so many shades of brown

i kept forgetting i was working on this but heres team dope capes with winter midgard fashion 

ok but brown eyes are actually so lovely?? like there are so many different shades and depths to the color brown and it’s such a huge spectrum and just the way the light reflects off ur irises is so nice for example:

and maybe u have super rich brown eyes that look like melted chocolate:

or maybe u have eyes the color of the deserts and sand dunes from the books u read when u were young:

or the same flaming orange as a sunset or the sunflowers from ur neighbor’s garden:

and maybe u have eyes that look almost yellow, like sunshine, a little burst of bright happiness on a cloudy day:

and maybe ur eyes are so dark they’re almost black, so deep that people get lost inside and write poems all about how ur eyes drank their soul down like water:

or maybe u have hazel eyes with all different colors and ur worried that makes u weird or strange-looking, but actually it just makes u that much more beautiful because ur eye color is all ur own:

in conclusion: ur eyes are so beautiful and perfect little galaxies made just for u, please appreciate them.

A message for brown eyed ppl (specifically girls):

I have brown eyes. And I used to hate them and wish that I had blue or gray eyes. Even green eyes. But as I’ve grown older, I realize that brown eyes are just as beautiful as any other color eyes.

Blue eyes are beautiful because they remind you of the sea, yes. And green eyes remind you of the trees. But brown eyes remind you of the earth. Chocolate. Everything warm and soft.

I mean look:

And there are so many different shades of brown it’s unbelievable.

Love your brown eyes. They’re beautiful. I promise

[Overwatch] Détente (G, Akande/Lucio, 2k)

Can also be read on AO3.

A day will come when I can fulfill a prompt in less than 1k words, but it is not this day. Totally pumped that my first contribution to this fandom I love is for a pairing I’ve fallen in obsession with. Gotta contribute to the pool, yo. Inspired in part by the recent Masquerade comic (amazing, beautiful wow, so much Italian velvet), @yoitsmars‘s comic, and filled for @trashheappro‘s request for Akande admiring Lucio across the battlefield. Because what’s not to like? 

///

“Anyone really believe this notion of a parley?” McCree mutters around his cigar, scanning the street lines of Numbani, paying special attention to the balconies of the high rises.

In the heart of Unity Plaza, the hulking figures of Winston and the prodigal Doomfist stalk tense circles around each other under the blistering late morning sun. Reaper and Soldier 76 stand at the centre of the four-man discussion, voices rising every minute. The rest of Talon’s back-up are well-hidden, but the fact nobody has opened fire yet is a miracle to both sides.

It makes Lúcio feel optimistic.

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anonymous asked:

Do you have any advice on writing a POC character (just overall). I'm trying to diversify my writing, but want to make sure I'm doing it correctly (I'm white)!

hmmm i can’t really say for any other race? bc im black and only know black culture and stuff but like! an important thing to note is the characters dialect and mannerisms. like idk if it’s just a me thing as a writer, but im obsessed with characters mannerisms in order to portray them correctly. like, take aave. most black characters in (white) media don’t use aave, even though?? we so do irl. (it’s called african american vernacular english for a reason!) like, take sam wilson. he doesn’t use aave BUT he’s clearly apart of black culture by recommending the og black music to steve (troubleman by marvin gaye; note that black people grew up on this type of music: ie the stylistics, the delfonics, dianna ross, the supremes, smokey robinson & the miracles, the Jackson five, michael jackson, for DEF marvin gaye, earth wind and fire, just a ton of black artists from that time period). black people love this type of music and we’re basically all united in that genre. if you’re writing a young (around 13 or under) black character, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, have them enjoy og white music since their “childhood”. cos we don’t know that music. (ie Black Sabbath ?? uhhh Guns N’ Roses??? ihhh Rolling Stones ??? the beatles ??? idk u get my drift) my family and extended family had no clue who those ppl are, my parents still don’t know who they are, i didn’t know who they were until??? i got on tumblr. honestly i couldn’t name a single song by any of them other than hey Jude by the Beatles and that’s it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

style of dress is definitely important; it also depends on the era and place of where the character lives? like back in compton there was a specific type of style that the guys wore; Durags are still prevalent tbh, bandanas, white t shirts, sagging shorts/pants.

wounds and scars on black skin is so important. idk how tf they show up on white skin, but for black people, scars start as pink cuts, then they fade to a darker shade of brown. like i have so many scars on my skin that r just darker shades of brown lolol so never write that a black persons scar is pink after a long amount of time has passed (like two years)

HAIR! HAIR IS SO IMPORTANT!! white people can NEVER understand black hair, EVER. if you’re white and you think you understand black hair, you Don’t. you don’t and you won’t. there are different hair types and textures; when i was a kid before straightening my hair, i had 4c hair type, now i have 4b hair type. hair styles based on hair type is so important. like, twists are really easy to do for a general neat and curly look, but they differ based off of hair types, girls with 3b hair type have more wavy-ish curls when they do twists, girls with 4c are more tightly coiled. also! black girls always dedicate one day a week to our hair. it usually either sunday or Saturday, and it takes generally all day. also! learn diff hair styles! there are goddess locks, Bantu knots, sister locks, dread locks, afro’s, twist outs, etc etc. There’s a lot of things u can do!

now as for writing a black character, that’d be …a difficulty, definitely, but research !!! is important !

Shades of Grey

Request: Multiple requests for a soulmate AU.

Word Count: 2,405 (Longest fic to date :D)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

A/N: This is a repost from my old account, so if the story/plotline seems familiar, it probably is. :) 

The title is a reference to the Jasper Fforde book, not the E. L. James trilogy. Totally different books. I wanted to clear that up beforehand. ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer Reid had his quirks. He hated modern technology, and he blamed this on multiple readings of Bradbury and Orwell in his early years, efficiently scaring him into getting rid of all electronics in his room out of fear of Big Brother and the like, spare his miniature television, VCR player, and box of recorded Doctor Who and Mystery Science Theater 3000 episodes. He was incredibly socially awkward. In fact, he marveled at the amount of friends he had been able to rack up despite his constant rambling and bouts of statistics. And, the most annoying of all, he was a germophobe through and through, which was extremely unfortunate taking into consideration the natural order of the world he lived in.

Soulmates, the unfortunate law of nature he was getting at was soulmates. The one person he would be completely perfect for in every possible way and vice-versa; the one person he could be honest and open with, that he could love and cherish; the one person out of billions of people that could only be found with a simple touch, a brush of the hand that would introduce him to a chromatic world he could only read about. And he was terrified. He’d known that to find this person would mean coming into physical contact with another person he did not yet know, a stranger, crawling with germs and bacteria and possible diseases whom he was supposed to love. He really hated his memory sometimes, and regretted reading so many medical journals at a young age.

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anonymous asked:

Here's a topic for discussion for you to take your mind off the drama yesterday: What's Roger's original hair color? I've seen his hair in so many different shades: light brown/dark blond, dirty blond, bleached blond, green lol.

Well let’s start at the beginning

Baby Roger, obviously he was born blond but like practically every blond, he grew darker with age

Black and white, but you can still se how his hair is light

still blond af

now this is where it all gets interesting:

In the first three pictures we can see that his hair has turned into a dark-blonde, almost ginger colour. Is this dyed? It’s possible, but I think that his hair had naturally turned into the color of the first picture. Basically a light brown color. And as for the other pictures, I feel like especially the last one is too dark for him to have become naturally, so I think that sometime in the 70s he dyed his hair darker, and with a red tone.

But like, if you have light hair, your hair color tends to vary a lot depending on the season. Myself I have light brown hair with blonde streaks in summer, and an even brown tone during winter. So it might be hard to say exactly what his natural hair color is but, I would say something like this:


on the picture below, I am sure he had bleached his hair, cause there is a clear yellow tone which often comes from bleaching hair and natural light blondes usually have a more cool/white tone to their hair


 Also, never forget green Rog </3

Bold conclusion: Rog had light brown hair with blonde streaks in summer. When his hair was red or light blonde, it was dyed or bleached. He obviously thought he looked his best as a blond, which he was naturally as a child. I agree but at the same time I kinda like the contrast between his blue eyes and his red hair idk.

Anyone is welcome to partake in this discussion, what do you think?

The Gym Meeting

Meeting Got7, ok this wasn’t an everyday occurrence for everyone, but she turned on some tunes, and hopped into the shower before Jackson came to collect her. Aleesia Cara, was crooning about her introvert nature as, she washed her hair with her much needed Deva Curls she finally received in the mail. Her hair was dying to be properly moisturized, and she worked the no poo shampoo into her scalp cleansing it. 

Shaving her legs, she waited awhile for her conditioner to set before finally rinsing, and stepping out. Microfiber towel on her head, she sat down at her vanity, and began her beauty routine that began with hair. Detangler in her hair, and brush ready to start, she parted her hair into sections, and started to move the wide paddle denman brush through her thick curls. Sometimes, she hated to go through this long routine, but she wouldn’t trade her hair for anything else. Though she fought with it on a daily basis, her look, her texture, her style was uniquely her. Besides, Jackson loved her hair. He was constantly pressing his face into it, smelling it and tugging on the curls watching them pop into place. A wash and go was the theme for the day, and she used her light gel to hold her locks into place. They fell lightly around her face, not stiff or crunchy, and she silently thanked the olive oil gods. A golden leaf headband would complete the look and hold her hair back, so she could begin on her face. 

Korea didn’t have many shades for brown skinned women such as herself, but she figured that and made sure; her mother sent her a bare minerals kit at least every 3 months. Foundation set, eyebrows done, eyeliner on, she was just putting on mascara when her doorbell chimed. Getting up, she looked down realizing she was still in a towel. Well he’d have to wait a little longer. Lips and clothes on and she was done. 

Looking through the door peeper, she watched as Jackson danced in the hallway, seemingly talking to himself. Or rapping, and she opened the door just as he was shaking his hips. He turned around acting like he wasn’t doing anything at all. 

“Oh, so I guess we aren’t going anywhere today?” He reached for her, only to have his hands slapped away. 

“I’m almost done, just let me put on some lip gloss and get my clothes on.” 

She turned around, holding her towel tight as Jackson followed her inside, closing the door behind him. 

“Jeez, women always take so long.” He joked, following her into the room. 

“You can’t be in here!” She turned to push him back through the door, as Jackson protested stating he would see her naked sooner or later. 

She finished her lips, and set her face, quickly getting dressed in a black Labyrinth tshirt, with light blue skinny jeans. As she exited the room, Jackson greeted her with a wolf whistle, walking towards the door. He didn’t talk much as they rode back to the dorms, making a comment here and there, about her hair and her clothing. He had advised her to take a heavier coat, but she was happy with the one she had, as they wouldn’t be outside long. Besides, winter was going to end soon. 

As soon as they got into the building, Jackson became amped up. He told her that she’d love the guys and they were just as interested in meeting her as she was to meet them. Coming outside of a door, they stopped and Jackson held his hand up stopping her from trying to open it. 

“Ok listen, I’m going to go inside and when you hear me say ok, then you come inside.” 

“Oh lord Jackson, this isn’t some sort of surprise is it? Should I have brought some cake? A gift?” She was fully aware of how Korean culture worked. 

“No, No, just do it please? I made them all do this for me.” He was smiling wide, and she nodded her head in approval as he ran inside the door. 

It didn’t take long for him to yell for her to enter, and she half wanted to close her eyes just in case, they were going to throw confetti at her. 

“Welcome >>>, We are Got7!” The guys each struck a pose. 

She burst into laughter, not believing that the stoic JB and Junior would agree to something like this. 

“Hey guys.” She smiled, walking towards them, holding out her hand. 

They bowed and exchanged pleasantries. With Mark taking his time to talk to her as he roomed with Jackson. 

“So, you are the famous >>>, he doesn’t stop talking about you, you know. All night before bed. All I hear is: Mark! >>> said the funniest thing today, and Mark she has the most beautiful smile.”  Mark rolled his eyes, giving her a smile. 

BamBam clocked in as well. “She wore these jeans today, and oh my god..” He started laughing with Mark and Yugyeom. 

She felt her face get warm, as Jackson directed her to a couch to sit down on. “Alright, alright no roast sessions in front of my honey.” 

The guys seemed nice enough, they ordered food, and sat around talking about funny things Jackson said or did, and got to know her. They played a round of UNO, and some Korean games. It was well into the evening when it was time for her to go. As she helped take the trash to the kitchen, JB came in behind her, his quiet gaze on her face. 

“He really likes you. Jackson likes everyone, but this is clearly different.” He waited for her to respond, watching her movements. 

“I like him too, although I admit this is kind of odd for me. I’ve never dated a celebrity, much less anyone like Jackson.” She dumped the plates and cups she held, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her hands. 

“Do me a favor?” JB asked her, tying the garbage bag shut. 

“Sure.” She wasn’t sure what he was going to ask, but stopped what she was doing to pay attention. 

“Jackson would never admit it, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s a hopeless romantic, he’s everyone’s friend. He’s open, willing and ready. do you understand?” JB moved towards her, nonthreatening but she still felt as though there was a chill to the air. 

“I think so. Just in case, I’m receiving this message wrong though, what is it? Things will happen to me, if I hurt him?” She raised an eyebrow. 

“What the? Woman…no.” JB backed up, hands in the air. “I would never say something like that.” He looked shocked. “I just wanted to say that…be kind to him. Take things slow and remind him it’s ok to wait, and think about things. I don’t want him to rush you into feelings, and then hurt himself because he didn’t hear what he wanted.” 

Well, this conversation definitely took a different route, and she nodded her head, grinning sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off like that. You’re kind of scary is all. I get what you’re saying. Thanks JB.” 

The older man shook his head at her. “Jeez, you Americans. Too many movies.” He brought her in for a gentle hug, before letting go, and they rejoined the others. 

Some of the guys had retired to their rooms, but Mark, Yugyeom and BamBam stayed in the living room with Jackson. They stood up saying their goodbyes as Jackson helped her into her jacket before leaving. 

“It was really nice meeting you all, I enjoyed myself. Maybe next week or so you guys can come to my place. I have video games.” At that Youngjae popped his head out from his room. 

“I’ll be there.” She laughed, saying goodbye once again before they left. 

Back at her apartment, she turned to face Jackson before going inside. “You know I feel bad that you go with me all the way home, and then go back to your home alone.” 

“I’m not alone, Youngjae is awake playing games, and Mark doesn’t usually sleep until I get there.” He moved some of her hair off her shoulder, rubbing the skin exposed at her neck. 

“That’s not what I mean.” She answered, as he gripped her shoulder, pulling her gently towards him. 

“I know.” His mouth came down on hers, lips meeting, he groaned into the kiss, his hands moving down her arms to place her, arms around his neck. 

Jackson let his hands roam from her arms, down her sides, to her waist, and finally her butt. Squeezing gently, he smiled when she squeaked into the kiss, using that moment to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like the cake and juice she had eaten, she smelled even better. A mix of her own scent and his mixed together, something heady and intoxicating. She moved to grasp his tongue in an embrace sucking on it, and he nearly slammed her into the wall with need. She pulled away, and he nipped at her bottom lip, silently asking for more. 

“That was something.” She kept her arms around his neck, hands in his hair. 

“I can do it again.” He whispered, watching her throw her head back laughing.

God, the sound of it. He kissed her throat, earning a soft moan as she pulled her head forward again, and kissed his nose. “Tomorrow, I don’t want to be too enticed by you. I want to look forward to something.” 

He understood, she wanted to take it slow. Mentally willing, little Jackson to behave he let her go, holding her hand in his own, he brought her fingers to his lips, and kissed them. “Tomorrow then.” 


Chapter Six

Eyeshadow for Brown, Hazel, Blue, Green and Grey Eyes

Brown eyes? Blue eyes? Green eyes? Hazel eyes? Grey eyes? Either way I’m a believer in the theory of: Love something? Wear it! There are no rules when it comes to makeup. However if you’re wanting to really enhance a certain feature certain colours and techniques can help. Generally the most flattering shades for your eye colour are ones on the opposite side of the colour spectrum.

It’s important to note that these shades don’t just have to be worn as eyeshadow! Experiment by wearing them as eyeliner or mascara. If you’re scared of bold shades try using them in sheer formulas like creams or liquids and blend them in with your fingertips. 

If you still struggle with finding your perfect eyeshadow shade to compliment your eyes try a kit specifically designed to your eye colour and examine the shades in them, otherwise purchase one! Many drugstore brands do them and the quality is often quite good.

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IT'S BLACK HISTORY MONTH.

Do Yourself A Favor:

  • Instead of bandwagoning with the people who DIDN’T do research, run to Google and find out WHY Black History Month is in February, the shortest month of the year.

  • You know about Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, Sojourner Truth, Angela Davis, Harriet Tubman, Malcolm X, and etc…

    Or do you?

    Uncover facts about our leaders, facts that the history books won’t tell you. Dig deep and grow a little more in love with the people that have given us the chance to be who we want to be here and now.

  • And while you’re at it, research OTHER Black leaders you know NOTHING about. There are a plethora who have contributed to the growth of this country and outside of it, who have invented some of the everyday items we use on a regular, but whose work goes unnoticed in their name because their work was stolen and distributed by the White man.

  • Use social media to speak about your trials and tribulations of being Black in America. Make Non-Black people uncomfortable. They do the same to you almost everyday, with no remorse or second thoughts as to how that effects how you live and view yourself. Don’t be afraid to let them know that.

  • And when you’re done with that, use social media to illustrate the GREAT things about being Black, because there are so many! From our different shades of Brown to our music and to our food and so on, we have so many reasons to live and breathe in our Blackness. Don’t let anyone who’s been brainwashed to believe who we are doesn’t matter get to you.

  • IGNORE ALL TROLLS ONLINE. Seriously. I’ve seen “Happy Nigger Month.” I’ve seen “Why is there not a WHITE History Month?” I’ve seen, “Your president is Black, stop complaining.” THERE ARE DINGBATS WHO WANT TO GET A RISE OUT OF YOU. Chuck them the deuces and keep living in your truth, my loves. PLEASE. Don’t give them an ounce of your attention. That attention should be dedicated to educating the world on how dope we are, especially the nonbelievers.

  • Refrain from being Google to others, unless you really don’t mind doing so. When we tend to drop facts, people like to ask, “Where did you see this Do you have proof? I didn’t hear about so and so…” Instead of doing the research themselves, they’ll come to you as if Google is paying you to do its work for them. Don’t go through hell and back to find research THEY should be taking the time to find, if they really care.

  • IF YOU’RE PREACHING #BLACKLIVESMATTER, DO RECOGNIZE THAT MEANS ALL. Not just Black men. Black women, Black youth, Black elderly, Queer Black people, Transgender Black people, Disabled Black people, Fat Black people, Skinny Black people, Poor Black people… EVERY BLACK LIFE MATTERS. Don’t pick and choose. Don’t allow anyone to believe one life is better than the other.

  • SUPPORT BLACK ART. BLACK BUSINESSES. BLACK NEWS. BLACK ORGANIZATION GROUPS. There are so many Black artists creating material for US, that represents US. From web series on YouTube to films in theaters to clothing on Big Cartel to art on Etsy to Hair/body goods to make-up services on Instagram… There are sites like The Root, Blavity, and etc. dedicated towards news that revolves around us, that keeps you in the loop. Go out of your way to STAY in the loop.

  • If there are any Black people being ignorant, posting ignorant things about us, do not be afraid to call them out. A lot of these people are lost, swimming in ignorance, because that’s all they know. Don’t hesitate to give them a piece of reality.

  • THE BLOCK/MUTE BUTTON IS YOUR FRIEND. That goes without saying.

If there is anything else you’d like to add to this list, PLEASE DO SO! I’d love to hear responses and other ways to spread the Black love.

HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH!

When I arrived in New York City in 1983, I was almost seven years old and I’d never seen a black person in real life. I’d never seen one on television either. There were no children of color in my neighborhood, school or city. In kindergarten we had to memorize a famous Polish poem about a nice little African boy called Bambo who scurried up a tree because his mother told him he needed a bath and he was afraid of turning white. “Little black boy Bambo lives in Africa; such beautiful skin our little friend has…” That was the extent of it - the extent of my knowledge of what it mean to be black.

Poland was heavily ensconced behind the Iron Curtain back then and my parents were political refugees, coming to start a new life in a new land. This new land was full of new faces - brown and black faces, so many shades of color I didn’t know where to look. It was overwhelming, incredible, and very soon, completely normal, just another thing I got used too, like seven whole channels on TV and supermarkets full of anything you could ever ask for.

Back home we feared the government and those in charge; they were the enemy, they were the ones who had the dollars to shop in Pevex stores - stores where you could buy furs and imported PespiCola and Levi jeans. If you shopped at the Pevex, you were suspicious and lucky because you could afford luxury in a place where the average person waited on three-hour long lines for toilet paper and a rationed out pound of sugar. Color didn’t scare me; Commies and rich people did.

In America, my skin was white, but my voice was tinged with a heavy accent. I was a foreigner from a Soviet Bloc nation which in 1983 meant something scary. 

By second grade, I stopped going to ESL classes. I was learning. I lived in the Glenwood Housing Projects in Brooklyn. There was a boy in my class who was nicer to me than anybody else. His name was James. He had a huge smile and beautiful white teeth, American teeth. We were paired up in Social Studies. Our job was to make a papier mache Statute of Liberty, and we worked hard. He was my first black friend, and then he became just my friend. I wonder what happened to James and where he is now. 

It’s hard for me to write this, because I don’t really know what to say. But I think about color every day now; I think about Ferguson and race and riots and change. And all I know is no one around me is really talking about any of it, about how our country seems to be imploding, about how it’s sitting on some ugly little secret nobody white wants to mention. No one on my Facebook is mentioning it either, save for a few “activist” friends, and a writer I look up to. Are the others afraid to speak about their concern? Or are they afraid because they have none?

I’ve been afraid too; to say the wrong thing, to hurt feelings or be told off. Afraid even that I am writing the word “black” too much; that I am writing the wrong words. I am uncomfortable and I don’t know why. Or I do know why - the events in Ferguson gnaw at me late at night, because they are making me question who I am, how I think, and what my adopted country has become. So I write this despite my fear. I write this because my gut tells me that if I felt compelled to write about Robin Williams dying, I should be compelled to write about Mike Brown. Because in a way, they are about the same thing; senseless death.

I learned about Martin Luther King, Jr in the second grade too. We read about his life and then were told to draw something inspired by his story. I drew a picture of two white kids and two black kids holding hands on a green hill. My teacher beamed. She said I got the ‘message.’

All my life, I’ve prided myself on not being “racist.” This means, among other things, that I have black friends, that I am curious about African-American culture and history, that I have devoured An Invisible Man and all of Toni Morrison’s books, that I’ve cried during movies like Twelve Years a Slave, that my roommate in college was black, that I teach my children to celebrate and respect differences like skin color and faith while reminding them we are all part of the human race. There. I am doing my job. I am a white privileged person, I am a Polish immigrant, and for whatever reason, my empathy for the mistreated runs deep. I had nothing once. I had close to nothing. I worked hard. I reached for the fucking stars, and here I am now and I still believe that this is some kind of magic formula - hard work plus faith - and in the US of A, no matter where you come from or what you look like, the formula works. Maybe this is me being naive. Maybe this is me being optimistic. I am sensitive about coming off better than simply because I am better off. My eight year old son has a best buddy in school whose father is Polish, whose mother is African-American, and whose skin is brown, and none of that matters except for the fact that his buddy also really loves The Teenage Mutant Turtles. And I feel good about that. I feel ‘proud.’

But I don’t know what the fuck that means anymore. What does that even mean?

And there’s a bigger but. The but I can’t get out of my head, and why I am finally writing this blog.

Last Saturday night my husband performed at a charity concert in St. Petersburg, Florida. There was a crowd of 800 people, all of them white. They came to hear some Van Halen covers, to help raise money for a good cause, and maybe to get a picture with Patrick Wilson, who happened to be the drummer of this little band he’d formed with his brothers. My sons and I were ushered to the ‘VIP’ section. The venue was a sweltering and smelly brewery and God knows why the hell I wore heels and ‘VIP’ just meant plastic chairs and a thin blue rope. There were three rows of VIP seats. My kids and I sat in the third row because the first two were already occupied. They were occupied by faces I couldn’t place. Were they friends of the family? Were they friends at all? Were they lost? Who the hell were they? I smiled warily as I sat down, but it bugged me. It bugged me because the reason I was so thrown off was because the people sitting in front of me were African-American. And I felt like they were in the wrong place simply because of that. I caught myself. I felt shame at the thought, and I forced it away, pretended like the thought had never happened. Halfway through the concert a young man was brought  to the stage, to talk a little about where the proceeds of the concert that night would go. They would go to his school, a school that gave out merit based scholarships to students in financial need. It was a rigorous program, 11 months out of the year, ten hours a day of learning -  a program that got these smart kids who needed help, ready for college and beyond. The boy speaking was charming and eloquent, nervous and humble. On the stage, my husband beamed at him. In the crowd, I beamed at him. What a great kid, I thought. And then I realized the people sitting in the first two rows of the VIP section belonged there. They were his family, and they were also beaming. And I fucking died a little bit inside. Because me, consummate lover of humanity & just causes, me the ‘non-racist,’ had just had a very racist moment. And it scared the hell out of me.

In the middle of writing this, I take a break. I walk upstairs to say goodnight to my boys. I see my dad and stop in my tracks. I call out to him.

“Dad, when we first got here in 1983, were you afraid of black people?”

I expect him to say no. He was a defender of human rights, a freedom fighter back in Poland, imprisoned for his politics and then deported. But my father turns his eyebrows downward and looks sheepish as he nods his head yes.

“You were? Why?”

"I dunno. I’d never seen so many in person. I was afraid because they looked different.” And then he quotes the Polish poem about Bambo.  I am dumbfounded. My father is a radical-liberal-conservative. He is a conundrum. Someone who can spew bizarre ideology and then call my old college roommate his ‘fourth daughter’ because he loves her so much. He is not a racist but he is prone to stereotypical thinking. He tells me there were black Communist students from Cuba in Poland in the late 60s and him and his “white trash” teenage buddies would beat up on them sometimes. I widen my eyes in disbelief. I yell at him, why?

“Because we were fucking stupid.”

He tells me back then in Poland if you were gay and someone reported you, you were imprisoned for three years. He tells me people were scared all the time. He tells me things I don’t want to hear. He tells me some of his best pals when he was a NYC taxi driver were African and Jamaican cabbies, “good hard-working people.” He tells me things that don’t fit the narrative. He tells me it’s wrong to judge someone based on their skin color because that is basic ignorance and he tells me when he first got to the States he was afraid to touch black people. “But then I learn.”

After our conversation, I tell my father thanks and continue up the stairs before he stops me.”

“Why do you wanna know all of this, anyway? You writing another book?”

“No. I just wanted to talk about it.”

He nods his head.

Later, I go back to this blog and I feel like crying.

I want America to dust itself off and be better than this. I want justice for Mike Brown’s family. I want the looting to stop. I want the police officers in Missouri and beyond to remind themselves why they took an oath to protect and serve. I want us to dig deep and stop being such fucking cowards. Mostly, I want fear to give way to dialogue. 

We learn to love as much as we learn to hate.

It’s time we learn to talk about the things we don’t know how to talk about. Now would be a good start.

6

BLACK SKIN IS MAGIC

My skin comes in so many shades of brown–so many different textures–and I love it! It isn’t often that you see representation of eczema, especially on dark skin, and I wanted to show that imperfect brown skin is still pulchritudinous! Melanin is marvelous, folks! It has taken me so long to come to terms with my severe skin disease, and even more time to love my dark hue, and I know there are millions of black people picking themselves apart, just like I have. So here I am showcasing my beautiful shade (eczema and all) to show you that black skin is magic, and your imperfections are idiosyncratic! 

anonymous asked:

this is probably weird but I've noticed that you're wearing brown contacts a lot lately! and it makes me rly happy bc I have brown eyes and I had a friend who always told me how ugly brown eyes are (but not mine of course -total bs) and I've struggled with loving my eyes for awhile. they used to be my favorite feature and idk just seeing you actively choosing brown eyes has helped me start liking my eyes again <3 obv it'll be a long road but I just wanted to say thank you!

DUDE brown eyes are so underrated honestly…. i actually just got a really pretty pair of brown ones from my sponsor pinkicon and i was so happy because i only have one other pair of brown contacts but i want more… there’s so many shades and they’ve really got so much depth and just????? brown eyes are beautiful okay

pursuitofc10h12n2o  asked:

I've recently fallen in love with overlining my lips, but the liner that I use seems too soft, almost? Any recommendations for matte liners (or any products really) that work well with overlining? Thanks!! c:

Hello :) 

When using a lip liner to over exaggerate lips it’s really important to use a more drying lip liner! There’s nothing worse than over lining your lips to have it wear off within a few hours and showing an obvious over drawn line! It might not go on as smoothly and even accentuate dry lips so make sure to exfoliate and moisturize your lips before hand.

Tip: Lip liners in pencil form are usually more drying and long lasting than those in a twist up tube. 

Check out lip liners like

MAC Lip Liners. MAC lip liners go on more stiff and dry so they stay put forever, they also come in many neutral shades like mauves, nudes and browns so you’re bound to a find a shade that works for your skin tone for over drawing lips!

NYX Slim Lip Liner Pencil. These pencils are affordable, long wearing and not overly drying!

Makeup Forever Aqua Lip. Waterproof, transferproof lip liner that come in many, many shades. 

anonymous asked:

The negative connotations consciously and subconsciously associated with calling yourself and others black is damning to your psyche. Subliminally taught, black triggers negative images while white triggers positive images. Just look around it's taught everywhere. So called black people are not black at all they are many shades of brown. So called white people are not white at all they are many shades of red or pink. So why do we call ourselves black or white when obviously we are neither.

“I am black; I am in total fusion with the world, in sympathetic affinity with the earth, losing my id in the heart of the cosmos – and the white man, however intelligent he may be, is incapable of understanding Louis Armstrong or songs from the Congo. I am black, not because of a curse, but because my skin has been able to capture all the cosmic effluvia. I am truly a drop of sun under the earth.” 
― Frantz FanonBlack Skin, White Masks

i.e. have a seat

-attanya