Tuesday, 24 January 2012

Voices in Sailor Playsuits

Dear Sailor Playsuit from River Island. You don’t know me very well and yet you know me all too well. You saw me watching you from across the room at your sexy pleats and adorable almost cosplay-esque charm. Damn you. You’ve made me want you  oh so much.

This playsuit has seduced me more successfully than any man. This happens to me because I love shopping and every piece of clothing and every slice of cake I crave adopts this oh-so-sensual voice that convinces me that not only do I desire them but I need them.

‘Oh Tasha, we both know you won’t be happy until I’m yours.’

This voice is one of the most powerful enemies that I have. Even more so because this enemy is the most trusted ally I have. This enemy is myself. The voice of temptation resides in the darker recesses of my psyche and she is one sexy son of a Freudian nightmare. I wish I was as adept in the art of persuasion as the voice in my head. I would have a lot more materially for damn sure.

If the voice was working for, instead of against me, I would have someone get the playsuit for me, then tell me how good I look in it, then go into the kitchen and make me a sandwich. I would be the mother of all pimpettes.

Unfortunately, as much as I have tried to learn from my foe, to imitate it, to manipulate it, all attempts have failed. It’s cruelty goes beyond dwindling away my bank balance. It also dwindles away my confidence. You see, every month we women get an unwanted visitor. It’s a necessary evil because it helps babies to happen. However, this leaves a gap in the defences and the voice changes its tactic.

There are the usual cries resounding ‘Give me cake or die pig!’ there is also a niggling little voice that punishes me.

‘You look a bit bloaty’ or ‘Your skin’s looked better’ are the most common phrases but sometimes it’s a more direct approach that gets beneath my skin.

‘Do some exercise you fat slag!’

So here is only one of a multitude of resolutions for 2012. This one a little late in the running but since it was Chinese New Year, I’m hijacking that occasion to launch a new intention. I’m going to take my evil temptation voice and twist it’s nipples until it works for me. So instead of saying ‘You need this, you can’t live without this.’

It’ll be seducing me in all the right ways.

‘Your hair is crazy shiny right now, bro!’

Instead of making me want to indulge my greed for material possessions, it will be helping me indulge my greed for my own spiritual enrichment. It’ll convince me that I’m awesome without the cake or the new wedges. In fact River Island will be privileged to have me as an advertisement wearing their sexy, sexy jumpsuit because I make it look good not the other way round.

As for the evil bitch voice in my head that says callous things about my eyebrows in the morning, I’m swapping it. It’ll still be as passive-aggressive or aggressive-aggressive as it ever was. But it’ll be screaming at me to jump out of bed and go for a jog. To follow through with plans. To get out of the house and not change my shoes for the third time because I’m going to be late for ‘insert appointment here’.

We have voices in our heads for a reason. To tell us to do the things we need to do. Somewhere along the line I let my voices do what the hell they want. Not anymore. Your voices should be working for you, not for River Island or Gregg’s. Take your voices by the balls, or preferred genitalia. Always remember, you run this mother…not them.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Am I not my hair?


This entry is solely about hair and self image so if you're like me and shallow read on. If you are looking for a deeply philosophical exploration of any kind, I suggest you skip to the next blog. Or the next entry depending upon when you stumble across this.

I wonder about hair a lot. Perhaps too much. I try to pin it on my current job in fashion retail. Essentially I'm flogging pretty things to people who want to be pretty. But I think my obsession goes further back than that, way into primary school. The issue I wanted to address though, despite being a bit of a non issue, is the issue of natural afro hair.

Why ladies do we shy away from the ever archaic afro? There is nothing wrong with relaxing, texturising or perming your hair. In fact it seems more of an accepted norm for a woman with curly or afro hair to use chemical's to straighten and alter their natural hair, than it is for them to keep it natural. I understand that fashion dictates that straight is great and anything other than straight or wavy is 'frizzy' and should be outlawed. That rule is perfect for those who have naturally straight hair.

Why then do those with the 'frizz' feel the need to conform to these rules as well? Personally, I have stopped relaxing my hair. I have 'gone natural' but I'm not trying to be subversive and militant. Growing my hair out isn't my way of sticking it to the man. I just think it's beautiful the way it grows. Just like that.

I also think it's a shame that there are few people who agree with me. Many women look beautiful with weaves and perms, in fact most of the black and mixed raced sex symbols of this decade wear their hair straight. I think these women are beautiful and should be celebrated.

Nevertheless there are a few women I personally relate more to and who I think are beautiful. One of them is American songstress Janelle Monae whose afro-pompadour hair style is a want for me. Another is the lead singer of the band 'The Noisettes' Shingai Shoniwa who has a really quirky style as well as unique ways of styling natural hair.

However you choose to wear your hair should make you happy. It matters less than most things. But it matters quite a bit to me. For the time being I am proud of my hair as it spirals however erratically out of my head. Maybe in the future I will change my name and my blog- the title no longer being relevant.

Therefore, for the time being I shall remain one of a dying race.

An Afro-Samurai...