/promoter asked. 

"What makes me different, is I actually love myself for exactly who I am."

 

         I encourage you all to do the same. I went to sleep last night thinking about how to explain my vagina being on the internet (featuring my ass soon enough).  What people think doesn't matter unless it's damaging. Granted, I don't give a fuck who likes my photos or not, but there won't be photos of my (bare) vagina for you to judge. We can all do what we want, you've just go to decide what's okay for  you. Bravo to the ladies with the guts to bare all that, more so the luxury to do so. I simply can't. Too many eyes on me.  Today, I decide the only way to do it was to put more lipstick on and smile. 

F*ck it. At least half of it. I still look good ;) *brushes shoulders off*

Clothing by SHANWEAR.com

Who Should You Dress For? (The Villain Wins)

           

 People think what they think they're supposed to think. Instead of understanding frames of thought and then creating their own, they simply adapt what they think they should think. I'm not with it. Some people simply can't get passed that initial, basic thought and they contain themselves there. In order to find out who you are, you need to find out what you think. Conversations about what "people" think always end up being worthless. You've spent all this time trying to figure out the ideas of the world & have simply taken time away from forming your own. "I dress for men," I explained, being sure to put both hands to my chest when I said "I". Sometimes, it feels like people don't want you to be different. They don't want  you to have a different thought from them, not to hold you, but because if you disagree, they feel like they're wrong. What people don't understand, is that we each have our own existence. Your job on this planet is to figure out who you are and what you think. Still, the dissenting thought is always that of the villain isn't it?

Lipstick & Other Pretty Things - 4.28.11

   A while ago, my cousin asked me to write on make-up tips. But the truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm as clueless --if not more --than the next girl. 

One year, and one-half month later,

join me in welcoming Li Li Bee's Oasis to the JWWWD team :)

Loyola U - BSA Fashion Show 2012 (REVIEW)

COMING SOON.     

CLICK HERE for photos.

Dope Sh*t

Look up. 

        There's a navigation bar, right? Possibly? Well, somehow, you've got to get to my section called, "Dope Sh*t". It's where I post everything that has nothing to do with me. Pretty things. Things I like. Things I'm doing. Whatever. Consider it my Tumblr --I'm not fuckin with Tumblr at the moment, to be honest. Not my thing. When I get myself an intern, that's something she can take care of.  Right now, there's nothing but jewelry and shoes in there. #GoFigure.  But, there's plenty to look forward to. 

Dope Sh*t  is where you can find my interviews, exposes, event coverage, shopping trips & dope outfits. Welcome to EllaThought.com, a subsidiary of @JWWWDMagazine - where I expand upon feeling the fuck like it.

Oh, & follow me on Twitter, yo. I made a new page. @PresidentElla

& while you're at it, follow @PFungFitness & @OneSpotlight ;)

<3 

Click Here to View "Dope Sh*t"

Fancy Faux Foes

See she made her way from nothing. Can't fault her for wanting some things... She wants to live fancy. 

The Dream, "Fancy"

      I'm having a hard time balancing my joy and humility. I'm not (always) a boastful person, but sometimes my life overwhelms me. I don't mean to say that it's "perfect" by definition, but perfect by me. It really doesn't take much to please me. All I need is my rent paid, cute shoes on my feet and a $15 dress every once in a while. I talk labels because I love them --they make my heart swoon just like Frank Ocean (&amp;lt;3)-- but I have everything I need and sometimes I even get to do the things I want. I don't have acres upon acres, but my grass is pretty green.

     The only thing that bothers me on a day-to-day basis is what people think. Not that I give a damn what people think about me, but it does cross my mind. It's the fact that it crosses my mind that peeves me. I hate that other people even cross my mind when my life is mines. And, to be honest, it's the reason I don't hang with too many females. When I get around girls, I wonder if I should be more like them. Are they smarter? Are they prettier? Are they funnier? Are they more interesting? Is she a better person than me? Can she cook? Does she clean? Can she do it like me? Can she work that body? Throw that a** like... (lol)? I mean... it can really tear a girl up. Especially at this age, when I'm running into more and more women with decorated ring fingers and here is mine; naked and semi-ashamed that I haven't yet been claimed. And so I begin to think.. what is it about her that got her a ring before I got mine? Then I remember it's not about the ring --but then again it is. I'm not the average. I understand. So the man who marries me won't be either. With that said, it's going to take us a while to get there while we sift the the rest of the commonplace people in the world. The average Jane can easily find the average Joe, but... I'm shit out of luck. I couldn't be so ordinary. So I expect my private life and it's path won't be so simple. 

       I'm fortunate to be in a position to enjoy my life. Not necessarily financially, but spiritually. I have enough down time, enough relaxation to consider my place int he world and everything in relation to it. The one thing I've noticed, in my most complicated of thoughts, is that not every thought needs to be complicated. Sometimes, we (women especially) try to hard to present ourselves as intelligent and intellectual and we lose our actual selves. We're so caught up on the shit we learn from books that we forget to pay attention to the things we learn in life. Don't get me wrong, information is fascinating but life is exhilarating. There is endless information outside of us, but if you take the time to listen to the way your mind works, you can find that same brilliance within yourself. The key, though, is to understand that your own personal brilliance is unmatched.  

        I'm actually quite the package --complete with my pros and cons depending on who's looking at me. But I've accepted myself as perfect: even in the areas in which I need improvement. For example, I'm not a very nice person, but I'm one of the nicest people you'll ever meet if I like you. I'm a selfless friend, an attentive companion, an entertaining hostess, a fervent learner, a thoughtful worker and a complete person. But as I tromped up 5th Ave on Sunday in my most comfortable stilettos, I felt insecurity set in as I compared myself to some of the women around me. Maybe I should have worn flats, I thought to myself. Is this dress to fancy? I wondered. But in reality, I was wearing a $12 dress I got at H&amp;amp;M (it was too hot for my jeans so I had to change outfits mid-shop session), set off by my patent BCBG Girls strappy stilettos so my high-low balance was magnificent. Sometimes, it's a bit much to wear heels, but I'm a bit much, in general. And some women are opposed to it because it holds them back from walking normal and being a normal person but...I'm so good in shoes I sometimes surprise myself.  I carried this girl's baby carriage down the subway steps. No hands free. In my heels. This is normal to me. 

        Pretty is part of who I am. I care about labels. And I refuse to be ashamed of it. I care what I look like when I leave the house. I didn't always. I was a sweat pants and Air Force One's kinda girl growing up, but I'm a woman today and I've allowed myself to be. So I'm not worried about looking like all I care about is clothes, because the man who knows me, knows my intellect. And if he can't see passed my MAC Studio Fix &amp;amp; Maybelline Great Lash.. they hey. He must not be the one for me. I simply can't be so bland. I can't pretend not to care because it'll make me a "shallow" person. I like what I like and that's okay.  Because I don't save lives everyday, but I love my job. Your scrubs might get you respect, but my fashion outfit (all black everything, Prada bag to match [coming soon]) makes me feel good. The way I conduct myself commands respect. And once someone gets to know me, they surrender respect. I'm not worried about it. I sometimes come off as a ditz. I know it. I don't give a shit really because I have so much information in my head I can't let it take me over and drain me of my happiness. I think the problem is that I smile too much. Seems like I'm too happy to be intelligent. I dress to well to have read anything. I talk too much about money to care about anything else. But ummm... You ever notice that the people who claim to care about money the least care about it the most? They don't want to spend it. Can't let it go. Stash it up. For what? So you can swim in it like Uncle Scrooge? 

    We're just afraid to be ourselves. We're afraid to like pretty things because it makes us more base of a person. I met a girl this weekend, and she was fabulous, but I wouldn't be friends with her on my own. No disrespect, I just know. "You're so shallow, how am I friends with someone like you," she asked rhetorically, aiming the question at my Carl. Now, anyone who knows me, know I'm too over protective of my friends. I was in the kitchen cooking a late breakfast and through the steam from my spinach,  my brows furrowed as I tried to figure out where the ignorant comment came from. But, I've thought this though before and already know that all ignorant comments arise from the same place: Insecurity. 

     And I'm not one to trash talk... wait.. I am... but I didn't when I could have. It's a big accomplishment for me. I just silently ripped her apart (because I'm a good hostess) : The Seven Jeans. The Coach bag. The Burberry rain boots. The Polo shirt (I think, I didn't pay much attention to the polo because I happen to despise collared shirts unless there's a Burberry pattern on the reverse side and, at my job, Ralph Lauren and its subsidiaries are the enemy).  But somehow, as we browsed the men's store of Bergdorfs, I found myself overhearing her conversation about how "excessive" some things were (Carl was talking about watches) and caught wind of a slight.... "tude" when I was looking at a Want les Essentials de la Vie iPad case I might get my boss for Christmas because it is almost $300. $295 to be exact. The conversation was something about how a Honda and a BMW will both get you to the same place. My response? "Well one's going to break down first." Let's look at the situation. Here's a girl in a slew of labels (maybe all the labels she owns) in Bergdorf's commenting on the excessiveness of fashion. Then buy Levi's, hunny. And no one needs Burberry rain boots. Not to mention that Coach (wristlets &amp;amp; change purses are okay) is out  if you're under 35. And... I simply haven't seen a grown woman in a polo shirt since the last time I wanted a small fry &amp;amp; the polo had the Golden Arches on the breastplate. My apologies, but this is what happens when you pretend not to like fashion when you actually do. You wear all the wrong shit. Please don't knock my industry. No matter how big you think you are. We eat close to nothing, but our closets well-nourished and our arsenal well-maintained. We are an army of Davids, Goliath. 

      Now is it that I'm shallow? Or is it that I'm willing to admit that I like pretty things whereas the next girl will secretly fawn over labels hoping that no one and everyone notices? Or maybe it's that I've entered into an industry and am drunk off the punch? I understand what I'm in. Where I am.  I know how to do my job well and part of that is understanding fashion, it's players, its demand, its costs, its prevalence and its place in our economy. It is a business just like any other. If you are a doctor, you know medicine. I am in fashion, so I know clothes. If you're not complaining about how much healthcare costs, don't complain about how much clothes cost either. Because I'm healthy. I've got change to spare and so I will spend it where I want to. You might be multi-viatamins, I buy shoes. &amp;amp;, at the end of the day, it really doesn't bother me  because I place a silver necklace where your stethoscope lie. 

      Whatev. I'm a smart kid. I just also like to be fly. It's okay to like nice things. The photo above is of my future home on Columbus Ave because The reason people get nice things is because it does make you happy. Not the thing itself, but in knowing that you've done something for yourself. In having a physical reminder of what you've accomplished. To a girl who's mom busted her ass for some $70 Nikes, things mean something to me. Because its the same things I knew I could never have. Sometimes I sit and look at my closet and smile. Because I am grateful. Because I put all of that there.  Because it makes me happy. Because I deserve it. Because I worked hard for it. And everyday, when I get dressed and put on the expensive things I bought just for me, I remember everything it took to get here. &amp;amp; when I put on the things that were bought for me, I remember that others have also witnessed my worth. Everything I clip my Skagen, it snaps shut with the sound of gratitude. Every click of my heels --from Betsey to Nine West to BCBG to Lucky-- hits the cement with a solid stride of pride. So forgive me for being such a base person, but maybe if I had had prettier things earlier, I'd be tired of them now. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Now, all I want to be is the girl with a big brain, big personality, big dreams and a big closet. 

Big deal. 

Like my CJ just said (the way it should be said), "I went college to do what? Shop at Target and drive a Chevy Cavalier?" No, babe, we sure as fuck did not.

 #Gucci. lol

Dress the Part.

I take off the blazer, loosen up the tie. Step inside the booth. Superman is alive. 

Jay-Z - "Kingdom Come"

     Everyday before work, I do two things I shouldn't do: Facebook and Shop. After I take a shower, I lay back down in bed with my laptop & see what new notifications I have (I also check how my blog is doing). Then, I get dressed. But since I literally live out of two suitcases, I rarely like what I have on. So, if I need a black sweater for this outfit, I go buy one. If these pants don't fit like they should, I buy a new pair. I'm not saying I go into Nordstroms (which I can't even if I wanted to because I don't know where it is) and ball out. I'm in NEW YORK every morning and the beauty of this consumer-driven city is that I can get a pair of $10 pants on my way to work and all I have to sacrifice is my boss seeing me come in late, but at least I look cute :)

    So yesterday, I stopped by the Foot Locker on 34th, ready to be a hypocrite. I had written in my post, "Eff the Jones's, I'd Rather Keep Up with the Smith's", that I don't wear Jordans, yet here I was asking for the Big Kid's section. I was lost. I haven't bought sneakers in so long that I didn't know what to look for. But somehow, I still knew what to look for. The sales guy saw me walk in --leather skirt and black nylons in  my Nikes --and thought he could bamboozle me.  I must say, I was partially excited that original Jordans are being released in the their original colors, but you can't fool me with these new ones. If they aren't on that original card, I don't want them. And Jordans originally came out in combinations of red, black, and white --Bulls colors, thank you. Not saying the new ones aren't creative, but if I'm going to get a pair, I at least want them to be legit. So I ended up asking for the 6s in all black or whatever else they had in a 5.5, and this fool brings out two boxes of Team Jordans. I opened both and just looked at him. Do I look like I'm going run some ball? Full-court-press looking girl? "You didn't bring me any real Jordans?" I asked... I mean, I've been out the kick game for a while, but don't please don't play me like I was never there. 

    Really, I just wanted something to walk to work in. I take the train everyday from Journal Square in Jersey to the 34th street station. Then I walk 6 blocks to work. And even if my shoes match the purse I carry my lipgloss in, they still hurt to walk in. I wanted something simple, yet recognizable. Ideally, I wanted the Tory Burtch 'Reva' ballerina flats,  but I just made my first student loan payment and paid my past-due U-Haul storage bill, so I can't cough up the $195 at the present moment. & If I'm going to pay $195 for Tory Burtch, I might just put that towards my Christmas fund. (Christmas is for Christians. Louboutins, that is!) 

     So I left Foot Locker, feeling a like half a hypocrite, wondering (just as the salespeople were) what the hell I wanted.  I want something cool, but not hood. ("All black," I had told the salesman, I can't walk into work all ghetto.) I work in a setting where for the majority of the day, I'm the minority. I can't come in here blasting Jay-Z and wearing hood attire. I'll give up the clothes, I'll never surrender my music. I thought about it and... that's not me anyways. When I was younger, I wanted to badly to be cool (and if you were a teenager at any given point, you wanted the same) and was greatly influenced. Now, I think for myself way too much to be swayed. 

     My journey led me to Journey's where my debate was between Sperry Topsiders and UGG boots. I settled for the sequin-covered 'Women's Bahama' Sperry's because it's too early to pull out the sheep's skin. This morning I sat on the PATH critiquing myself: SperryTopsiders, Longchamp, Express and Calvin -- with John Steinbeck's, The Grapes of Wrath, sitting in my lap. Man... if I didn't know I was black... lol. But this is what 8 years of private schooling will do to you. It never changed who I am, but surely affected the way I dress and maybe even calmed the way I act. I behave. You can take me places. Lol. 

     How you look from the outside has a great effect on your interactions with people. I always dress accordingly. Right now, I'm at work wearing all black, but I have the shortest, tightest, purplest dress  hanging in my closet impatiently waiting on Saturday. But the same way reason I can't wear Jordans into work is the same reason I'm fairly covered when I go to the club. My dress might be strapless and short, but I surely don't look like no video hoe. A video vixen? Maybe. The way you dress speaks louder than you could ever voice. The clothes you choose are chosen by you and therefore emit the persona you've decided to put forth. 

     You have to find a balance. That's why, yes, I am wearing Sperry's, but they are dripping in sequins. Ask my friends, it's sooooooo me. I dress in all black for work, but I'm not afraid to spice it up with color. I keep my nails cut and clean, but they are indeed painted with Essie's Fancy Delancey (aka bright ass pink). There's a way to be respected and still be you. To be creative yet professionally dressed. To keep to your roots but clean up. To be sexy without being vulgar.  I had a conversation with an old friend the other day about how we are not a "suit-and-tie" generation. But then again, you can tell who works at Macy's, who's in a boring office and who works in fashion --especially if they all have suits on. I dated a guy who had to wear a shirt&tie to work.. he had no creativity. He claimed there was no way to be fashionable and wear a suit. If he'd pick up a  GQ magazine once in his life, he'd be embarrassed with himself.  I could never dress so plain and boring, but I still wear suits to work.. it's just different. It's me. 

     The image you paint is the picture that will be seen. You'll care when it affects your money. It's the same reason Rihanna hired a new stylist. Why Cassie shaved her head. Why Diddy made people walk miles for cheesecake (not apple pie. Thank you, Crystal for the correction). The image you put out is all people have to go on. I'm not saying you have to dress cautiously all the time, but there is a time and place for everything. You don't wear a ball gown to class do you? Do you? Everywhere you go, you have to decide who you want to be, and clothing is the most influential way. When you go to the club, you can be the hoe or the stuck-up girl. When you're at work, you can be the ghetto girl or the professional. You choose.  I've already made up my mind. 

The clothes might not make the man, but he sure does purchase them for a reason. 

Arrogantly Humble.

     I been real all my life, they confuse it with conceit. Because I will not lose, they try to help them cheat. What I will not lose, even in defeat, is a valuable lesson learned --so it evens it up for me. When the grass is cut, the snakes will show.

-- Jay-Z; "Blueprint 2"

     I'm sick and tired of people describing themselves as humble. I've met many a man who, in this #TypeOfPersonThat conversation, goes on and on about how humble he is, the things that make him humble, the people who call him humble. I was once seeing a guy who always talked about how "humble" he was. He talked about it so much actually, that I never got a word in. About 5 months after we started talking, I mentioned my sister. You have a sister? he asked. It would have come up if after the 45 minute conversation about his  family, if he hadn't said, "I'm sorry, I have to go. We can talk about your family next time." It was a very WTF moment... but he was cute, so I dealt. If you were truly humble, you'd shut your humble ass up once in a while.

      I'm sorry for the apparent anger, but my distaste for this type of person seems to accumulate by the day. The people who claim they want to be doctors and caregivers and pastors and things of the sort simply to gain respect. 

    Why? You ask them, Why do you want to do that? 

    Because I can help people, they'll respond, because it makes me a better person. 

     Ok. If you say so. I'm not disagreeing. The people in these practices do make a difference in the lives of many. They do indeed save lives. But I'm not sick, they don't do much for me. & your career doesn't necessarily define you. If it did, the priests wouldn't be touching little boys and Honest Abe would have been honest about his intentions with the Emancipation Proclamation. So many people have pipe dreams about saving the world simply because they want to be regarded the hero at the end of the day. That is not selfless. A hero cares nothing about admiration, he does what he does because of an internal longing. Neither does the hero judge another. 

     I went on a date last night with a guy who want to be "a doctor" or so he says. Seeing how he's already 25 years old and without a Bachelor's, there are some obvious obstacles lying in his path. He might not think so, but I know people in med school (shout outs to Michelle G., You might not be reading this but, get it girl! That's AMAZING.) and I can admit that I don't have the patience or even the capacity to chase that dream. AND med school comes after your four years of college. I aint got it.


    La vida de fasionista, eso no es vida, he said to me. In English, that means, "A life concerned with fashion is not life."  In reality he meant, Ella, your career is stupid. 

     For me to be a good person, do I have to save lives everyday? Why is it that we have to announce our humility to the world in order to gain respect? Aren't humility and true good nature based in doing things without needing to be recognized?  Agape, in a sense? If I care about my own well-being and my own happiness, does that make me a worse person?

     Why does everyone want to be a doctor? (Or any other "selfless" profession for that matter,) Is it truly to help? Is it for the money? If you truly want to be a doctor only to help, you should only use enough money to eat, pay rent and buy an outfit when yours literally falls apart. The rest of the money you should give back --or even better,  use it to help your patients pay for those expensive practices you are performing. If medicine was truly as selfless as its students claim, health insurance wouldn't be so expensive and doctors wouldn't be so rich. 

   And so at this date, there we sat. At opposite ends of the table and opposite ends of the ladder. He showed up carrying a slim issue of Men's Fitness wearing the same outfit he has on in his Facebook profile picture (yes, I stalked him after the date). I, on the other hand, showed up with Elle Magazine's 507 page, 25th edition issue (the one with Gabby Sidibe on the cover) in my Longchamp, as I carried 2 full bags of Calvin Klein Collection (not CK, not CK Jeans, the runway shit, thanks.) while wearing open toed, black, heeled booties and the slickest sheer, 3 quarter sleeve Armani Exchange top to compensate for my lack of labels elsewhere. But then again, neither one of us were dressed like doctors now were we? He cares about what he looks like on the outside, that's why he wore his favorite outfit to come see me. I care what I look like, too. & I wanted him to see me in my heels with all my shopping bags so that he knows I got my own and that I will clean his ass out if he gives me the chance. At least I can admit it.

     I like to dress well. Well well. Not Sean John, Rocawear well. I want Balenciaga, Alexander Wang well. I like money. I like things. I like being able to Keep Up with the Smiths... or the Kardashians, they'll do. Meanwhile, he was two people within himself and doesn't quite know which to choose. At one point, he was a selfless lover of medicine. At another, he was talking about the BMW he was planning to buy. Who are you really? Better question: Who are you to judge me? 

     Time after time, people have put down the decisions I've made and written them off as ill-advised plans. People told me that going to private school was a waste of time, until the time came when I had all my credits and they were missing theirs. Then I went to college. People told me my major was too easy and couldn't get me anywhere, until graduation came and went, and now I set feet under desk, while their trying to get their feet under themselves. 

    A humble person doesn't brag about how humble they are. And a person doing well for themselves doesn't put down those who have made different decisions.  I could have went off. I could have asked him to answer me truly why he has no car and lives with his mom and is 25 without a degree yet claims he "makes money". But I don't judge people. The thoughts have through my mind, but I chose to accept him as a person no matter his decisions. Funny, I had to make exceptions for him and where he is in his life, and he sat there judging me and how far I have come. Then he had the nerve to tell me my life isn't a life.

     So you know what, because I'm such a terrible person, I'm gonna break his bank. Because he's too stupid to see how intelligent I really am. He can be a doctor all he wants. I wish him all the best. Heal illness. Save lives. I still think he's moronic, self absorbed and on a quest for himself that I don't have the patience to see him through.

Meanwhile, I've got a profession of my own. I'm not a gold digger. & Eff a platinum digger. I'm a stocks & bonds, mortgage, life insurance, savings account Digger: I crack codes. I open safes. And that's why I didn't even reach for the bill. And that's why I never will. And that's why he'll be around until my iPhone is replaced.

     This is what happens when you date a dumb girl who is only concerned with clothes. She turns out to be a college educated woman with a career and knows her fashion history. Who will tell you that if your Christmas gift for her doesn't say "Louboutin", "Hermes" or can at least be appraised (got to make sure you word is true) you just shouldn't bother yourself because she'll get herself something better than you can afford and I don't want to hurt your feelings.

You don't cross a woman like this.

& That's why we're taking it slow because I'm not ready and I don't like guys who push up on me and he'll be around for Christmas.

Open bank. Closed legs. I'm also a magician. 

Like my cousin Harold would say, Palomo. (In Spanish. that means something not so nice, but we'll say "sucker" here.)

Unbe[WEAVE]able.

     I be puttin some hair in my hair. Just be warned that sometimes I didn't grow it all but I did pay for it. I don't wear weave all the time but... Sometimes I want a ponytail and my hair just isn't as long as I need it to be be, so I put hair in. Just like when a dress isn't as short as you need it to be, you use safety pins. Or when your eyelashes aren't as long as you need them to be, you use mascara (or false ones for a dramatic effect). And when your skin isn't as soft as you need it to be, you use lotion. Or when you don't smell as good as you need to smell,  you used perfume. Like when your breath isn't as fresh as you want it to be, you chew gum.  Similar to how when your nails aren't as long as you want them to be you get acrylics. 

     Hair is a product. It is bought and used and thrown aways just like everything else. 

     Sometimes I have long hair, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have straight hair, sometimes I don't. My hair changes with the outfit, with the times, with the shoes. I'm not that girl with the same hair style everyday for 6 years who needs a nudge to part her hair on the other side for a change. My two best friends (who don't use weave at all & never have) will see me one day normal and the other with Romance Curls flowing. When they say, "That grew fast," I say, "Didn't it?" and KEEP IT MOVIN. 

     If you have something against weave, you probably don't know much about it. Or, you're probably afraid that someone will feel about you, the way you judge people with weave. Women are afraid of being classified as A) Bald and B) unhappy with yourself. We are our own worst enemies. Sometimes, people do look better with weave. We okay plastic surgery, liposuction and makeup to alter appearances, but you're telling me I can't attach a couple strands of hair to my own? We all like to alter our appearance and present ourselves as a particular that we agree with. Even people who hate fashion and want to wear "whatever" purposely pick that "whatever" so that they look like they hate fashion. That is your fashion.

     And hair extensions are a part of fashion. I'm assuming most of you have never been backstage at a fashion show? From Loyola's Fashion show to Baltimore Fashion Week to DC Fashion Week to Calvin Klein.... it's everywhere. Trust me.  ITs just that some places, and in some communities, its more prevalent, more fashionable, more acceptable. I went to school in Baltimore where the white girls got the Weave in.  But then I'm from Rhode Island where it's all light skinned girls with long hair. It is what it is. 

     Sometimes, I want my eyelashes long. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I want my hair long. Sometimes I don't.  but NO times do I want a man who is too critical of me to allow me to do what makes me  feel beautiful. If I said wearing green makes me feel more beautiful, would you object? If a woman feels better doing A over B, then let her do that (as long as it looks good). 

     That's my only opinion about weave: Do it right. I'm not very good at it, so I don't do it often (anymore)... but I know some beautiful women who WORK THAT SHIT.  Ahem... Beyonce? Ahemm.. Taylor Swift? Ahem all female celebrities? White girls, black girls, spanish girls, asian girls. THEY ALL DO IT. With some girls, the hair just happens to match theirs better & they can use one or two tracks vs a head full. Please, don't be so naive. 

     And really, it's none of your business what I do with my hair or what another women does with hers. Unless you are willing to invest time and money into that person so they can be what you think they should be, keep your comments to yourself. If a man doesn't like a girl who puts weave in her hair, then he doesn't like me. And I don't like men who don't like me. So why do I care what he thinks?

     Now, I understand how a man might feel and his desire to run his fingers through my hair, which is why I only put hair in sometimes. A man also just wants to know that your hair actually grows. It makes men nervous to date a bald girl. What will their friends say? Men are more worried about weave than we are.  & for the argument that it smells? Yes, cheap weave does, I agree. & if you put too much product in it, yes again. & if you leave it in too long, double yes.  I had a friend who would DROP $$$ on a pack of hair. I never would. For that reason, I bought more hair than she did. I couldn't leave mine in as long. 

So if you do it, spend your pretty penny & work that shit, mama. 

If you don't. Good for you, but mind your own business. 

Men: If you don't like a girl who wears weave, then don't date one. It's that simple. 

Praise is Due to the Most Fly: Prada.

 "If you grew up with holes in your zapatos, you'd celebrate the minute you was having dough." - 

Jay-Z "99 Problems" 

     I balled out, yo. In a very mediocre way, of course. For now, I'm living within my means. My eyes gravitate towards monograms and logos but... I'm not quite there yet. So before I make my way to Neiman Marcus, I'm going to make my rounds at Macy's and see what they've got on sale for me. Still, I've made significant improvements.  For example, MAC got me for $200 this week. And I'll probably go back. The only makeup I wear from your local drugstore is Maybelline's Great Lash Mascara because it actually works better than others I've tried & year after year, it's rated number one.  I have a fixation with quality. & As my eye score the racks, there's so many things I need...  Last Saturday, I didn't want to go all the way back to Jersey to get my things so, I had to buy everything except shoes, but including a bra and underwear. If you ever think I'm acting "brand new", it's probably because I kind of am. 

Again, I [mediocre] balled out, yo:

Saturday, September 18th. 

$19.95 White Blazer at H&M

$139.90 MAC Makeup --  Mineralize Finish Powder in "Dark", Pro Long-wear Concealer in "NW 40", & Cremesheen Glass lipgloss in "DeeLight" 

$46.50 White Dress at Cliquers on 34th. See my Dress!!! (This place is pretty cheap & somehow I spend $46 on a damned dress. Fashion sense is a gift & a curse.)

Monday, September 20th

$93.48 on B.S. tops & cardigans for work at Charlotte Russe.  I actually got this tank top for $2.99 and can you believe this tank top (my fav buy of that day; I got it in the lighter pink) is dry clean only? WhyTF is Charlotte Russe making dry clean only clothes?

Thursday, September 23rd 

$68.00 Jessica Simpson Ciera Grey Suede Booties 

Saturday, September 25th. 

$55.53 MAC Makeup -- Leopard Luex Pallet and  Brow Pencil 

$107.99 on Dolce Vita Vienna Tread Sole Heels  @ Macy's ON SALEE!!!! (Cashier hooked me up with the 10% Visitor Discount, too!)

$80.43 -- Last minute outfit at H&M (I'd show you what a bought, but you can't shop H&M Online: Black velour leggings, & a black top with a leather sash across the top. Simple, all black everything. )

$44.00 Drinks @ Mamajuana Cafe. & NOT because I had to. 

     Here's the thing though, I don't have any responsibilities. Call it what you want. I live with my sister. I don't pay rent. I buy food (oh yea, & I spent $200 at Whole Foods.. smh) when needed. I don't have kids and if I feel like missing a meal so that I can get some new shoes, that's my business.  Call me superficial if you want. I welcome you to say, "Eff Ella, she's fake."  I'm on a diet anyways. Luckily, like Nicki said, my pockets eatin cheescake!! 

Everybody knows I'm a mother-effin MONSTER. (download here). 

      From this list alone, I'm spending $200 in shoes, $200 in makeup and $200 in clothes a week. That's $600 a week to maintain my ego. I mean, I didn't even do the math.  Feel free to check it for me, but please be aware that this doesn't take into account my MTA card, my PATH card, movies, food, drinks at 809 last week, or things like... body wash. & don't count those things cheap.  When I go to the movies, I like an Icee, Dibs, a chocolate and a candy plus a "biggest size you got" Pepsi for my cousin & whatever else his heart desires. As for body wash, my skin prefers Neutrogena (OMG this Grapfruit one works soooooo well, try it.). I treat myself, and my company, well. Very well. 

   Now, I'm not braggin (or am I?) but I just got a new job where I'm treated fairly well. I'm not a millionaire. Nowhere close. But I'm living life. I'm not going to tell anyone how much I make, but I will tell y'all what I spend.  Yesterday, I stood at the Sunglass Hut in Herald Square with a this pair of Raybans for $185 in one hand and this pair of Pradas for $225 in the other.  You don't have to click off the page if you don't want to: they were the same exact thing with the label being the only difference & $40 in price. But... where do you think I was leaning to?  At the end of the day, Thursday is payday and I'm getting these. You might think $310 is too much to spend on a pair of glasses, but I was walking in the bright sun with my boss the other day, too ashamed to put on my cheap sunglasses because he is THAT fly.  Besides, I'm a label whore & I can afford it.

I never pray to God, I pray to Prada. 

     I used to get upset when people said that I'm spoiled, but it doesn't affect me anymore. I get what I want. Either it's given to me, or I work my ass of for it. I get my way. When I go out to  eat with my family, I'm not allowed to look at prices. My brother used to say that the guy who ends up with me is going to have his work cut out for him. My favorite dish is a medium-rare tenderloin topped with lobster tail. I'm only saying that because if they make it, I want it. When I go out with my cousins, I "don't have to worry about nothing." That's what I was told last night... and all nights before. I buy drinks because I can, not because I have to. & When I buy drinks, I'm buying a ROUND.  I don't need anybody's money.

      I'm only going to spend more. The chump change I'm spending now is just a warm up. It's like... stretching. I'm on a real "fuck niggas" trip right now, so I'm gonna surprise myself with Louboutins for Christmas and Guiseppes for Valentines day. IDK what I want for my birthday yet. A bag maybe?

     I'm most grateful for never having to hope that somebody buys me something or pays my way somewhere. Everything I want, I buy.  And when you come from nothing, that is everything. (& That's a topic for a whole other blog.  Read my  Eff the Jones's. I'd rather keep up with the Smith's.)  Forgive me, but I never imagined I'd be able to ball out like I did this week (and I didn't have to take my clothes off or sleep with anyone). That was my first paycheck. Do you understand the damage I'm going to be doing as time progresses and money accumulates in my bank account? Dooo yoouu???   

With that said, I hope Prada blesses you all. Goodnight!