016: 4 my angel.

Last night I went to sleep very excited because I knew that today I’d be writing about Alessandro Michele’s 170 look Valentino debut. I had all my points together and it was important that I do it today because June is a busy month in fashion. However, today is my late grandmother’s birthday and I would rather make today about celebrating her. She is truly my angel and it was that way when she was here with me on Earth. Of course I miss her, but that is not what I am here to talk about today. I’d rather discuss her legacy and the way her friends spoke of her; words and sentiments that are engraved deeply into my psyche. 

We were all at my grandmother’s funeral in shades of red because red was her favorite color and a sea of black in a cathedral is just not what she would have wanted. I can hear her saying something like “we only get to do this once. I want it how I want it.” It is easy for me to think of her this way because she always spoke so much life into me. Even in the later years of her life she was full of sass and realness. She was nothing to play with and had no issue saying how she felt. I would never forget this. How could I? However, when her high school friends got up to speak about her, it was the warmest reassurance. They spoke for minutes and every few sentences they repeated “She did it her way.” Throughout all of the memories they shared with us, and as dynamic of a woman as she was, they always returned to the sentiment that she did things her way, and unapologetically. 

I have to say I have carried that with me since that day. I think that is one hell of a way to be remembered. I know that as my grandmother’s health declined and she was faced with the new norm of depending on others from dusk till dawn, she absolutely hated it deep down inside. Well, not deep down because she would give you hell if she felt like that is what you were giving her. She would have me paint her nails a deep, sultry shade of red all the time, even the paralyzed hand. She would wear these short cut wigs, her red cardigan and smile real big every time we made eye contact. But the fact remains that she wasn't able to express that spark and spunk that she’d always been known for in the ways that she always had before. This is why I am so happy that when she got her wings to be free again, she was still remembered as who she truly was. She was fearless, loving, nurturing, bitchy, and unapologetic. And I loved her that way!

Her name is Beverly Johnson, the same name as the first black supermodel to ever grace the cover of Vogue. God, I love how you worked that out. So cool 2 me.

She was amazing. She is amazing. I would talk to her about absolutely everything and she would always encourage me to say how I really felt. She would tell me she was sorry for the things others had done or said, and I would be gently reminded that someone’s always got my back. F* them! Real talk. You never had to be ashamed when talking to her. You could tell her the craziest thing you were going through and she could top that and reassure you that everything would indeed be okay. 

Her legacy is a rocky one and a beautiful one and I am so happy to be able to call her mine. Even if only for a little while. I am so blessed to be her’s. As this comes to an end because I now have tears in my eyes, I can’t help but think that she would tell me to go ahead and write my blog post to let these people know that Alessandro’s Valentino is not too Gucci. It’s not Gucci at all! 

xoxo, VC <3 Goodbye for now.