A letter to Mr. Lagerfeld

Dear Kal, 

I am a woman of color so in love with your brand and designs, my part time job, albeit to no avail, is researching ways to have my paychecks directly deposted into your company's bank account.  So as not to discard me as someone living in the clouds before I even begin, I am painfully aware that it will take multiple pay days for me to afford any of your clothes. Thank heavens some of your purses are missing the extra zeros prevalent in your evening wear and couture dresses.  I will make a terrible debtor's jail bird.  

So, with the amount of devotion I have for all things Chanel, I was gravely disappointed when you filled your shows with only white models and made the following statement, "there are no models who are women of color in my show because I want all the models to look similar so that all eyes are focused on the clothes"?  Would it be too much to ask that you do not insult me and other women of color who adore and spend their money on your brand?  And just a side note, a beautiful woman commands attention due to her beauty alone. And it is this attention that sheds light on the clothes she wears.  As we all know, beauty knows no color, so having beautiful women regardless of color, showing your clothes should be the key goal in your fashion shows.
I am clearly not on your speed dial or your FB friend, but If you can please do me this little favor-show less bigotry and more class.  

Granted-- to keep your white shirts stout and proud, you have singlehandedly kept the starching industry in business for all these years; so another "charitable act" might be too much to ask of you.  In any case, please try harder Kal. You owe it to all the rappers that have made your love of bling "street".  More importantly, I am really close to succeeding in my quest for making you the sole recipient of my earnings, hence, I would appreciate it if you do not insist on making a fool out of me:) Thank you bunches!!

Sincerely, 

Ava Drake

(http://www.huffingtonpost.com/linda-grasso/chanel-spring-2011-collec_b_752098.html)

The Back up Plan????

So this morning, as I rolled out of bed and my hip connected with the wood floors- an enacted form of shock therapy highly recommended for use in one's waking up process- I started to wonder why me, a self proclaimed right brainer, had a life that channeled Dolly Parton's 9-5 instead of Springsteen's Glory Days?  My profession, a Corporate Accountant, is a testament that God indeed has a sense of humor.  I am blessed or cursed with an innate inability to add without the help of a machine and possess a serious case of unrequited love for all of life's  frivolities.  So with me constantly fighting allergic reactions due to fluorescent light, stark carpets, and unnecessary smiles before sun down; I just had to wonder why my fall back plan is now my life. 

As an African child, an education that leads one to become a  Doctor, Nurse, PHD carrying Professor (the title Doctor is mandatory if this route is chosen ) , Engineer, and just recently added to the list a Corporate Lawyer or Accountant, is the only accepted choice for one's future.  An African's notion of education must not be confused with that of North America or Europe's.  The Arts is not considered a viable educational choice and therefore a career in this field is highly discouraged; there will be no "Save the Music" campaign going on in Africa anytime soon and aspirations to be a writer, movie star, model, athlete, or a fashion designer are equivalent to a child signing their parent's death certificate.

I am not exactly sure why most African parents feel this way, but I came up with one plausible answer.  While American parents on the same caliber as African parents are pushing their kids to be that "one in a million", our parents are pushing us toward the fool proof choices in life.  This of course is highly commendable if one is to take it at face value.   However, I sometimes feel that our parents are choosing this form of parenting because they are fresh of the heels of scraping  knees and elbows just to get the bare minimum offered.  This form of black tax that our parents and most of us are still encountering has resulted in parents curtailing any delusions of grandeur a child might have thereby limiting how high one can fly.  With this type of upbringing, most of us start on a fall back career in hopes of multi tasking our way to our dream career.    

Unfortunately, we are only allotted one life in this journey. So, while I have been busy working on a fall back career, a chance of me possibly finding a job that agrees with my personality is slowly disappearing.  Forget what everyone keeps telling you; spunkiness, a direct product of innocence, does not last.  I am starting to believe that back up plans, like the back up guy prominent in most of my failed relationships is the unsung smoking mirror of my adult life.   

Since multi-tasking life as a whole is not a gift most of us have been granted,  I now wonder if I should engage in extreme shock therapy and give up my back up plan.  Just like my enacted hip bone to wood floor shock therapy, would life be a lot clearer if I lived it for only the things I know I want?  No back up plans, just the plan? Would I have skipped my quarter life crises? Could I be happy living on Art and Fashion alone? Of course skipping the back up plan will make affording this seasons Burberry python thigh-high boots impossible.

I must state the fear all unsatisfied young professionals know but choose to ignore, I am not entirely sure we truly can have it all. So, what gives? 

Observations of the week

THE PERM IS BACK!

 Beyonce seems like a woman that possesses a decent amount of self awareness.  So it just amazes me that she chooses to kill the senses of her avid followers by being in movies.  I am definitely not obsessed with her acting chops and can definitely fight the temptation to witness her prominent unwavering accent present in all her movies. With that said, Beyonce, like Carrie Bradshaw and shoes, KNOWS her weave.  I doubt I will be in line for food if this country ever experiences a famine, but I will definitely be in line for B's tell all book on weaves.  You might not agree with this hairstyle and might liken it to Paris Hilton's poodle, but I see sexy fiery curls.  I definitely cosign it.  Crimper here I come.

A couple of days ago I came across an article where Katie Holmes was giving fashion advice alongside her Holmes &Yang partner.  Yes, the lady that went out in public looking like above had the nerve to tell people what fashion is about.  But who are we to blame to her?  Fashion has now become the fall back career for all failed actresses, models, singers, reality stars and the Jersey Shore cast mates (their antics put them  in a genre separate from other reality stars).  I am highly enraged that Ms. My style has turned to shit ever since Victoria Beckham stopped dressing and limiting my food intake is now a voice we should be listening to.

Epitome of Chanel.  I want it all.

Is it me or is Naomi Watt looking better than a twenty-five year old? Someone please write a "tell all" on how to keep the quarter life glow sans surgery.  I nominate Halle Berry.

Lost in translation.  She does prove my earlier point of not getting on the fur vest bandwagon.  For now, only an Olsen is allowed to do this trend.

Conversations by the coffee pot-10/06

Shit that I talk about with my friends during work hours....

A proposed two weeks notice written for me by a friend. Apparently, I have been complaining mercilessly about my ex job... 

"Dear Sirs,  

It is with great sadness and heavy heart that I offer this submission of formal resignation from my post as Senior Associate. After much soul searching, heavy imbibing of spirits and consultation with my spiritual advisor the esteemed Mahatma Rashneesh de Jesus, I have come to the conclusion that I must continue my professional journey elsewhere (or perhaps not at all).
 

Please do not take this resignation as a negative reflection upon your firm. I have enjoyed my experience here immensely (not), but I must be moving on. You see, I have never felt quite at home here – in this environment or this city. Seattleites are, well, both boring and passive (I know you’re seething inside at this insult, but you’ll likely just bottle it up and use it as inspiration for your next open mike poetry night at the local Starbucks). As a result, I must return to my homelands – Ghana where I can frolic barefoot in the open tundra of Northern Africa, free from the confines of society and functioning bathrooms – and Houston, where I can stuff face with all manner of fried foods while I wander the streets unmolested by lust-filled eyes in my favorite short shorts.

Do not try to stop me. Please, no passive-aggressive Seattle guilt trips. My decision has been made. My last day will be August 31st and I promise to show up every working day until then, although we all know I won’t be motivated to accomplish much other than attend the perfunctory “we’ll miss you” lunches and obligatory going away party (I prefer chocolate cake).
   

Sincerely,  

Ava Drake  

 P.S. Also, I am pregnant. Twins, actually. Please start the standard office pool to guess my due date. I’ll take my half of the pot up front since I won’t be here to collect. 
 

P.S.S. The baby is not Justin’s. I think it might actually be the offspring of one of your partners here (not sure which partner yet). If so, we can work the paternity payment into my final check."

Truly written by a somewhat witty person.