Hater’s talking never made me mad. Never that when I’m in my favorite paper tag. Rick Ross in Kanye West’s “Devil in a New Dress.”
She called me ugly. Rather, she commented “You not hot” on one of my statuses. So I had to scroll through my profile pics. & hers. Just to be sure. She was a pretty girl & in any other circumstance, I’d have told her so. But she came at me, putting her footstool-worthy self on a pedestal. I had to kick it out from under her.
I breezed quickly through her FB profile pics and founded my argument. “If that hair or them eyebrows were yours, I’d tell you about yourself. But I really don’t know what you look like. Have a nice day,” I wrote back. “All Natural” she responded… but just cuz it’s 100% human, don’t make it organic, hunnie. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve thrown some 10, 12 and 14 in yaki in my hair. Everything from the straight to the tight curl to the princess curls. And absolutely loved it. But.. she set herself up. Even if she does like her hair, I can make her feel like she doesn’t. I don’t care how long it actually is, but the mere presence of extensions in a girls hair throws out the possibility of baldness. & I pencil my eyebrows, but hers were drawn… I just went at plain and simple facts.
She dealt the cards. I drew the ace.
But she had me wondering. She had me guessing. She made me nervous. I mean, I hadn’t been doing anything outrageous. I had simply been on a FB deleting spree. You see, on that particular day, I decided that any guy sending me “wassup sexy” chat message at 8:30am deserved to be deleted. So I’d tag them in my status like so: “_______________ you have just been deleted,” and proceed to remove friend. Plain & simple. NBD. But it was a big deal to her.
Why are some women so angry? You see, in response to everything she’d write, I sent her kisses and tagged each of my comments with a <3. I told her I wasn’t going to un-freind her because she needed some love. I sent her **hugs** but when she hugged back I said “ew” (I know, I know.. very immature… but it was funny as hell) and she got upset at me. Really, I don’t understand why we take out the time to attack someone else instead of handling ourselves. “You don’t have anything else to do?” I asked her. Granted, at 14 and 15 I might have been a bully like she is now –but way better at it– but after a certain amount of time, you’ve got to cut that shit out.
The thing is, people can see you just as clearly as you see yourself. That pimple, that bump, that scar & that defect –or “flaw”, for a prettier word — is just as noticeable to the everyone else as it is to you. The difference lies only in whether they accept it or not. Most people want to point it out. Some won’t say anything… and even fewer will love you for it. I find myself struggling with this sometimes when it comes to…. over weight people (I’m sorry. I explain in “Fat-Phobic“) cuz it’s all you can see. The first thing that sticks out about a person is typically their “flaw”. Take Lara Stone for example. One of the baddest bitches to ever hit a runway. She’s the face of Calvin Klein, gap-teeth and all. It’s her trademark. In most of her pictures for the line, she poses with mouth slightly opened, allowing the public to revel in her “defect”. I like Lara because the ugliest part of her is what makes her beautiful. Without that, she’d be just another model. (And the bitch is BAD. First time I saw her walk in person, at Calvin Klein’s Spring 11 show, a guy next to me said, why she so mean looking? When I noticed that she opened & closed the show, I realized who she was: Effin Lara Stone, man.)
There’s a self we’re afraid for the world to see. Right? Or is it just me? The self you try to privately improve on before anyone notices: In come the make-up, the heels, the flashy clothes, the labels, the jewelry, the talk, the walk, the ever-so -sought-after “swag”. I won’t lie. I don’t hit the gym for the men [although they notice], I hit it for the world. So that no one can say anything. I’m never going to be “picture perfect beyonce” like Kanye says in “Everything I Got,” but in the preceding lines he raps, “People talk shit, but when shit hits the fan, everything I’m not made me everything I am.”
I ain’t no model. At 5’2, I never will be. But I’m the company of Eva Longoria-Parker, Jada Pinket-Smith, Victoria Beckham, Sarah Jessica Parker, Christina Aguilera, Lady Gaga… I mean… Even when you’re in your worst, I guarantee you you you’re in the company of some of the best. Even if you’re insane and suicidal…. like… Vincent Van Gogh, one of the most prolific artists ever, who shot himself in the chest or… the late, great Lee Alexander McQueen [inspiration to fashion no matter the genre] who took his life by hanging. When she called me ugly [lmfao] I couldn’t even bring myself to go hard. It was a real… “think what you want” feeling. Luckily, I’m grown enough to love myself (as is my New Year’s Resoultion: Love Me.) I mean… even if I don’t look better than her… my clothes are better. My shoes are better. My education is better…. even my eyebrows are better. & All this from a quick profile scan.
So for about 20 minutes, I was a little sad, ya know. I mean… she came at me. But then I checked her credentials. Degree & label-less. She was low quality. I just feel like.. yes, there are men out there would would choose her over me… but not any I’m interested in. So… jus take a quick look at the people judging you, & you’ll realize they have a lot more to be worried about than you.
Me & my Facebook beef. smh.
This gets a big ol’ *Kanye Shrug*