Romantic Tragedies

One of my favorite romantic comedies (rom-coms) of all time is When Harry Met Sally, a movie that I especially love to watch this time of year. Not sure why it is my fall favorite (or why Sleepless in Seattle is my Winter favorite, or why You've Got Mail is my Spring go-to, and now that I am thinking about this, why I'm not sure if I have a summer favorite or why all of these movies feature Meg Ryan). I digress...

I recently re-watched WHMS a few weeks ago and thought of it as I was recently reading some epic foolishness on X (yeah, I concede and will no longer refer to it as Twitter since that was a happier platform). It was late at night, I was not in the mood for any of the heavier political debates of the day, so I decided to see what was trending on Black Twitter (which I will not rebrand). And baybee, y'all delivered!

So how does this relate to WHMS? Because the chatter was about first dates, and one of the running themes in that movie is disastrous first dates. In my old-married-lady mind, all I can say is WOW, not even close anymore. These days, I can't imagine if I would even get asked out on a date, let alone go through with one the way y'all act. 

Apparently, there were two disastrous first date videos that were being discussed, so your Busy Black Auntie has questions: why and WHET???

Chain, Chain, Chain of Fools

Why is the Cheesecake Factory not appropriate for a first date? Did somebody pass a law? Because back in the day when my BFF and I stumbled across this place while in high school, we marveled at its menu booklet and extensive cheesecake offerings. At the time, there was only one of these in our area, so it was quite the treat to go there and to come home with one of their decadent desserts.

Now I know you are thinking, that was 30+ years ago and well, you can find a Cheesecake Factory at almost any suburban mall that is still standing. Heck, I just learned that there is one in Downtown DC, so I get that the shine has kind of worn off. It isn't as special, and if you get all dressed up to go out on a date, perhaps you would like for the restaurant selection to be one where you can't just pull up to any mall that is still standing. I assume that same hesitance would be expected at other well-known, so-called high-end chain establishments, such as The Capital Grille, Ruth's Chris Steak House, Maggiano's, McCormick & Schmick's, or any other place that offers loyalty points and curbside pickup. I'm guessing that no one goes to Houston's like that anymore either...(and that was my joint too). Times change.

So tell me, where else would you go? You see, the entire point of a place like the Cheesecake Factory is to offer patrons a bunch of choices that don't adhere to one particular cuisine. It tries to be all things to all people so that anyone can find something to eat. It ain't fine dining, but it ain't Applebee's. It is safe, which is a reasonable choice to make if you don't know the person that well, but anticipate the possibility of what could develop from a dinner date as opposed to drinks...

Does it require much thought? No. So does that mean that the new outfit, manicure/pedicure, fresh hairdo, and high heels are being wasted on some dude in a polo shirt, khakis, and docksiders? Perhaps. Would that piss me off enough to whip out my phone to make a video to document the disaster-in-the-making for my single girlfriends on TikTok?

No. Because I would at least wait until after the date to put him on blast.

However, and this is important to highlight, I haven't been on a first date since the late 1990s. Not only were there no cellphone cameras or social media, but like I said in the set-up, once upon a time the Cheesecake Factory would have won him cool points for making an impressive and thoughtful choice. I was a broke-ass college/law student dating other broke-ass college/law students, so I realize that alters my perspective of what is considered to be a well-planned and thoughtful first date. Not only would I have been impressed by the choice of restaurant, but I would also have been thrilled that he offered to pick me up and drive. That is downright chivalrous! 

But here's the part that really got me--the complaint that the restaurant is a chain, as if most restaurants in most major cities aren't part of a corporate restaurant group or some Mom and Pop watering hole in the wall. Here in DC, every restaurant is either owned by José Andrés or some former Top Chef contestant, so what other options are there? If he had taken her to some suburban strip mall spot, I imagine her complaint would have been that he took her to some dinky checkered laminated tablecloth joint where they serve tacos or pasta. Which leads me back to the premise that the Cheesecake Factory is at least a safe choice because if it doesn't require a lot of thought, and that means fewer worries. That menu has options to accommodate food allergies, dietary restrictions, spicy or bland palates, a variety of drink preferences, and almost any cuisine you could imagine. If you can't find something to eat on their menu, then there's a reason why you're still going out on first dates.

You Say Oyster; I Say Hasta La Vista

Now this one had me crying, because whew chile, the ghetto! The audacity! The sheer ridiculousness! The fact that this warranted an article in Rolling Stones, so there goes my free articles for this month...(in case you've used your allotment too, you can read it here.)

I am not on TikTok, so forgive me for not knowing that there is an entire genre of videos where people film themselves eating called mukbang, and folks tune in to watch. I cannot even wrap my head around such foolishness, because that sounds like the very definition of food porn, but people have their various kinks, so we'll just leave it at that.

However, because I was clueless and unaware, it now makes sense why the woman mentioned that she agreed to the date because she needed "content". I could go on a rant about why this type of booshay is exactly why I refuse to refer to myself as a "content creator"--because I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit...(and that would take us too far off-topic). But at least now I understand a few things, such as why the future of humanity is in doubt if y'all find this entertaining.

The gist is that some woman in Atlanta videotaped herself on a date during which she consumed 48 oysters, a plate of potatoes, crab cakes, and then washed it all down with a few cocktails. The gentleman who invited her out apparently watched this, and during a lull in the action, excused himself and left her there with the bill and a pile of dishes. He must have had a slight change of heart because he texted her and offered to pay for his one drink, which appeared to be a glass of wine or some sparkling water in a goblet that looked untouched. Y'all, I can't even write about this without laughing. What in the world???

And folks had jokes, good ones, so there isn't any additional spin I can offer to make this any more or less ridiculous. I can't imagine that there is even a legitimate side to be taken because who da fuq doesn't realize that entire scenario was a future SNL skit? I mean, dude sat there and watched her eat four trays of oysters and didn't try one? If this was in fact a real date, at what point didn't she realize that they weren't having any conversation because she was too busy slurping oysters or adjusting her camera? Where is his video, because surely, there is alternative plate-by-plate commentary? Was he gone for a lot longer than she realized, as in hours? What kind of cheap reject oysters are they serving for $15/dozen in a city that isn't on the water (we don't have deals like that and I live in a coastal city)? 

And how can we be sure that this was NOT just an elaborate set-up for one of those food porn videos because according to the article, dude came back and they left together!!! You know what, nevermind.

Ice Scream, You Screen?

Ok, this one is a bonus I recall seeing from the summer, when somebody's spoiled child got on Blue Ivy's internet to complain that a meeting for ice cream was a waste of her time. I'm wondering if this was the same chick who scoffed at the Cheesecake Factory; but it doesn't matter because she's still out here kissing frogs and wishing on stars as if this is all some Disney movie.

Or she's lactose intolerant, because I cannot imagine that someone would pass on an ice cream date after this hotter than July summer we just had. Some guy offers to meet you and treat you to some ice cream and you decline because you would have preferred that he put more thought into planning your first meeting? A first meeting at Starbuck's or Applebee's involves more effort and planning? Okay.

You could have worn a sundress with pockets on a first date, but you said no thanks I would rather go all out with the nails, hair, and heels because all of that involves e-f-f-o-r-t. Sis, you do know that if the issue really was lactose intolerance, you could have had sorbet...with sprinkles! GTFOHWTBS

It's a Date, Not a Trip to the Dry Cleaners

Lest you think I only have smoke for these whiny women, Imma need these baby boys to grow up and to stop itemizing their actions as if anybody other than your little friends are keeping score. Courtship requires much more of you than just expressing interest in a woman, and at the end of the night, no one owes you anything. Which, ironically, is one of the reasons why WHMS is such a great film to use as a frame of reference for modern dating and romance. Too many of you are out here thinking like Harry--that women are only worthy of your time if you can get some (or as you young people like to describe having sex, if you think you can smash).

And throughout the movie, it is clear that sex isn't that hard to get. According to Harry, sex is the singular reason why most men interact with women and why platonic male/female friendships are impossible to maintain. It's a persuasive thought bubble, even when he runs into Sally for a second time and talks about his pending nuptials. He admits to wanting to settle down because he had grown tired of the single life. However, when he meets Sally a third time five years later while in the process of getting divorced, he makes the choice to befriend her, which allows him to have a more meaningful relationship with her while reverting to his earlier stance of only dating to pursue sex. Becoming friends with her exposes him to developing genuine feelings, which finally breaks him of his pursuit of superficial and unfulfilling dalliances with women. 

In other words, these transactional situationships that y'all brag about on social media for clicks and comments are similarly unfulfilling and inadequate. Some of these women who are down to smash after your bare minimal effort will reciprocate by giving you next to nothing in return. Because you ain't nobody special to her either; yet y'all want to get on social media to complain that you can't write love songs about these women. No, and they aren't willing to sign onto becoming your maid and mama for as long as you both shall live, so there's that.

And one more thing, because some of you who describe yourselves as "nice guys" don't seem to understand that not being a psychopath still doesn't entitle you to anything. Rejection happens, but you don't stop applying for jobs, so why stop dating? As the old folks used to say (and I guess I am now old folks as well), there are a lot more fish in the sea. There are plenty of women out there who will appreciate your effort. 

A Jerry Springer Moment: Final Thoughts

Auntie isn't suggesting that anybody should settle, but instead of being disappointed that your date took you to the Cheesecake Factory, you might try to get past that and find out more about the IT guy who probably built up the courage for weeks to ask you out. I bet he doesn't live in his mother's basement nor does he have to pick up his kids in the McDonald's parking lot every other weekend. But you do you. To every dude who thinks that women are only agreeing to dates with you for the free meal, you do know that having an adult conversation in advance of making the date can save you a LOT in the long run. That means that instead of exchanging a bunch of text messages or DMs, you might need to press this green button to communicate. Imagine that!

I said this a few months ago but will repeat it here in case you missed it: relationships are between the two people involved, not the spectators who have gathered to see how the car crashes. If you are more concerned about posting your every move and expressing every profound thought you have on social media, then your engagement isn't with that other person, it is with your audience. No wonder why y'all are so bitter and disillusioned. You spend more time "creating content" for these elaborately staged encounters instead of experiencing life.

Once the people get their fill of you and your Truman Show drama, what comes next? Because some of you are so needy for attention, I worry that losing followers or engagement is a bigger deal than having an embarrassing viral story written about you. By next weekend, we will have someone else's dating disaster to deconstruct...so how do you plan to top that?

Too Many Open Tabs

I just counted the number of open tabs at the top of my screen. There are 46, not including the 16 other tabs that may be open in a different window. I also have at least five unfinished drafts that I am struggling through and I'm sinking into a depression that I don't seem to be able to avoid.

This isn't normally the type of piece I would want to publish from this blog. I prefer not to put energy into the universe that comes across as a plea for help, but I need to express a few things in order to break through from this cycle, hopefully to something else better. Because I am stuck...

I am over it. I am fried. I am frustrated that I don't seem to have any control over anything in my life, not even my own emotions or thoughts. I am sitting here contemplating if this is what I am supposed to be doing with my life--writing to myself since talking aloud to myself would be a sign of insanity. Is this just me jotting down my rantings and ravings for posterity?

(By the way, I hate this new feature where the computer tries to anticipate what I am intending to say. I find this very fucking annoying <---it didn't guess that I was about to curse. For the record, I do not appreciate artificial intelligence trying to make my life seem easy when I really just want to think and brood for myself.)

For the past couple of weeks I have seriously thought to discontinue writing this blog. I have hit a wall, I don't think I'm saying anything new or interesting, and I barely get any readers anyway. I could try to take a break, but then what would I do? I don't have anything else going on in my life that doesn't involve taking care of someone or feeling as if I have to be in Olivia Pope survival mode ready to handle stuff. I am tired. 

And I know I am contradicting myself, but I feel useless.

The last time I felt this way, I sat down and wrote myself out of the funk. Today I am unsure if that will do the trick. Tomorrow, who knows? Several years ago, I did stop writing for about 18 months or so, and I can tell you that I didn't feel any better about the state of things during that hiatus. But I don't know what else I can do, except maybe get away to someplace where all I need to do is think and write and read and sleep and drink. I just need to be.

I don't want anyone to reach out to me to offer encouraging platitudes, as if that would actually happen. I know it won't because it never has, even when it is obvious to everyone how miserable I am. Because that is the catch--no one notices, and even if they did, no one ever knows what to say to me. Either I'm really adept at putting on a happy face for the world, or I'm an expert at being ignored. Besides, these posters are annoying AF. 

My life is a mess. That is not something I say just to have something to say, because literally I had to step over several piles of things to get to this little space where my computer and chair are in my cramped little office where I can't see the floor. I bought some cards for Teacher Appreciation Week that I cannot find, and I have a bunch of Mother's Day cards that I need to write and mail. At the same time, I am sitting here feeling a bit resentful that I make all of this effort and feel that none of it is appreciated. Who cares if I don't send Mother's Day cards with handwritten notes in them this year? I'm guessing no one.

While I'm navel gazing and stewing in my own pot, I got to thinking about the writers' strike in Hollywood and how I totally understand and can relate to sense that no one appreciates creativity anymore. People just assume that if they type in a bunch of concepts into a computer program, it will spit out a sequence of interchangeable scenarios that will eliminate the need for writers.  Who needs a room full of people with mortgages and kids to feed when you just need one person to keep the paper from jamming in the printer. Isn't that essentially the Tyler Perry model of "content creation"? He's a damn billionaire who could be employing these talented moonlighting Door Dashers and Lyft drivers. I don't know how much he pays the actors (and we know he doesn't invest much in production), but if that is the future of scripted television and movies...

I keep telling myself that money isn't everything. I look at the pictures from the MET Gala and of course I would love to attend those kinds of functions, but then I think about all of the people who services I would need to employ to help me look like that. And then I remember that not only do I not have a job, I'm not anybody important, so it wouldn't even merit an invitation or I would be shunned like this cockroach. Perhaps the People's Ball for the bridge and tunnel crowd is more my speed (not really, but maybe I will make that happen someday.)

A few months ago, someone posted about hosting a reading for their book and how no one came. That is exactly how I feel right now. I worry myself into a tizzy over sentences and punctuation and word choice, but when all is written and edited and I finally hit the "confirm" button to publish, I get these simultaneous feelings of relief and anxiety. Because then I have to figure out how to promote it, and after I agonize over that for a few minutes, then I get wound up in a knot with worry that I should have done this or that or rephrased...

(Yes, I go through this every single time.) So why bother? Because I have at least 9 faithful readers, and none of them is related to me, so no one feels guilted into reading what I've written because I might withhold sex or not speak to them. And honest to God, I am not complaining because it could be worse. Imagine if a certain person did feel obligated to read my blog the way they seem to feel compelled to faithfully listen to their baseball or foodie podcasts...

So now you know why I rarely want people to know that this neurotic side of me exists. Yet, I think it makes me seem more human in case there was some cause for doubt. I often entertain the thought of myself as an abject failure, and then I consider the alternative. I don't have as clear an image in my head of what that might entail, but I'm guessing that in the Alphaverse, that Ayanna doesn't wear yoga pants every day. Yep, I've seen Everything Everywhere All At Once quite a few times since it swept the Oscars; ironically, not entirely all the way through in one sitting.

If I'm not screaming into the void, then I'm just another bewildered housewife living her worst life somewhere in the multiverse. That is actually a comforting thought--it feels good to imagine that somewhere out there, a version of me is the Ayanna I am looking for.

See, sometimes it does work to just write it all out. 

That doesn't mean that I won't entertain any more thoughts of self-doubt. I am a good writer, but I'm no Lin-Manuel Miranda (remember him), finding award-winning inspiration in the life of a forgotten Founding Father. I find my inspiration by scrolling social media and watching cable news. I write about experiences from my own life and my interactions engaging with others. I fancy myself as an undiscovered pop culture critic/political pundit, more accessible and unfiltered. I unapologetically stand up for women, Black women in particular, and despite what some unwoke provocateur might claim, my feminism isn't some issue I adopted in order to exclude the awkward people from the sorority. I am a Believer who sees Jesus in the cracks and crevices. I love this country, but I will do my part to push it to become what it claims to be, and I refuse to accept anything less. 

If you are still reading, that is who the Busy Black Woman is. Nope, not a long-winded wannabe porn model--a writer. When I began this journey, my life was in a much different place. I thought I had a solid plan and attainable dreams, but then the ground under my feet shifted. At times it feels like the earth never stops moving long enough for me to find my footing. But I keep writing.

So while I am discouraged right now, I won't give in to despair. I will close some of these tabs and will finish and publish those pieces. I will send those Mother's Day cards and I may clear a path of floor in my office. I might listen to a few songs from the Hamilton soundtrack. While I hope this strike doesn't last long, I hope the writers hold the line because talented people deserve to earn a decent living in their chosen profession (and that concept should apply universally). If it works for me to cross a few items off my to-do list, so be it, or I might just settle for leaving this house to sit in my car by the water somewhere for a change of scenery. Either way, I will write about it and let you know.

The Most Septembering September

It's been a long while since I wrote one of these kinds of whew, Lawd pieces, but y'all...

I knew September was going to be a busy month, but I had no idea just how hectic and insane it would be. So today, I am sitting here surveying the damage in gratitude that I am still here to live and tell the story. My goal in sharing this is not to elicit pity (since I know some of you are thinking, well you DO call yourself the Busy Black Woman). It is simply to exhale and brace myself, because the rest of the year isn't really trying to let up. 

Come to think of it, this summer was just as hectic. I can't even begin to tell you how it feels like we time warped from May to October in a matter of weeks and all of it is a dang blur. Like, did I celebrate Mother's Day this year? I do recall Memorial Day weekend (because that is a story like you would not believe), but after that, what happened? Did I do anything significant this summer except for buy my Kid a pair of tap shoes for two weeks of camp? And does she even know where those shoes are, or will I find them when it is time to put away the Christmas tree in February?

Y'all where does the time go? How did I go from driving to North Carolina in the middle of August to it being Halloween in a few weeks? Where are we having Thanksgiving dinner? Are we getting together as a family this year after these past couple of years staying socially distant? There have been three babies born in my family since the panini, but I am unsure of their actual ages because one of them might have actually been born before the panini and I just don't remember. He is probably 5, but just short for his age.

Speaking of short, all of the leggings in my child's wardrobe, even the ones I just bought her in August.

Because several of my friends have been over-sharing details about their hot flashes, I am now paranoid about having them and I am not okay. The other day all I did was walk upstairs to my daughter's dance class, but when I got to the door it felt like I had entered the 5th ring of hell, and it took everything in me not to burst into tears (or flames). Like WHAT??? It lasted for about 3 minutes, but worse, I conveniently had a fan in my purse that no one thought was at all strange. 

That same day, I mislaid a pen that I had just been using and this caused an absolute meltdown. I put myself in time-out by staying inside the car by myself because no, I didn't feel the need to explain to the Hub how I needed that pen, and not some generic rollerball that he'd been chewing on. This man has been married to me for almost 21 years and I swear there are days when If You Don't Know Me By Now blares in my brain. For the most part, it's the Simply Red version, which means that I'm willing to shrug it off as not worth the energy, but if it switches to the Teddy Pendergrass version...as of yet, I haven't added the Seal version to my mental playlist. And I just remembered that there is a Patti LaBelle version, but that might be too dangerous.

But back to how this year is practically over and my mind is still stuck on how it was just June last week. It was the last few days of the school year, and I was lamenting to my brother about how the school year had dragged on and then he proposes that I might want to relax with a trip to Disney with my daughter and the Niece at the end of July. That is exactly how it went down--he made this suggestion and the next thing I know, I am standing on line for some Goofy rollercoaster ride. And I swear, I will finally finish writing that piece before I take down the Christmas tree in February.

Before the Disney trip, there was our annual beach vacation to Bethany, DE that I barely remember because I feel like we were there for less than a week. Things felt off because we were there over the July 4th holiday and we were staying in a different rental. Thus, not much excitement, so let's go back a few weeks to that crazy Memorial Day weekend when we inadvertently spent the night in an occupied Air BnB. It took every ounce of self-control not to go full DMX on the host who didn't seem to think it was at all unusual to expect that a FAMILY of 3 might feel slightly uncomfortable staying in an apartment bedroom on an air mattress in Brooklyn!

(Side note, because this is tangentially related to what happened on Memorial Day: I have a whole other piece in my drafts about how we are exactly those parents who have already exposed the Kid to drag queens and the gay agenda, so if you need somebody to judge...)

If you read the previous piece, you know that I saw my college roommate and her darling son last month. The following weekend was my road trip to North Carolina, but what happens in the boonies among friends on a farm in the middle of the night stays there. A week later, I was back-to-school shopping and planning a surprise birthday/anniversary tribute to my parents, not taking note that the date coincided with the weekend of the Classic. But being Thee Busy Black Woman, I declared and decreed that I would make it all work! 

Again, this is not to brag because I was doing laundry the other day and saw clothes that hadn't been washed since Bethany Beach way down at the bottom of the hamper. At least I unpacked the suitcase.

I was talking to my line sister last week about how insane this September has been. Like in the middle of all our life stuff (specifically our children returning to school), the Queen of England dies and now half the state of Florida is under water! Somebody mentioned Mercury being in retrograde, and I don't even want to understand how astrology interacts with real life, but every single time y'all say that it's like that song in Hamilton, The World Turned Upside Down. 

Therefore, to reiterate, I am writing this piece because today it all hit the crescendo. I can't take No More Drama. Family, friends, church, school, advocacy, news...it is all tew murch. I had moments this month when I felt like I should have rolled myself up in a ball, but acting on the advice of Elizabeth Taylor, I poured myself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pulled myself together. I'm not sure that my liver appreciated that level of determination. Maybe next month, I can have a day or two when I won't bother to fake it and push through. Please. Because I can't sit in my car for hours without arousing suspicion of a mental break. I don't have a driveway or a garage, and I'm not a podcaster. 

I'm just a writer who likes to make clever use of all the useless pop culture references that fill her head, so I'm going to take a nap soon, and you can Wake Me Up When September Ends.

The Devil in the Green Dress

This is one of those pieces where I can't provide a map or a key to tell you where I am headed, you just have to trust that it might all make sense by the end. Initially I thought I might write this in two parts, but that is not how it is unfolding. So follow me on this meandering journey through the personal and professional reactions to the noteworthy topic du jour. Because I've seen so many different takes on the Slap and since I've already had my say on that, I want to talk about Jada. 

Somehow, a fight between two men is her fault...because she made a face after a comment that was a joke made at her expense. She's at fault (checks notes): for not stopping her husband, for not following her husband to the stage to stand in between his open hand and another man's face, for being bald, for having an entanglement with a man who kissed and told, for addressing the matter publicly on her internet talk show, for dating Tupac back when they were in high school, for convincing Will that Wild Wild West was going to be a hit...

I'm sure I left something out, but it is absolutely crazy to me how Jada Pinkett becomes Helen of Troy and takes all of the blame for how two grown ass men acted up on national television.

How is that personal? Well, it isn't because I am friends with Jada. In fact, I am not even a fan of hers, since I believe her addition to the cast of A Different World is the precise point when the show jumped the shark. Her character was terrible and annoying, and with rare exceptions, I have yet to see Jada take on any role that isn't some derivative of Lena James. 

It sure is convenient that Jada became the Devil in the Green Dress that Denzel Washington alluded to when he sought to comfort Will Smith after the Slap. In our attempts to make sense of what set him off and made him forget where he was and how many people were watching, the only logical explanation was he got possessed. An evil spirit inhabited that man's body and forced it to act out on national television. And in the tradition of Adam blaming Eve for his choice to bite the apple, the world settled on Jada.

Why do y'all hate Jada so much? For anyone who has been paying attention to the Smiths for any amount of time, how did it escape your notice that while Will has continued to have a rather high-profile, yet consistent career that has ebbed and flowed, hers has been practically dormant for a minute. She started hosting an internet-based talk show with her Mama from her basement before the pandemic. Jada worked steadily in the 90s, up until she had her first child with Will. She found work here and there, but after their daughter was born, Jada went ghost for a while. She fronted a band, she had a short-lived TV show, she voiced the Hippo on Madagascar (with Chris Rock), co-produced a sitcom with Will, and she had periodic cameos in various movies. Will has been on a hot streak of summer blockbusters, intense dramas, and being a Hollywood mogul. Their son Jaden got to be the Karate Kid and daughter Willow got to be a rockstar for an entire summer. Jada got to stand on the sidelines with her spiked coffee to cheer everyone on.

I don't know why y'all never noticed that Will has always treated his family like employees. I remember that the Smiths hosted the BET Awards show together in 2005 and this promo captures my belief that Will has been trying to push guide his children's careers from birth. He and Jaden co-starred in a disastrous movie (one that I actually paid to see in the theater) and it included some truly painful moments of father-son tension that were not acting. Not too long ago, Willow opened up about the pressure she felt from her father to pursue a music career after the success of her Whip My Hair video. How it took her refusal to continue with a tour for him to accept that he had been forcing her into something that no longer seemed fun. She was 12.

Will has confessed on quite a few occasions that he does the most. Before he wrote his book, he gave plenty of interviews in which he outlined his I-think-therefore-I-am-Legend philosophy, and every single time, I have come away feeling drained by his intensity. The man is consumed by the pursuit of success, and every move he makes is about being Will Smith, the man with the multi-million dollar brand name. I wish more of you took the time to psychoanalyze him instead of Jada, who has been his ride or die all along. Every movie premier. Every twist and turn. Every career high and low.

Until August whatever his name told everyone about his puppy love affair with Jada, NOBODY had a clue how unhappy, unfulfilled, tired, and generally sick of Will's shit she was. Sure, the rumors about them have always alluded to them being about as real as the Fendi bag you bought from someone's trunk, but you wear it anyway. What man hasn't been called gay in Hollywood and shrugged it off because that is the rumor about everybody? And who cared if she went a few years without working if he was bringing home $20 million per film?

I have said this several times and will say it again for everyone in the cheap seats--Will isn't anybody's cuckhold. He's had dalliances and at some point Jada said bet, what's good for the goose is good for the gander and she got her some. But her non-disclosure agreement wasn't as airtight, so when her little boy toy got in his feelings about Mrs. Robinson cutting him lose once she had her fun, everybody is out here clutching pearls and denouncing Jada as if...

As if marriage ain't complicated and messy AF for everybody. Beyonce wrote a whole album in response to Jay-Z's extra-curricular activities, and I swear that is only because she knew fucking one of his friends wasn't worth it. And how we found out about that was because Solange couldn't believe that shit and threw hands in an elevator.

I mentioned to a friend recently how people are being way too dismissive of Jada's alopecia. I saw where someone questioned if it is any more or less traumatic than men going bald in their 20s and that was the moment when I realized how desperately y'all want to salvage Will's reputation and career. Did you know that there is a support and advocacy community for people that suffer with alopecia (and I know this because I'm on their mailing list)? When you dismiss it as a milder auto-immune disease than lupus or multiple sclerosis, is that because you know from personal experience, or just don't think it is a big deal for someone to suddenly be disfigured or have their appearance altered by something they can't control? As if the stress of being Mrs. Will Smith didn't finally get to her? Have y'all forgotten Michael Jackson's vitiligo?

Here is where I get personal. I have this birthmark on my forehead, which I've had since I was a child. This picture is one of the earliest appearances of it (the faint shadow you see in the upper left corner). In my teens, I had a dermatologist who provided options if I wanted to have it removed, and because I had been teased relentlessly about it for my entire life at that point, I considered it. This was the late 80s though, so the methods for removal sounded like torture--having it frozen, burned, or cut off. And get this, I did have portions of my birthmark cut off to get it biopsied for skin cancer and it grew back! That was the risk I faced including discoloration or some kind of disfiguring scar that would have been no different than the mark itself.

For years, I was very self-conscious and never felt safe from the ridicule of my peers or some adults. Once a substitute teacher cracked that it looked like I had a third eyebrow, that became the default insult for the remainder of my elementary school days. In middle school, I was declared ugly and diseased. By high school, I thought people had outgrown the taunts, but I later learned by accident that someone whom I thought was my friend had talked about me and the ridiculous splotch on my forehead.

Yeah, kids are cruel and teenage girls are mean and boy are stupid. All of that. And though I am used to the stares and the awkward questions from children, every now and then, someone makes a bad joke, so I recognize the look Jada gave in response to Rock's quip. I can tell you how I have accepted my birthmark and how I chose not to have it removed because I came to see it for something greater than a flaw. I can tell you that I don't care if people whisper behind my back about that thing on my forehead. But I can also tell you that I would NEVER intentionally sit on the front row at a comedy show...

I can tell you that it was a few years ago in San Francisco when an unhoused man made me feel like that ugly middle school kid again after he harassed me for not giving him money. He started out by hitting on me, then he asked me for money, and then completely turned into an asshole when I honestly told him that I did not have any cash. I haven't wanted to go back to San Francisco because of that encounter.

So yeah, I feel a personal connection to Jada over the fact that she had an honest here we go again moment and everyone is calling it the look that launched a hundred angry steps. You want to know why she didn't jump up to stop Will? Because she was in shock like the rest of us!

I haven't read Will's book and honestly, I won't since we all need a break from their never-ending drama to focus on other issues. I didn't have to write this, but I felt compelled to say something in Jada's defense after seeing how folks have either written her out of the narrative or reframed it to cast her as Tituba from the Salem witch trials who set this all in motion with her evil feminine wiles (midlife crisis). A lot of Hollywood couples had extramarital entanglements, and not all of them were discreet (Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn come to mind). Even some of the long-haulers had non-traditional marriages. You'd be surprised.

So please stop. Miss me with all of your amateur expertise in relationships when we spend a great deal of time on social media trying to understand why some men think paying for a date is some kind of conspiracy by women to drain their souls. When we've got dudes offering advice from their cars in the parking lot of McDonald's before their weekend visitation starts. When there are women bragging about how well they take are of men who haven't married them so they've been playing house for 15 years. Water your own lawn!

A final word on why I took the time to defend Jada--because I see her. I see this woman living her life like the rest of us, dreams deferred and answered prayers and everything else in between. Maybe she is terrible and this is that moment in Mean Girls when she gets hit by a bus, or maybe she is a much better actress than we realize. Just because she is comfortable with her bald head that doesn't mean she is immune to the sting of a bad joke. Y'all think everything is fair game and it isn't. Words do hurt people, and as a friend pointed out, we know when someone is hitting below the belt. Poking fun at a woman's appearance walks a very fine line and is often just mean. 

And slapping somebody on live television is stupid. Will Smith has been telling us for YEARS what kind of person he is and now he's shown us. Chris Rock has been telling us that he's kind of a jerk too, but with more self-awareness. So again, how did this narrative shift in 24 hours to Jada being the Instigator, Geppetto the Narcissist Puppeteer? Incredible. That's a whole semester on Freud that most of you skimmed from a YouTube video, so now you think you know something? You only know what you saw, and no one saw Jada slap anybody. So stop smacking her around and if you can't say anything respectful about her, then keep her name out of your mouth.

Myth of the Black Subpar Woman

At the same time that Black women are finally ascending to positions of influence and authority in society, there are suddenly all of these hints and suggestions that we are incompetent. Correction: It is outright declared as the Gospel truth that we can't do the jobs that we have taken on, whether it is Madame Vice President Kamala Harris, Supreme Court nominee Ketanji Brown Jackson, New York Attorney General Letitia James, or the rest of us over-worked and under-paid Black women in the workplace. We really aren't anybody's superwomen...

This isn't a new insinuation. As soon as Black people began to insist on inclusion and equality, the counter-argument has been to raise the question of competence. White women who were offended that the 15th Amendment did not include them openly questioned the intellectual competency of the formerly enslaved to participate in political affairs. A century later when Black people were suing to gain access to public safety jobs that were filled primarily by white ethnic minorities, suddenly there were written entrance examinations to weed out incompetent applicants. The President of the United States nominates a Black woman to serve on the Supreme Court and folks are seriously demanding to see her standardize test scores from thirty years ago to attest to her competence.

Madame Vice President Kamala Harris has served just over one year on the job and people are calling her incompetent even though her only *real* job is to stay alive. Last I checked, she ain't dead. There is no constitutional job description for Vice President, except to advise and support the President. Her tweets are all grammatically correct. She laughs at his jokes. She dresses well, never wears too much makeup, and doesn't upstage the First Lady at formal events. She looks happy to be at work, which is more than can be said for many of us. She is Biden's actual work wife--a job that no one cared about, not even when Condi Rice was lying to the United Nations to justify unnecessary wars on behalf President Bush. But because Uncle Joe doesn't treat Kamala Harris like a wind-up doll and actually consults with her as an equal, that has folks triggered. Even Harris' safe and boring unremarkable fashion choices have managed to piss off some lady named Lynda, most recently for not wearing her hair in a dignified chignon. And as we all know, if she can't be bothered to use a hairpin, then how are we ever going to trust her to do anything serious?

Isn't that right Meghan McCain? We must be able to take the Vice President of the United States more seriously than this:

At least as seriously and as thoughtful as we took Sarah Palin, but that is such an old and tired joke. So perhaps someone like Rep. Lauren Boebert (R-CO), who tweeted how impressed she was by the Vice President's lack of knowledge about everything, and well that's not quite the insult she thought it would be. But it does track the general theme of the GOP talking points that Harris is ill-suited for her job, for no real reason except that they don't like her. 

Supreme Court nominee Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson has all of the requisite qualifications and then some to serve on the high court, but folks are still twisting themselves into pretzels in order to justify their opposition. Senator Lindsay Graham (R-SC), who supported her just a year ago for the seat she currently occupies on the DC Circuit, criticized her Harvard credentials. Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) is suspicious because she wouldn't drink his Communist Cuban coffee (because I'm sure she's seen The Princess Bride enough times to know better). We already know Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-KY) will try to slow walk the process the same way he prevented a hearing on Judge Merrick Garland back in 2016. And because there isn't an ounce of courage in the GOP Caucus, I am not expecting any kind of unity or solidarity from Sens. Lisa Murkowski (R-AK) or Susan Collins (R-ME) to urge for an expedient process.

Not that it matters, because plenty of Black women are ready to go to the mattresses if need be. 

I must qualify that by saying plenty for I know full well that there is a distinct and vocal chorus of skinfolk haters who have and will speak out against any and every Black woman who deigns to deviate from their definitions of so-called acceptable Black womanhood. The hoteps denounce Black women with non-Black partners as bed wenches. The old guard patriarchs regard the social advancement of Black women in the workplace as a tool of white supremacy and feminism intended to destroy the Black family. The row of dowager deaconesses agrees as they cut their eyes and grit at any hint of non-conformity with passé norms of behavior. (Did you see her hair, is she wearing a slip?) Some of us do a better job of blocking progress than racism alone...

In the 80s and 90s, we considered it a victory to redefine Black Womanhood on our own terms, free from the stereotypes and caricatures of a docile Mammy, a tragic mulatto, and a shrill Sapphire. Black women recognized our power and began blazing trails into areas of American life that had been previously inaccessible. Spaces that were never built for us, off limits except for our grandmothers and aunties to clean after hours, we walked in with our loud, colorful selves and scared the hell out of everybody.

The downside of breaking through these glass ceilings is that the scars from the shards are permanent and disfiguring. Even after the glass is swept away, we're still walking on eggshells. We don't get to make mistakes. Less than two years after she won an Oscar for Best Actress, Halle Berry won a Razzie and her career has never recovered. Meanwhile, Tyler Perry's career is thriving. Wearing the wrong color nail polish put Meghan Markle on the bad side of the Royal protocol police. Sometimes it works out, like it did for Oprah and her afro in Baltimore; still, every now and then some Black news anchor will receive hate mail for wearing braids on air.

There are the never-ending petty criticisms. Jewelry that is considered too ethnic, accents that are too thick, bodies that are too curvy, attitudes that need to be adjusted. Voices that are too loud, especially when speaking out against injustice. Mothers that work too hard and neglect their children. Mothers that don't work, so they impart the wrong values. Young women that dress/dance too provocatively so why should anyone treat them with respect? Girls whose bodies begin puberty at 10, so they are expected by the age of 12 to know how to fight off grown men who should know better. Women with too much education and who make too much money to be desirable spouses. 

Black women are reminded on a daily basis that we are too much for this world to handle with care, so we are abused and are expected to smile through the trauma. 

This is particularly the case for Black woman in high-profile political offices. Black District Attorneys and Attorneys General are expected to be tough, not reform-minded. Yet, if they are tough on the powerful (i.e., AG Letitia James in New York or DA Fani Willis in Atlanta), then they are power hungry bitches. When Kim Foxx, Cook County State's Attorney in Illinois, called this out amid complaints that she had not been tough enough on actor Jussie Smollett, she was accused of playing the "race card," a most reliable deflection. Every Black woman who has or is serving as a big city mayor in recent years is to blame for every urban problem that she hasn't managed to clean up six months or less into her tenure. My Mayor, Muriel Bowser, was ridiculed for attending the ribbon cutting of a Starbuck's in an economically underserved community. The Mayor of New Orleans, LaToya Cantrell, was criticized for not wearing a mask in photos taken of her at a Mardi Gras dinner (by several people who weren't wearing masks themselves). Y'all even went after former Atlanta Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms over a picture of her mac 'n cheese on Instagram.

We've erected monuments to Shirley Chisholm in honor of her historic run for President in 1972, but she didn't live to see any of this adulation, nor was the praise this effusive until after she died. Perhaps this delayed veneration is understandable given that Chisholm was 50 years ahead of her time. Yet, it doesn't square with the way some of y'all talk shit about Madame Vice President while praising Michelle Obama...makes me wonder how much progress has really been made. How would history have been different if Michelle had the audacity to pursue a political career instead of Barack? It would have upended the narrative of the perfect nuclear Black family if she hadn't stood by her man, so we don't talk about the career she gave up in order to support his run for POTUS. Lest we conveniently forget, she was his mentor. She was the breadwinner. But let's save that conversation for later.

When I started this piece, it was before the confirmation hearings had begun for Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson (so stay tuned for my take on that fiasco). I began writing in response to the criticisms lobbed at the Vice President during her trip to Poland and the constant insinuations of her incompetence by her political opponents. It was incredible to me that someone as dimwitted as Lauren Boebert felt entitled to belittle another woman based on alleged deficits of her intellect, because in a contest of anything other than beer pong...

I know, when they go low, blah blah blah. But it is hard to suppress the urge to clapback. It takes a special kind of fortitude and resolve to sit in calmness and with grace while someone is berating your very existence. It is fucking exhausting to watch, let alone experience on a regular basis. How are we incompetent, unqualified, not taken seriously, disrespected, maligned, discriminated against, looked down upon, mistreated, diminished, disregarded, overlooked, underpaid, and YOU are still breathing?

Feeling Secure

Twas the day after the Christmas and I spent the afternoon on the sofa with a bottle of sparkling wine, chicken strips, and a few hours of kid-free silence. So naturally, I did what every other Insecure fan should have been doing in preparation for the series finale later that evening--I caught up on the episodes that had I missed or half-watched from this last season.

Now, because I am mindful that there are Busy Black folks out there who aren't fans or maybe haven't had a chance to watch the finale, so I won't spend that much time this Monday quarterbacking the finale. Watch it, come to your own conclusions, and then come back here for my take on what I hope will be the impact of Insecure for the long-term.

1. Conversations with our families about estate planning - This really hit home for me. My parents wrote their wills some twenty years ago, long before there was a notion of the chronic health issues we have faced for the past ten. My Mom, on the sage advice of Suzie Orman, had the foresight to invest in long term care insurance, which has made been a lifesaver in every possible way. While my Dad is still old school with respect to his faith in life insurance and bank savings, it was the financial planning that my Mom initiated that has really made this season of their lives manageable for us as their children.

There's so much more to say on this topic, because Black people can be inconsistent when it comes to death. On the one hand, we deal with it as a part of life, yet it amazes me just how reluctant our families are to plan for anything other than the funeral. I don't want to think about dying either, but if these last two years have taught us anything, it is that we need to have contingencies in place to deal with the unexpected. TALK TO YOUR PARENTS! Get their passwords. Have them walk you through their finances. Ask them how they want things to be settled. And talk to your siblings so that everyone is on the same page. Ain't nothing worse than drama and tension on the front pew that never gets resolved. 

2. Embracing imperfection by dropping the Black superwoman trope - The name of the show was Insecure. A lot of y'all missed that. Some of you were very critical that Issa didn't have her shit together from the beginning. Some of you probably thought highly of Molly until she realized how much of a hot ass mess she had been for four seasons. Some of you were more concerned about Tiffany wearing your sorority colors than you were about the vulnerability she showed as a new mother suffering with post-partum depression. You might have missed the fact that Kelli was sober this entire season, which was a good thing considering that she pissed her pants during Coachella and got into all kinds of nonsense whenever she imbibed. Y'all were siding with Lawrence's irresponsible fuckboi declaration that Condola blew up his life when she got pregnant (which we're going to revisit a little later).

Life is messy and not even fictional people are perfect. Thank goodness!

3. Addressing the stigma of mental health, especially among Black men - We saw Molly with a therapist, and I know that the religulous among you will argue that all she needed was Jesus. But I'm sure He would have sent her to a therapist too. Despite the ultimate outcome of his story arc, Nathan was one of the most valuable characters, working through his issues with others and with himself. Unlike most stereotypical depictions of mental illness (the homeless vagrant or the drug addicted loser), it was refreshing to see a high functioning, yet flawed individual who owned his issues. 

4. Establishing and maintaining mature co-parenting relationships - So we've reached the hill where I plant my flag--Lawrence, the dude who perpetually let life happen to him finally grew a pair! The fact that it took his fast-talking friend Chad to blurt that out at him for it to finally sink in that he needed to make some choices and man the fuck up (and you thought that was only about his on-and-off again situationship with Issa)...

And one of those choices was to be more present in the life of his son with Condola. She didn't get pregnant--they were fucking. Birth control goes both ways, but sometimes it fails and one of those little swimmers is gonna go all the way (we all saw Look Who's Talking). Given that Lawrence was rather promiscuous generous, I'm surprised that he hadn't created more babies...but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

Instead, let's keep the focus on the fact that if more folks took responsibility for their actions, the world would be so much better for the children that result. I say that as a lawyer who used to represent parents in their custody disputes. I say that as a woman who has read some of the really shitty takes that some weekend Dads have expressed about paying child support. I say that as a mother with equal disdain for the toxic Moms who feel entitled to erect insurmountable barriers to healthy co-parenting because they have irrational trust and control issues. 

Look, parenting is hard within a marriage, let alone between two households. We only got one full episode, a HUGE blow-up, and a few tranquil scenes scattered among subsequent episodes, but I assure you, it took a LOT of work to get him to that happy ending. 

5. Blackness is Beautiful - I mean, we know this but I don't think the rest of the world always gets to see it presented that way. Sure, we've had sitcoms with all-Black casts that have been unapologetically Black in the past, but this time we got an experience that showcased Black Los Angeles as well. We saw Black people at art galleries, at outdoor festivals, planning events, attending Coachella, hiking, hanging out on the beach, owning businesses, and doing all of the bougie stuff that white folks assume we don't do. We drink coffee too, but in every other sitcom, we'd be the sassy barista or the silent busboy. In any other sitcom, we'd see a few Black faces in the crowd and that would be touted as inclusion. For once, it was great to see us as the foreground and the background. It was significant to depict various aspects of Black life that weren't confined to any one space within the community--the Dunes apartment complex in Inglewood was just as integral as Molly's downtown office or Crenshawn's warehouse workspace or Black alumni weekend at Stanford.

It matters that Issa Rae, the actress, writer, and producer was an aspirant just ten years ago when we first encountered Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl back in 2011 on YouTube. Like most people who became fans of that effort, who could have foreseen that it would lead Rae to the point where she is today? Not just in her career, but also the other Black actors, writers, and directors that she took along with her for the ride: Stella Meghie, Melina Matsoukas, Prentice Penny, Natasha Rothwell, Jay Ellis, and Yvonne Orji. I am thinking about Tracy Oliver, the antagonist on the web series, who is now a budding media mogul in her own right. There is also Robin Thede, the writer and producer of the hilariously funny and Emmy-nominated A Black Lady Sketch Show. I am thinking that when Rae stated that she was rooting for everyone Black, that meant EVERYBODY.

Of course, the predictable backlash to this will be to point out that there is no such place as Black LA if we only make up 8% of that city's population. Some snooty TV executive, probably the same guy that canceled Girlfriends without a series finale, will wonder aloud where in Los Angeles they found that many Black people and whether it was truly representative if there were not as many Latinx or Asian Americans depicted (because it is perfectly acceptable to accuse us of excluding others). Surely, token efforts to integrate shows like the original Sex and the City or Girls, which celebrated a very specific demographic of empowered white woman (the Christines and Kristins) would have more impact. Just greenlight a reboot or a pre-boot with a Black girlfriend and set one of the episodes outside of their typical exclusive enclaves of privilege. Send Miranda Hobbs to a Black church in Harlem with her law school professor. Because that isn't racist...

But it ain't progress either.

I would love for the legacy of Insecure to be a more sustained movement towards inclusion in Hollywood--more diversity in directors, writers, production crews, etc. It would be great, but I lived through the 80s and 90s. Ground-breaking popular Black shows still get marginalized while mediocre mainstream shows live on in syndication. I still believe that our stories deserve to be told and that there is plenty of space on the red carpet for more diversity, but I don't want to wait another 30 years just to make incremental advances. Because Issa Rae decided not to rest on her dreams, someone else needs to wake up and follow suit. 

Are you waiting on a chance, or are you taking any?

Read that again, look at the calendar, and get then serious about making that next move. If you saw the finale, that was a personal message in a bottle that even if the ground is shaking beneath your feet, trust yourself...Everything is going to be, Okay?!

An Elegy for Ghetto Malls

It was this tweet and then this article that inspired me to take a stroll back in time to revisit an unfinished piece I had started way back in June about living and growing up in DC in the 80s. The original piece was part of some research I had started after I wrote this piece about my high school, and the last visit we made there as a alumna community before its demolition (which just began this past week). In the process of writing about the changes I had witnessed over the years between the District and neighboring Prince George's County, it got a little too overwhelming to confine it all to just one long-form article (therefore, it is still in draft, so you'll have to wait for it). In the meantime this more urgent matter deserves separate emphasis because it is imperative to settle the question of which DMV area ghetto mall has the better snickerdoodle cookies.

Of course it is Forestville Mall. Fight me.

But before I engage in that debate, this elegy for the ghetto mall is a lot deeper than cookies. Times and shopping habits are rapidly changing, and pretty soon it won't matter which mall had what because by the end of this decade, they might all be gone. So, in response to that original tweet, no, Iverson Mall is not still making it. (But you should keep grinding, if that advice resonates.)

When that tweet was posted at the beginning of September, I had to seriously stop and think about the last time I had been inside Iverson. Mind you, I have driven by Iverson countless times because my parents still live about fifteen minutes away. I no longer live on that side of the city, so my trips in that part of Prince George's County are generally rare. Before COVID, my parents used to like eating at the Red Lobster further down the road and I have friends that live in the neighborhoods adjacent to the Mall. I've gone to the $5 movies at the Marlow 6 next door with the Kid a few times and I might have been in that Macy's for towels or something random because I was desperate. The last time I had been in the area was before the pandemic for a house blessing.

I hadn't actually gone inside Iverson Mall in nearly 20 years.

Before I share my recent adventures there, let me say that I have been on a rather coincidental nostalgia trip back to some of the long deserted landmarks of my youth, stirred up by a series of various events that began with my Mom's Zoom birthday party back in February. Because I was determined to reach every relative I could, that drive took me to a lot of homes and hoods that haven't been in my orbit since high school. Then there was that aforementioned all-class high school reunion in June. That visit was  a surprising high point, which was then followed by the sad news of the death of a high school friend a few weeks later. On my return visit to the area for his funeral, I ended up driving past several other old haunts from my youth, including my grandparents' old neighborhood in DC. A friend purchased a home not too far from there two years ago, and I have been reacquainting myself with those old stomping grounds as well. Finally, on a whim last week, I decided to use some errand time to take a trip to Iverson.

Because of the pandemic, I hadn't been inside any mall until fairly recently. Not even my local ghetto mall, Prince George's Plaza, which I used to frequent regularly for errands. The first time I went back there was in Spring of this year when I was shopping for my daughter's birthday party. A closer Target store in the city has made it unnecessary for me to travel outside of my COVID-condensed bubble of home, the Kid's school/camp/ballet, my parents' house, and assorted errands within a limited radius. So when I had to travel into Virginia to Pentagon City Mall to pick up a pair of shoes this summer, for the Kid it was exactly like that scene from The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door to Munchkin Land. And it dawned on me that her excitement was genuine because the last time she had been inside of a mall might have been when she was still being pushed in a stroller to take this picture with Santa.

And from the looks of the many vacant store fronts whether inside traditional malls, open air shopping strips, or stand-alone retail, to declare that the pandemic took a toll on brick and mortar retail is an understatement. Everywhere, even in Manhattan, we walked passed dozens of deserted establishments. My guess is that some of those store fronts will be re-occupied as some businesses and national restaurant chains re-brand new concepts. Or there will be a lot more banks and pharmacies. But a lot of that will depend on economic factors that are beyond my Busy Black understanding.

The experts say that malls are dying, and it doesn't seem to matter if we're referring to the local ghetto mall or the former upscale mall that has rapidly become a ghetto mall. Major department store anchors have closed at Annapolis Mall (Lord & Taylor), the Marlow Heights Shopping Center (Macy's), and the Bowie Town Center (Sears). I haven't gone into Mazza Gallerie in a while, but my understanding is that the Neiman Marcus closed a year ago. On my most recent trip to downtown Silver Spring, we perused the Five Below because it was the only store open at the former City Place (now Ellsworth Place Mall) after 5pm. 

I didn't even see a Five Below at Iverson.

A few days after that "motivational" tweet, I saw a similar tweet about the West End Mall in Atlanta, and that one made me laugh out loud for real. I lived within walking distance from that mall for four years and it has been at least 27 years since I've been in there. I didn't spend nearly as much time or money there as I did uptown at the now beleaguered Lenox Square Mall, but I have walked by West End whenever I've taken the MARTA to visit campus. That stretch between the station and the campus parking lot have remained unchanged, and I regard it as a last vestige of old Atlanta that only survives because gentrification had more lucrative options in the area. As it has also been the same amount of time since I've been in the Greenbriar Mall, also in the SWATS (SW Atlanta), and I am curious to see how it is still surviving as well. 

I guess the point of this analysis, short of arson and in spite of improbable odds, is that ghetto malls do manage to endure. Upscale malls decline to the point where they become ghetto malls or get redeveloped into condos, some kind of art space, or just abandoned like Landover Mall. I foresaw the fate of Lenox back in 1994 when I got locked inside the Crate and Barrell Store during Freaknik--all because Snoop Dogg and his entourage walked past the Macy's. Now that the METRO goes all the way out to Tysons Corner, it is only a matter of time before the anchor stores forget to renew their leases. Georgetown Park Mall, White Flint, and Landmark Mall are or will become redeveloped as high-end mixed-use communities. 

As for Iverson, there isn't much to see and my visit there had to be one of the saddest nostalgia journeys to date. When my Mom and I used to frequent there, we parked at the Woodward & Lothrop (Woodies) entrance, because that was usually her primary destination. We only parked in the deck if it was too crowded, typically during the holidays. On the morning of my recent pilgrimage, I had to use the parking deck because the store now occupying the old Woodies didn't appear to have a public entrance from the lot, and I could not remember where the mall entrance was on that side. Then I had a kind of Wizard of Oz experience in reverse, from technicolor to black and white (or more like that scene from The Wiz when Dorothy and friends confront him for lying to them). It was 10:30 in the morning, and half of the stores weren't open yet. I expected to see a few mall walkers, but apparently I was too late, or perhaps that effort has been dispatched to another locale or disbanded.

Afterwards, I drove over to Marlow Heights and learned that the Macy's finally gave up the ghost. I didn't even look to see if the Baskin-Robbins was still there. I drove down St. Barnabas Road and thought about making a trip to Rivertowne Commons, but decided that one retail graveyard was enough for the day, so I headed back to the strip where the Cavalier Men's Shop and the Kemp Mill Records used to be. I thought back to when it had been my dream to score a retail job at Iverson Mall instead of in the corporate office at the downtown Cavalier's, because it was closer to home and many of my friends worked there. Those were the days...

Indeed, there had been better days when life and commerce teemed from every storefront, and every nook and cranny. I wonder if the patrons that still shop at Iverson know that once upon a time in the main concourse, there had been a Jordan Kitts Music store where some of my friends took piano lessons. The pet store next door is where my brothers would go to stare at the dogs, and later where my parents bought us goldfish. We spent what felt like hours waiting to try on shoes at the Stride Rite, and then more hours waiting on my Mom to flip through the enormous pattern books at the fabric store across the way. Sometimes while we waited, we could get a slushie from Orange Julius, or maybe some fancy candies at the Fannie May upstairs. There was a costume store where my Mom bought my first ballet leotard and a few of the costumes her students wore for their performances. There was a Wilson's Leather, a Florsheim Shoes, a Lerner's, and a Hit or Miss. Although we didn't venture often to that side of the mall, the other anchor store had been Montgomery Ward.

Get a group of local Gen Xers and maybe a few geriatric Millennials together and we could go on and on about the glory days of Iverson before it became the ghetto mall where we used to shop. Shoot, there is a whole movie about how our generation came of age at the mall. So yeah, Imma need a minute or two, because this hits a little different...

However, I'm not that torn up over the reality that the modern mall concept has more days in its rearview than ahead. COVID has seen to that, aided by Amazon and the trend towards e-commerce in general. There is an ebb and flow to our shopping habits, and while I miss those marathon mall excursions with my Mom and Aunt, the truth is that I like receiving products in the mail from a more diverse assortment of businesses. For example in the golden era mall days, I bought candles from the stores that sold candles, and that was probably from an exclusive or limited number of brands. Now I can order candles from any number of small businesses, and the same is true for stationery, personal care items, and clothing. The new trend in retail appears to be the pop-up, which allows a hybrid of options between traditional brick and mortar storefronts and smaller entities that "rent" access to those patrons. Another trend that may help more small businesses grow are these food halls, which also incorporate some space for retail. Perhaps we don't really need the mega Mall of America model of retail when there are other options that aren't as dependent on the fortunes of regional and national department stores. 

If Iverson is barely making it on a tired business model that hasn't changed in over 20 years, then maybe that isn't the kind of encouragement we need in uncertain times. For all of the Black wealth in Prince George's County, Iverson is a poor reflection of all that "success". I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with shopping at stores like Roses if that is your price point (because it ain't like rich folks don't shop at Walmart and the Dollar Store). However, it speaks volumes that there are so few small Black-owned businesses occupying spaces in these ghetto malls except for nail and hair salons. That is not a criticism of the immigrants that appear to run most of the stores, but I don't see them doing much shopping or hiring...

So then the issue is us. It is our definition of "making it" and what that is supposed to look like. When I started this piece, my objective was to lament the decline of a once vibrant community space. Well I've done that, but I also realize that as long as Iverson and West End and their sister malls are still standing, there is hope that those spaces can be revived. Perhaps not restored to what they were, but reinvented into something else. 

On the same day of my trip to Iverson, I made a few more stops, including one last ride past my old high school. The demolition had begun and throughout the week, other alumnae posted pictures of the process. I posted my own and wrote about the prospect of new beginnings and perhaps that is the metaphor that we miss when we focus so much on what was or is instead of what could be. Unlike the other alumnae, I do not mourn the end of that era because the school no longer serves the purpose for which it was built. We left, and the middle school students that will inhabit the new school deserve a modern and more functional space. The same is true for the patrons of Iverson--now that we've moved on, they deserve a better mall. Not some relic of a bygone era. 

As for the snickerdoodles, one of my LRHS sisters conducted this taste test to compare the offerings and for the record, I was always #TeamForestville. As someone who could once brag that I knew every inch of both malls, I never had any recollection of getting snickerdoodles from Iverson (although we must have). If I venture back over there again, hopefully I will have more compelling reasons to go inside.