Wow. I guess I’ve noticed that ads don’t really speak to me
as a single woman… but I always assumed the problem was me. After all, I probably should
be married with kids by now, buying Bounty by the bulk and cleaning up my kid’s spilled juice. Guess I’m on the fringe.
Apparently not. Just read this neat article on the
Marketplace site, which states that 44% of all women over 18 are single. But
advertising for things other than fashion-related products, feminine hygiene
products, and, um kitty litter rarely target us. I wonder why?
Truth is, 9 times out of 10 advertisers are tasked with
presenting an “ideal” – and when it comes to women, this ideal is either a sexy
woman that all men crave or a happy mom carting around 1,000 kids. The general
consensus, so it seems, is that being a single woman is a sad, sad predicament
(course, being a single guy RULES – you get to hang with the bros and hit on
chicks in your beer closet and all). The horror of being a single woman can be
remedied by, well, A) turning yourself into a sexy woman that all men crave,
or B) showing off your great housewife potential. That’s where advertising
comes in. See how that works? (Skip to about 4:30 in this clip to watch Don wax
poetic on the subject to Peggy).
This is all to say, being a single woman is not “ideal” in
this country, mirrored by the ad world. Which is too bad, really, because there’s
such opportunity here. Imagine all the awesome ads single-lady copywriters like
me could come up with. Hopefully we’ll get our shot at it soon enough.
And neither will greasy fries! Boo! That’s always been my
cure (or, rather, my excuse to savor McDonalds shamelessly).
The morning after boozy nights, a girlfriend of mine would prepare me her trusted hangover remedy: three drops of Milk Thistle in a
cup of water. Apparently Milk Thistle increases liver function or some such.
But it also tastes like urine, which proved counteractive to the whole
nausea thing.
The best way to avoid a hangover? 1. Eat before you drink. 2.
Drink Gin. That is all.
Remember this weird moment at last night's Academy Awards?
I wasn't sure if this lady was legit angry or just really wanted to get in her acceptance speech before the music started. Turns out there was a tight situation around this whole scene. Here's the whole story, but the quote that really sums up the sentiment (from the linked Salon.com interview with mic hijacker Elinor Burkett):
"And then, as I'm sure you saw, when we won, he raced up there to accept the award. And his mother took her cane and blocked me."
Cane? There's a cane involved in this story? Ummm, okay wow.
"I'm not a racist. I just don't believe in mixing the races that way,"
[Keith] Bardwell, [justice of the peace in Tangipahoa Parish] told the Associated Press on Thursday. "I have piles and piles
of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my
bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else."
I was supposed to go home to Philly for Columbus Day weekend. Instead, two days ago I found myself curled up in the fetal position shivering on hospital paper sheets with a fever of 103.5. They swabbed my nose (gross!) and sent me out the fire exit all dolled up in a bendy face mask. On the way home, passer-bys gasped at my twitchy, shaky, sweaty, masky appearance. Kids ran away, visibly upset.
The doc called the next day. H1N1 virus (a.k.a swine flu). Confirmed. Actually, the first case he's seen in Chicago! But the best part? I must stay home for an entire week... thus missing my weekend at home and eating the airfare (thanks a lot American Airlines).
Anyway, this is Day 3 of my week long quarantine. I'm feeling ok. But I'm kinda, well, bored. So to pass the time, I've been:
Doing jigsaw puzzles. Well, just one. But I've got the border done!
Catching up on the news. Did you hear the Phillies won the World Series?!
Looking out the window at my neighbor's TV. It's fun to try and figure out what they're watching. Like a spy.
Seeing how long I can go not showering, wearing the same pajamas. If no one is allowed to visit you, you can smell however you want! It's great!
When I get the mail: Wearing my mask in the elevator and facing the wall, totally still. It really freaks people out.
Wearing my mask around the apartment and taking pictures of myself with my webcam. Surprisingly entertaining.
If you have suggestions for other super-neat things I can do with the next 4 days of my life, send them my way!
Came across this Black hair article a few days ago in the New York Times—you know, discussing good hair, bad hair, wearing hair natural vs. relaxing it chemically. This seems to be a hot topic since Malia Obama’s been wearing her hair in… get ready for it… twists! Shocking! God, it’s like the general public has never been exposed to a normal Black girl wearing normal Black hairstyles. Wonder why?
I work at an ad agency… but I can safely point the finger at advertising for really messing up perceptions of what “normal” hair looks like. Even “normal” Black hair.
Growing up, I never believed I had nice hair. Because my hair never looked like the girls in the Pantene ads. Even after a whole day of washing and blow-drying my hair “straight,” it was still poofy as ever. It didn’t shine and bounce and flow over my shoulders. Even after I convinced my mom to buy a whole bunch of Pantene, it still didn’t look right. On the contrary, the products made my hair brittle and dry.
Thanks a lot, Pantene.
The problem is, we NEVER see normal Black hairstyles in hair product advertising. Even when there’s a woman of color in the ad. It’s mind-boggling. Like this Pantene Relaxed and Natural ad? Most Black women don’t have REAL hair like either one of these chicks. In fact, it’s really hard for me to believe that this is real hair. Those curls are virtually unachievable without hours at the salon. And the straight ‘do looks like a weave. I’m pretty sure it is one.
Give me some real hairstyles and real hair. Whether it’s relaxed, natural, short, long, whatever. Maybe that way the country won’t get all in a tizzy over some damn twists. Geez.
My mom made me take dance lessons from the ages of 2 to 15. I started actually enjoying them in 1991, the year Michael Jackson's Dangerous album came out. I was 8, taking Jazz and Tap classes at the Wissahickon Dance Academy in Philadelphia.
I knew lots of people in the classes at Wissahickon. My mom took adult Jazz lessons with the other “old ladies,” as she put it. My best friend took intermediate Jazz with me (even though she had two left feet). And so did my ultimate frenemy from school, S.
S and I had a very peculiar breed of friendship – one based on competition and jealously. I’d buy MC Hammer pants, and she’d have to get a more expensive pair. If she wore a brand new Cross Colors outfit to school, I had to outdo her with an even hipper ensemble. And when it came to boys, there was only one guy for us. His name was Ian and he was the cutest boy in 2nd grade – and maybe even all of Greene Street Friends School. So and I raced during recess – to the gate and back – and whichever girl won “got to be his girlfriend.” I had long, gawky limbs, which came in handy: I dusted her.
When it came time for the Wissahickon Dance Academy recital, our amazing Jazz teacher Leon had a vision: Good vs. Evil. The entire Jazz company danced in vignettes to two songs: The Pressure by Sounds of Blackness and Will You Be There by Michael Jackson. In our dance to first song, “Evil” kills “Good” and the world is a mess. Leon, perceptive as he was, cast S and I as leaders of two warring gangs (think Beat It, except swap the actual gang members for 8-year old Quaker School girls). In the second song, “Good” resurrects herself and shows “Evil” that he too has love inside of him (in the form of a skin tight white unitard).
I keep coming back to the final portion of the dance.
Evil is now wearing that white unitard, and he’s realizing his power for good. He’s doing these incredible leaps and spins across the stage, as the rest of the company configures behind him in a diamond shape. We’re actually all wearing white unitards, marching and doing simple hand movements in unison.
When I watch the VHS tape of the performance, I can always pick out my mom because her arms are 10X longer than everyone else’s. And I can always see my best friend, because she’s a few beats behind everyone else. And S, my frenemy, she’s easy to spot, because she's dancing right next to me.
And then there’s the presence of my childhood. That’s easy to find too. It’s spoken by Michael Jackson:
In Our Darkest Hour In My Deepest Despair Will You Still Care? Will You Be There?
In My Trials And My Tribulations Through Our Doubts And Frustrations In My Violence In My Turbulence Through My Fear And My Confessions In My Anguish And My Pain Through My Joy And My Sorrow In The Promise Of Another Tomorrow
I'll Never Let You Part For You're Always In My Heart.
With MJ’s last words, the song ends. We configure in our final pose, and bow our heads.
I'm now 26. I have a “real” job, a couple bank accounts, a heart that knows how to ache, stress-related muscle spasms in my shoulders, and beer in my fridge. My mom is older. My best friend is married. My frenemy's father recently died. And now, so too has Michael Jackson.
We configure in our final pose, and bow our heads. Childhood is over. But never forgotten.
To vote for me, just click on graphic below (or the first link in this post). I really appreciate your support (you all make this whole thing worthwhile, after all) :)
Disney's The Princess And The Frog trailer hit the web last night (don't watch if you don't want to see spoilers). It gave me goosebumps, sure, BUT!
So maybe I was expecting too much... but I was kinda hoping Disney's first Black princess would actually remain Black throughout the whole film.
Ack. Oh well. It's just a trailer. And the prince pre-frog transformation is kinda hot (I've always had a thing for Disney princes). So I'm still excited to see the flick. How 'bout you?
I caught a glimpse of Mr. Menino practicing yesterday (he actually asked me and a co-worker to stay and watch him go through his speak - pretty freakin' cool - but we were most likely running to some mind-boggling meeting or something). We had no idea what he was doing here until we heard he'd be at Digitastoday announcing his candidacy. Apparently he chose us because we're one of the largest employers in Boston. Plus, the office is pretty hip.
Here are some pics from the press conference (the crappy ones were taken with my wack LG Chocolate, please excuse the low quality. The good photos courtesy of P. Johnson's iPhone).
That's our president on the steps with the reddish hair.
Can you believe it!? A few days ago, I spotted not one, not two, but three of America's most beloved presidents - all in one room! I heard they had been hanging around the Smithsonian Museum of American History, so you know I had to go scout it out.
We caught the tail end of Thomas Jefferson's speech on something or other, and after he concluded my mom started grumbling under her breath. She hates Jefferson. While he was walking around the crowd shaking hands, she pulled him aside and asked:
Good for Jefferson, he proceeded to give her a 10 minute detailed account of what may or may not have happened with his slave Sally. Well, more of what may not have happened. I call B.S. on that one... and so does my mom, judging from her stone-cold facial expression.
And then, of course, Lincoln gave a speech on slavery. But also! Did anyone else know he had a high, whiney voice? And that he tended to flap his arms around while orating? That seriously threw me off, because I've always had a little schoolgirl crush on Abe.
But then he started mingling with the crowd, and my faith was thus renewed. As you can see, he's totally badass.
Remember last month, when Philly Daily News published my inauguration ticket request letter? Well, I still don’t have a ticket (tear)… but I do have some fun news: after it ran a Washington Post reporter contacted me requesting to profile my family – particularly for the family's “bi-racialness”, as it were.
Overall, I’m very pleased with the piece. But just a couple notes from my end: 1) My mom definitely feels the significance of Obama’s presidency, it just hasn’t hit her yet. I expect her to be sobbing on my shoulder at the inauguration. 2) My daddy woulda loved to join me in D.C. – for both the historical significance of Obama’s presidency and for his own studies (he’s a professor of political framing). So it’s not that he won’t come, but rather, because he’s a professor of political framing and will be teaching, it’s more that he quite literally can’t.
In any case, the coolest thing of all to me is the fact that journalism has become such a two-way street. From blogs posted to articles published to profiles written, there’s this new fluidity to journalism that lets us all join in on the conversation. Pretty neat stuff.
These Inauguration Day tickets have taken on a life of their own. It’s like some Charlie and the
Chocolate Factory Golden Ticket madness up in here.
A virtual friend of mine (we met through a blog – so millennial!) wrote a heartfelt letter to her senators requesting inauguration tickets… and received a pair, on the spot! That’s an impossibility today, though, because every senator and congressperson is keeping a 1,000-person wait list.
Knowing this, I decided to draft a letter of my own, send it to PA senators Specter and Casey, and also send a copy as a submission to Philly Daily News’ opinion section. And just my luck, they published my letter today!
What an Obama presidency represents for this country. How invaluable a ticket to his inauguration would be. And, finally, a request for one. I can’t say that my reasons for writing you are any different, or that my claim to a ticket is any stronger than the next Pennsylvanian’s.
What I can do is tell you a short story.
The story takes place in Port Richmond, Philadelphia, where my father grew up. The second oldest in a family of 4 Italian boys, my dad spent his childhood skinning his knees alongside neighborhood buddies in a schoolyard across the street from his family’s modest middle-class row house.
Grammar school became Junior High. Stickball bats became cigarette butts. And my studious father became the outsider. He was teased for his love of music, his glasses, his clothes… even his hair.
His thick, curly hair. His “nigger” hair, as the kids put it.
Fast-forward 20 years to find his 9-year old biracial daughter, me, playing with my Caucasian cousin in the exact same schoolyard of my dad’s childhood.
It’s the moment when I am first called the n-word to my face. And the moment when an inexplicable bond forms between my cousin and me. Because my cousin not only came to my aid, but he actually chased away my aggressors – who were about 8 years older and 18 inches taller than him.
I’ve noticed a new energy across the country since Obama became the Democratic nominee, and even felt it among complete strangers. It’s in the slight upturn of the corners of their mouths. In the knowing glow in their eyes. And in the pronounced statement they made on November 4, 2008.
I think of this energy as the same inherent urge to overcome ancient barriers demonstrated by my cousin so long ago. It’s also the reason why I’d like to attend Obama’s Inauguration on January 20th. To witness the strength and the courage of Americans like my father, my cousin, and the millions of strangers in between—Americans who made their will for something new loud and clear.
Because Obama’s Inauguration is a celebration of his presidency, sure, but to me it’s more a celebration of all the Americans who made this day possible.
Please let me know if there’s a ticket available for me.
Sincerely, Ms. Ryan D’Angelo Barrett
_________________________
I’m traveling to D.C. for Inauguration Day regardless of whether or not I receive a ticket to the event. My whole family lives in D.C., and I’d be remiss to miss this opportunity to witness history being made alongside my family. But still… having a ticket would be pretty sweet ☺
I've been covering the politics beat over at AOL's Lemondrop for a couple weeks now, writing a column called Cocktail Party Politics. It's basically a fun way of discussing a current political issue... I give a short recap, then offer up talking points according to your stance.
And, of course, what political debate would be complete without a complementary drink tip?
Today's post covered last night's presidential debate.I think my take on the debate shines through my apparent "unbiased" stance. This week's drink? "That One": No real recipe, just involves pointing to whatever the guy next to you
is drinking and saying, "I'll have whatever 'that one' is having."
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