theory & essay
-
Meet Diane Stretton: Thug Nanny
You see that jovial and inviting grandmotherly grin? Doesn’t she look pleasant, like someone who smells of Icy/Hot and ginger snaps? Doesn’t she look like a sweet person you would perhaps smile warmly at as she grandmotheringly cuts you a big chunk of Wal-Mart lemon pound cake and serves you hot chocolate down pon de…
-
On Head Scarves, Bed Time, and Women's Hair
While I rep Philly to the death of me, there is a very big part of me that was born in Washington, D.C. The best parts of me come alive when I’m in the District, probably because most of the friends I love best in the world have scattered themselves somewhere between Baltimore and Alexandria. Coming…
-
The Worst Thing You Can Find Out About Your Boy
Can I tell you all a story? Even if you say no, I’m going to tell you a story. This story may be completely true. Or, it could be a possibility to illustrate a point. One may never know. So can I tell you a story? All you gotta do is say yes. Back to…
-
Ladies, It’s Not Worth It To Pretend to Care About Sports
In this 21st century era of brunch parties, Urban League happy hours and Diva Dudes™, the dating game has changed. Instead of guys trying to impress you, the onus is on women – shout out to the black professional gender ratios! The cocktail dresses are tighter, the bras push upper, and the “arbitrary quality that…
-
Special Request: Stop Playing “This Is How We Do It”
I just finished my workout, the sun was shining bright through my windows, and I was about to slam down a delicious protein shake I just made for myself. In my post-workout endorphin high, I decided to let my songza workout playlist continue to blast through my apartment. I.Was.Jammin. But the moment I knew I…
-
Welcome To The New VSB
“What the hell are we doing?” This is an accurate synopsis of each of the dozens of conversations Panama and I have had in the past three years about the future and direction of VerySmartBrothas. We’ve both often joked that it has managed to stay afloat in spite of ourselves. But, after a couple years…
-
A Story About My Dad
It was a Monday. I was 11 years old, a guard on the St. Barts Bruins JV basketball team. We were a week away from our first game of the season, and our hot-to-death new uniforms — reversible tanks with our last names on the back and long cotton shorts with the school’s logo on…