The #ByeFelicia Filter: Thoughts From A Felicia

There's an amazing website called Femsplain that has monthly themes for female-identifying writers to contribute pieces for. This month's theme was "filters," but I completely missed the deadline due to the holidays and moving into a new apartment. I really wanted to submit a piece, because it fit perfectly with something that's been in my mind the past couple of weeks. Then I remembered I had my own blog.

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The first time I heard the now-iconic “Bye, Felicia” phrase was on Twitter on October 4, 2012, from a hip gay guy I semi-knew from University of Texas’ Theatre and Dance department. (We now share an apartment with his boyfriend in New York City.)

My initial reaction to his virtual shade was hurt and confusion. How did my name -- a name that I could NEVER find on touristy keychains or mugs -- suddenly become associated with an 11-character hashtag insult?

My confusion continued as the “Bye, Felicia” retort became rampant. More friends using it on Twitter. More people I didn’t know using it on Twitter. A CHILI’S BARTENDER AS SHE HANDED ME MY RECEIPT? I was no longer safe anywhere, not even in Chili's on 45th and Lamar drinking a frozen strawberry margarita with sugar on the rim.

Soon after, “Bye Felicia” had exploded into a full internet meme. And I continued pushing back. WHY MY NAME? A name that had been so unique and individualized for me growing up, the only pop-culture reference to it being a .05-second mention by a cartoon penguin in Mary Poppins. (Thanks Sherman brothers, by the way, for having my back.)

Somewhere along the way, I discovered where this phrase actually derived. Friday, a 1995 stoner buddy crime comedy film, starring Ice Cube, Chris Tucker and a character named “Felisha.” Ice Cube’s character “Craig Jones” dissed Felisha, the neighborhood mooch, with a simple “Bye, Felicia,” and the rest is history. I certainly didn’t see the movie when it came out, (The Little Mermaid and Harriet the Spy were more my aesthetic at the time), so I can only guess that the phrase became a staple within black culture, and then white gay men came in to claim it.

By 2013, it was definitely mainstream. I tried turning it around with a creative “#byeyou” to anyone who said it to me, and even wrote a BuzzFeed article defending the sanctity of my name -- suggesting 27 other names we could say bye to instead. Notable suggestions: Regina George, Rebecca Black and Shawanna, that polyester braid-wearin’, jeepin’ hussy from Clueless.

It didn’t work.

It has come to the point where “Bye, Felicia” is mentioned within my first few seconds of meeting someone. It’s either excitedly exclaimed or cheekily mentioned when they ask, “Bye, Felicia - you get that a lot right?” with a self-satisfied smile.

It's such a common occurence, I have an on-and-off switch for my “Bye, Felicia” identity. When someone enthusiastically mentions “Bye, Felicia,” I instantly get a little bit sassier, a little more theatrical. They get a little bit friendlier, a little more excited. It’s as if they snapped their #ByeFelicia filter on. They expect me to act a certain way, and because I’m pretty extroverted and like people liking me, I give in.

But I'm starting to get a little possessive of my name. My name is mine! I want to choose the identity that goes along with it. I'm frustrated that others have started applying their own filter of what they expect “Felicia” to be or act like. They place their own identity onto me -- which is usually a sassy, black woman. I'm frustrated that I go along with this indicative identity. What’s worse, I'm frustrated that this filter is being applied from people who probably aren’t the best allies to women of color. I'm frustrated that they’re accustomed to women of color -- or black women, specifically -- being a spectacle, a source of entertainment.

It's literally like an Instagram filter. Taking something real, and distorting it to look the way you want it to. Up the brightness, increase the saturation, and you have my "Bye, Felicia" persona.

I'm also frustrated because I'm not sure what to do about it. I normally like to write blogs after I've already surmised a solution to my problem, but that's not the case in this situation. To a certain extent, this "sassy black woman" is a part of my identity. So isn't okay for me to just highlight that part when people bring it up? Maybe if it's by choice, not because there's a certain expectation. And for better or for worse, I've found that I can also benefit from it. It helps people remember me. A cool Broadway performer remembered me and followed me on Twitter because of it. How can I dismiss the trend that makes my Klout score higher?!

I know that #byefelicia won't be going away anytime soon, and it may take me a long time to understand how it integrates into my identity. For now, I'm going to make sure that I stay in control of how intense the filter is, and be happy that my name isn't Kelvin...

Riding in Cars (with Boys)

July 31st, 2015 was my seventh anniversary for me and my driver's license.

Me and Bae (driver's license) on our sixth anniversary

I celebrated by not driving. Yup, that's right! Kicked my heels up and let someone else worry about steering, directions, and traffic. In fact, I've kicked my heels up and haven't driven 210 out of the 215 days we've had of 2015.

I go back-and-forth on whether I miss driving or not.

Somedays, it's really nice to sit back and relax, reading my book, listening to a podcast, and having 30 extra minutes to zone out before work. But then there are the days where the subway car is packed wall-to-wall, personal bubbles are popped, and the monotone MTA voice speaks the words no one wants to hear: "We are delayed because of train traffic ahead". Those are the days that I realize how nice it was to have my own car.

It's quite a lifestyle change to switch from car to subway. I rode the bus a lot in Austin, which is honestly why I think I was able to adapt to the subway. I knew riding public transportation meant you had to be a bit more aware then if you're just driving, (YES, mom, I know you should be ~totally aware~ when driving, but you know what I mean).

There were some sketchy folks on those Austin CapMetro buses (ask me about the woman who sat next to me and snorted a pill, it's one of my best anecdotes!), but they kept to themselves for the most part. That's why I was completely startled when a guy tried lifting up my dress in a rush-hour-crowded 1 train on my third day in NYC. That would startle anyone, right?

Sadly, street harassment is nothing new for women, particularly in New York City. I am now constantly aware of how my outfit will register with men, and in turn, how they will treat me.

One night I was riding home around midnight, reading and listening to music, with my sandal-clad heels kicked up on the perpendicular seat in front of me. An older white man with slighty dirty work clothes sat on the same perpendicular row of seats as my feet. So I gave him a quick, polite smile as I moved my feet down. I'm not a monster!

Several minutes later, I saw him lean in and move his mouth. Oh, he was talking to me. I removed a headphone.
"I'm sorry?"
"I was just wondering if you'd let me suck on one of your toes."
"What???"
"Yes they're so beautiful!"
"UHM NO"
(Cue headphones back on)
"Not one little suck?"
"NO."
(Cue ignore)

And as he got off several stops later, he offered one last "I really wish you would consider it".
(Cue continue ignoring)

So now I can't wear SANDALS without getting commented on by a guy???? Like WHAT??? It was definitely one of the most bizarre situations I've experienced in New York City.  I'm still perplexed by it all. Plus if you know my toes at all, you know they are nothing to write home about, with clear marks from years of dancing. I repeat, WHAT???

July 31st, 2015, I wore a black skirt, white crop top, and berry-colored cheetah print shoes that matched my berry-colored lipstick.

It was a good outfit. I felt happy and fun in it. It received praise from co-workers (Hi, Kayla and Samra), so I decided to wear it to a friend's party that night.

At said party in said outfit, with some fly people

Wearing it while out doing after-work errands, I was able to gauge a consensus reaction from men. The security dude at my apartment's management building staring at my boobs while saying he needed to take my building-pass photo, a man standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up while I walked down (IN A SKIRT), a sneaky guy in sunglasses on the train. Okay, I didn't feel happy and fun in it anymore.

It was at that moment that I wouldn't want to wear it late at night on the subway. It was the end of the week, I was in no mood to either fake nice to a guy to appease him, or ignore him as he constantly peppered me with questions.

I requested an Uber car. The first words the driver said after confirming that he was indeed the Uber driver was a compliment to my perfume. "Very nice, clean, and attractive," he said. Headed to a party, I was in a good mood and simply accepted the compliment. We had a nice conversation about where he was from in India, then a quick compare-contrast about his hometown versus New York City. It was nice. We hit some traffic, but my pre-party vibes were very real, so I didn't mind.

Then out of nowhere, he asks,
"Why is your accent so... nice and good?"
(Cue nervous chuckle)
"Haha, well I used to do broadcast journalism in high school???"
"OH THAT MUST be why your accent is so nice. It is very attractive and innocent and s-e-x....y"
(Cue calling Mama Fitz)
(Cue 10 minute phone call with Mama Fitz until I reached my destination)

I repeat for the third time in this post, WHAT??? I had ordered the Uber to avoid this. And yet there I was, in an even more intimate situation than a subway car, getting this bullshit. If I had known I'd experience that in the Uber car...well, what were my other options for transportation? This was a day that I realize how nice it would be to have my own car where I could be in a safe space.

Part of me thought I was lucky because it was verbal rather than physical. No, fuck that.
If women can't be safe in a car or just public transportation, where can we be?

My Hair and I Are Fed Up

It's exhausting keeping up with my hair. I am constantly being challenged; emotionally, physically, and otherwise.

It's always had a mind of its own. Never afraid to drive a hard bargain when negotiating with bobby pins in the morning. Never agreeing to hairstyles found on Pinterest -- a polite "Thanks, but no thanks," to some, a louder, more aggressive "No!" to others. Never making friends with water of any form -- humidity, sweat, nor rain.

My scalp has ached from my thick curls being combed and twisted out, and my arms from doing the combing and twisting. But some of the exhaustion runs a bit deeper, reaches a bit farther, and wow am I tired of dragging my feet. Well, more like I'm tired of people trying to drag my feet. Okay, really more like I'm tired of allowing people to drag my feet.

"Your hair look so...bushy, today."
"You look like a kid on the Rugrats!"
"You look like Abbi Kadabbi from Sesame Street!"
"You look like Mickey Mouse!"

The last three were all said in the same day when I wore in two puffs atop my head. I find myself feeling guilty for getting irritated by their comments -- they don't mean to be offensive. They're friends, colleagues, people I admire and respect. And I guess I don't really even blame them, but it adds another stumble onto my long trek to complete and total love-thy-hair bliss. I get that commenters are merely observing my unique and "different" (by their standards) hair and connecting it to something familiar. It would really helpful if they were familiar with the insulting comments I've gotten over the years.

Growing up in such a white community led to so many questions about my hair and its care routine.

"YOUT PUT CAR GREASE IN YOUR HAIR?!!?"
"It's so puuuuffffyyy!!"

I was in the first grade when I got my first relaxer. A relaxer treatment is like a "reverse-perm" process, using chemicals to straighten hair. At first it just made hair management easier. Gone were the nights of combing through knotted tangles. But as I grew older, and as handfuls of Disney Channel stars with straight hair were thrown at me, the more addicted I became to keeping my hair straight; always looking to my next relaxer appointment, or buying a new straightener that would guarantee even straighter, longer-lasting straight strands. It made me look more like my peers and aspirational-celebs, which as we all know, is a huge priority in middle school.

Shout out to Therone, who will be thrilled that this photo is making a comeback!

I began to use my straightener as an armor. Shield myself. A way to blend in and be accepted. I was so excited to control something that used to make me different and set myself at the status quo. I wasn't aware of my self-whitewashing, but my 20/20 hindsight makes me realize I was forcing myself to comply with standards of white feminine beauty. To put it in a dramatic way, it was like my blackness disappeared with the steam of my straightener. Not to say that I didn't identify or connect to parts of Black culture, but I think 2005-Felicia would have been a lot happier being able to identify with black women that also had to use silk pillows to keep their hair moisturized and wraps to keep their hair looking fresh in the morning. And at a really basic level, I wish I would have known that I did not have to straighten my hair to look or feel beautiful.

Senior photos, 2010

Continuous years of straightening my hair led to damaged ends and days of regret after saying "No" to swimming invites so the chlorine-water wouldn't the relaxer out of my hair (and in one instance, literally wearing a plastic bag to not ruin the relaxer).

Friends were often peppering me with requests to see my hair in its natural state. I thought I had appeased the public with this photo, but I'm not sure what I was thinking, because this was still my hair with a relaxer in it, just no flat-ironing after washing.

"Fro" to straight hair

A conversation with the truest style-icon I know, Paige Brown, during my freshman year of college led me to start letting my relaxer grow out. Paige taught me about how much healthier my hair could be, and with my hair breaking off from intense heat all of the time, that sounded like a promising idea. Still, I flat-ironed it everyday.

It was Summer 2012 when I wore my hair natural in public. The summer itself was a summer for the books for many reasons (some of them are semi-documented here), but most significantly, it was my first time living in a community where the majority of the population were people of color. I would stroll around Washington Heights, listening to the In The Heights soundtrack, seeing these beautiful women with big curls and thick thighs. It made me realize that there were actually people that I could relate to physically. The final encouragement to go au naturale was fueled by a fellow DoSomething.org intern, Michelle Azzi, and my need to impress Corbin Bleu. Michelle had been pestering me to wear my hair naturally all summer, but when we were told we were going to meet Corbin at a volunteer event, I decided to take her up on the challenge. My rationale was that I would catch Corbin's eye if I shared the same afro-style hair as him.

I remember walking out of my subleased apartment and feeling terrified. I literally could not remember the last time I let someone (besides my mom and hair stylist) see me with curly hair. By the end of the day, my hair was up in bobby pins and a bandana, but it was a huge fearless step for me to take. And I really do think that it worked to get Corbin's attention.

HI CORBIN

I dipped my toes in the proverbial natural hair pool several times after that, but still stuck to a pretty strict straight-hair regimen. But I was getting braver, I would even chronicle the rare moment through photos.

"Afro hair, don't care. #aunaturale"

"If you tag #utexaspinkparty I will wear my hair natural for a day!"

The next time I truly let my natural hair loose was for UT's production of In The Heights. I was inspired by all of the women of color I had interacted with in real life, and it reminded me of that sense of kinship I shared with them. It was an exhilarating and freeing experience. And YEAH FINE, the compliments didn't hurt, either.

"Lights up on Washington Heights! Opening night, leggo"

And then, I started keeping it curly. I took college-graduation photos with curly hair, auditioned for shows with curly hair, and just started vibing with curly hair in a brand new way. I vibed with my curly hair all summer long.

Senior photos, 2014

As I made my permanent move to New York City, my hair went back to straight with my curls making sporadic appearances. Then in April, I wore my hair curly for an audition, and never looked back. There was one day in May that I straightened it for kicks and giggles, but while walking to find a Popeye's, walked straight into a rainstorm, and I took that as some kind of sign that I should just continue embracing my natural curls. So, I did.

"#Sun"

A few weeks later, I met a woman with thin blond hair. She was an overall kind person, so when she said "So I just LOVE your hair, I could never get my hair to do that," I knew she meant it in a positive way. But I honestly got a little defensive. "Well I would HOPE you could NEVER get your hair to do this! This hair is a badge of honor of being black and beautiful, and it wouldn't be fair for you to artificially achieve this look while I've battled my way to this state of self-hair-love. SO THERE." Well, well, well....looks like someone is liking her natural hair.

This state of self-hair-love is a idyllic place to be, my friends. Mornings are less-stressful, days are more enjoyable, and the number of "bad hair days" I've endured has shrunk. I've found a family with the women of color of the DoSomething.org office, who proved willing to answer any and all questions I had about natural hair. After all of the self-deprecation I experienced in the years before, I loving power-walking on this natural hair high.

But then, at a matinee at An American in Paris, I tripped on a rock. A rock that was actually a woman who loudly whispered from the row behind me, "Can you not lean left?" Ooh, I was angry. Excuse me? Was my natural hair blocking a part of the stage? My natural hair that I have spent years fighting against and have finally accepted as beautiful?  Because I, ma'am, am in the process of embracing my black womanhood, and if you have a problem with that, than I suggest that you lean right or perhaps take it up with the architect of this theater to rise your seat higher. Because I want to be free and enjoy this run. I want to let my hips move, my arms swing, and let my curls blow in the breeze. I'm ready to sprint.

Guest Blog Post: Stay In Your Own Lane

Welcome Guest Blogger, Jelisa Jay Robinson! A fellow Longhorn, writer, and theater artist, we often discuss life as a twentysomething.

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My friend circles are a collage of movers and shakers. Folks who hit the ground running and don't stop.  Whether they are coaching a winning volleyball team, writing their own memoirs or backpacking across Europe, they all prove that following your passions can be fruitful. I watch and support the success around me. I cheer the loudest at their plays, tweet the musiest congrats I can muster in 140 characters and make them feel like superstars. Yes, I milk my proud friend moments but I am not going to lie...sometimes I compare myself to them.  

 Oh, don't look at me like you have never done that before.

Your friend gets an incredible opportunity and you are still applying for jobs.  You are stoked for them but you wonder when your shot is coming. A little jealousy creeps up. Of course, you don't show it. You save it for a vent-session your mother or a friend who is completely detached from the situation.  You question your life path and wonder why isn't anything "Facebook-update-worthy" going down in your life.

Well, just chill.

Run your own race.

Yours is coming. 

In the mean time...

Stay in your own lane

Success is not spontanous. It comes as a result of spending hours hammering at your craft.  It comes from focusing on you because you aren't in competition with anyone but you.  It can be easy to compare myself to my friends who write and feel inadequate, like I am not doing enough. But understanding that I am on my own journey helps me sleep better at night. You only feel envious when you forget that the top isn't overcrowed and everyone can reach success.

Celebrate

And when that success comes you will want to celebrate with your loved ones.  You will want them to be as happy for you as you were for them.  If not more. So go eat cake. Get margaritas. Post an obnoxious Facebook post or Instagram photo with a heartfelt story of how they "started from the bottom" now they are here.  We don't want to make it to the top without our family, friends and loved ones. And supporting them puts you in positive spirits.

Work hard

Chances are you have to work for your goal (unless you are Paris Hilton) so instead of letting jealousy fester. Use their success as a motivator. Let it light fire under your behind to grind even harder. 

Write a list of awesomeness

When you are moping about not getting your way,  it is because you have forgotten about all the blessings you have. Write a list of all the awesome things in your life.  Saved money instead of eating out?  Write it down. Studied in France a few years ago? Write it down.  Helped your mom with groceries?  Write it. All of these will remind you that you are awesome and you have a lot to be thankful for.

Shut the cup up

Don't ruin your friend's big moment by talking about your insecurities all the time.  Do what you have to do to deal. Pray or have a chat with a trusted loved one. We all need to talk it out but do not dwell in despair. Just remember that your friend needs your support now more than ever.  Don't be in your feelings for two long.

When you find yourself sulking in despair because life is not what you envisioned at the moment, remember that supporting your friend means the world to them.  Comparing your path to theirs is like comparing an apple to an  orange.  Too different.   Everyone is on their own journey.  Have a little faith that your breakthrough is coming. Enjoy life and embrace relationships.  Because when you get your big opportunity, you will want to celebrate.  So when your friends find success and you find yourself a little jelly, recognize it, move on and work harder. Remember that God always has a plan.

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Jelisa Jay Robinson is a 20-something writer and playwright from Houston but her heart lives in New York.  She is the creator of lifestyle blog Black Girl, Latin World and she writes for Her Campus, the LatiNegr@s Project, Real Brown Girls and the Horn. 

Last Week of College: One Year Later

One year ago, yesterday, I stood on the steps of the University of Texas' tower, and poured out four years of memories through something slightly resembling a poem. It was in collaboration with some of the most inspirational theater artists I know -- fellow Theater and Dance seniors, on the last night of college as a conclusion to my Week of Spontaneous Moments of Theater.

As we emotionally thanked UT for what it had given us in the past few years, not many of us knew what would be next. There is no one I would rather share such an intimidating moment with. These friends that I had bonded with during classes, shows, parties, we were all heading into the scary unknown of adulthood together.

Two weeks later, we walked (or more like danced, strutted, and boogied, honestly) across Bass Concert Hall stage, and became official graduates of the University of Texas.

Here we are. One year later. Standing at the finish line of our first post-grad year. What a doozy it's been. Moving to new cities, finding new jobs, making new friends, and steadying our footing in this new world. Here's what that first year has been like, straight from the mouths of babes (and by babes I mean some of the seniors that took part in that last night of Spontaneous Moments of Theater week).

I, myself, spent the summer in Austin, performing in The Who's TOMMY at ZACH Theatre. It was my first professional show, and it was pretty damn cool. Just as the show was winding down, I started looking for my next step. I had interviews for an editorial fellowship with BuzzFeed LA and BuzzFeed NYC, when the dope CEO of DoSomething.org called me with a job offer as a Digital Content Associate. Um, duh. After two incredible summer in NYC with DoSomething.org, I knew it was a great way for me to achieve my dream of living in New York, and I already knew I liked the organization. I made the move and have spent the last seven months strategizing social media, learning the ropes of SEO, and writing tons of content. And it's been super challenging - finding and maintaining an apartment, learning about personal finances, and keeping my passion for theater ~alive~. It's been unpredictable, and if this first year has taught me anything, it is to roll with the punches.

"Post grad life is hard! This past year has been the end of an era marked by summers and GPA's, and trying to find myself outside of the student lifestyle has been a challenging, but rewarding experience. I've fallen more in love with art, artists, and artistry than ever before, and I now look back on my time in the department as prep for my artist's soul in the real world - on ehtat doesn't always encourage it to grow. Today, I'm probably most proud of how certain I am in my path as a writer. Choose to make and share art isn't an easy career choice - with all the rejection, criticism, and "I am a fraud" insecurities - but now it seems obvious to me as the only (crazy) career I'd ever be happy with."
-Alison Stoos

"I am most proud of myself for being courageous. Destiny made courage a theme in my life since graduating. Life has definitely been scary, but I have been leaning into that fear by taking courageous actions. One of those actions was applying for the 2015-2016 Fulbright U.S. Student program. After many months of praying and waiting, I found out I received the award and now I will be spending nine months studying physical theatre in Italy come this October!"
-Ja'Michael Darnell

"After that night, my faith in my dream was restored. I focused on my dream of being a writer. It was scary but after a leap of faith my work in now in the Austin Latino New Play festival! Gathering with artists and feeling their creative energy was motivation for me."
-Jelisa Jay Robinson

"It's hard to believe that a year has almost gone by since graduation! my biggest worry, which echoed most of the people around me, was whether I would have a job in what I studied. I had applied to a few high school theatre programs already, but had heard back from none. Over the next few weeks I continued to apply but never heard back from any. I finally applied to an elementary school that Roxanne Schroeder-Arce recommended for me, and after applications and paper work, and a 9-hour, all day interview, I had my first job. My biggest accomplishment to date, and the one I am most proud of, is not just surviving, but thriving and having a blast through my first year as a teacher. I've always wanted to be a teacher growing up, through middle school and high school, and I'm always beside myself when thinking back on where I was and where I am now. I did it. :)"
-Oscar Franco

"Looking back a year after college I'm surprised by how much hasn't changed. Sure, parts of my life are different but fundamentally I feel that the past year has just been a continuation for me. Graduation didn't change as much of the world as I thought it would. What I'm most proud of a year later would have to be getting paid to act for the first time. Just having the tangible representation of knowing it's possible to have a life as an artists is something special that I'm deeply thankful for."
-Will Douglas

(Will update with more graduates as they come in!)

Ain't I A Woman?

Patricia Arquette brought up equal wage in her Oscar acceptance speech, and it was great. And Meryl Streep gestured from the audience in support, and it was great.

But then afterwards, surely on a high from winning Best Supporting Actress, Patty continued with, "It’s time for all the women in America, and all the men that love women and all the gay people and all the people of color that we’ve all fought for to fight for us now."

Not so great, for a couple of reasons. One, the fight for racial and sexual orientation equality is far from over, but that is another topic for another blog post. Or a graduate thesis. What resonated with me more was the lack of recognition for intersectionality in this statement. Women can be non-white and not straight, and these things are not mutually exclusive. Was she asking queer women of color to choose their womanhood over their race and sexual orientation?

How apropos for the last week of Black History Month and the week before Women's History Month.

It got me thinking about a project I did sophomore year for my Dramaturgy class at UT. The assignment was to create a fictional theater company, complete with a mission statement and a season schedule.

"Mwali Theater Company, based in Harlem, is dedicated to serving and presenting work to young black females in urban areas. We want to act as a catalyst for our audiences to achieve their dreams and promote a positive self-image. Our 2012-2013 season is entitled "Ain't I A Woman?", honoring black female playwrights. 

Works will include; Rachel by Angelina Grimke, an adaptation of The Street by Ann Petry, A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry, and For Colored Girls Who Considered Suicide When The Rainbow is Enuf by Ntozake Shange."

My guiding principle for this project was the idea of black women being a "double minority". They are black and they are women in a white male-dominating society. Not only are they being rejected by men for being women, but they're being rejected by women (and men) for being black. Often being reduced to two cultural cliches, the "jezebel" and the "mammy", how in the hell are black women ever suppose to feel empowered? I've had plenty of my white guy friends and boyfriends exoticize and sexualize me...and I'm only half-black and light-skinned.

Luckily, there have been black women who have stood as pillars, tall and strong, not allowing anyone to knock them over. Black women who have stood at the podium of fame, and spoke their truth. I've looked to them as sources of inspiration, motivation, and sisterhood. And so, I made a list. (I've really been into lists lately, haven't I?) I narrowed them down, A LOT. There are so many black women not on this list that have accomplished extraordinary things. I chose to highlight the women that have had a direct effect on my art. And if you'll allow me to be a bit self-indulgent, I've included a few videos that will show just that.

Without further ado:

Misty Copeland
American Ballet Theater soloist
I'm embarrassed to admit I just really learned of Misty Copeland recently. I had heard whispers and rumblings, but then I bought her autobiography, and didn't put it down until I was done. She details her loving albeit unstable childhood, and all of obstacles she dealt with growing up, like living in a motel with her six brothers and sisters. Her journey as an African-American ballerina has been anything but easy, obviously. She introduced ABT to what a woman with curves and muscles looks like. Growing up in the dance studio, I was constantly told that I didn't have the body for ballet, and while I loved my ballet classmates, I was more than aware of my studio's lack of diversity. What I loved about Misty's book is the idea that true artistry comes from a passion and expression of self, rather than being a size zero (which I think she is, but I'll forgive her).

Patina Miller
Broadway musical actress
I actually met Patina the first time I saw her perform, as Sister Mary Clarence in Sister Act on Broadway. I was a sophomore in college, and I was hungry to connect with musical theater performers. She had such energy and vivacity on stage, it was hard to take my eyes off of her and watch other people. Her warmth and enthusiasm had me in tears by the end. She was genuinely sweet in person, too. I saw her again as The Leading Player in Pippin almost two years later, and she had the same captivating spirit and dynamics as before. What I love so much about Patina as a musical theater performer (rather than say, Audra McDonald) was her commitment to loud, lively characters as opposed to soft, romantic (and almost submissive?) characters. She attacked The Leading Player role with gumption, usually a role for a black man. As she was peppered questions about this topic during interviews, she confidently responded about her placement in the role, no apologies.

Phylicia Rashad and Debbie Allen
Broadway, film, TV actress and Broadway actress and dancer
It seems only natural to admire a stellar actress with whom I share a name, but Ms. Rashad is so much more than that! Her work in The Cosby Show is still some of the best I've seen in TV, and if you can get past P. Diddy's acting, her acting in the 2008 film A Raisin in the Sun is truthful, powerful, and compelling. No wonder she won the 2004 Tony for Best Leading Actress in a Play for Raisin's revival, although it's sad that she was the first African-American woman to do so. Debbie, her sister, is a firecracker. Her performance of Anita in West Side Story is engrained in my memory (I channel her, too, in the America video above). I don't know her as well as Ms. Rashad, but I do know she's incredible. What I think makes Ms. Rashad and what I hope to emulate in my own work is the ability to be strong and vulnerable when acting. It's not as easy as it looks.

Whoopi Goldberg
Broadway, film, TV actress
WHOOPAY. I feel like Whoopi is one of those crazy aunts I've known since I was born. She fluidly moves between stage and screen, and she keeps me laughing the whole time. She obviously has great comedic timing, but also has this very intriguing way of listening and just being. She seems so present in her work. I was obsessed with her in second grade, and I guess all the teachers at my school knew it, because after my talent show performance, a random teacher that I barely knew told me that Whoopi would be proud. That's all the praise I needed. My love for her continues (even though I know she is kind of whack on The View), so much so that I claimed her coveted Sister Mary Clarence role when my friends and I remade Sister Act 2's "Joyful, Joyful" for the 20th anniversary.

Maya Angelou
Poet and writer
When I chose Maya Angelou for my hero project in fourth grade, I didn't realize what a big deal she was. My mom had told me about her and her work, but as I grew up I quickly fell in love with her eloquent and intoxicating words. Some of my favorite quotes of hers are:
"Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances."
"When we find someone who is brave, fun, intelligent, and loving, we have to thank the universe."
"You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have."
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
"Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it."
"I got my own back."
Then there is her poem, "Phenomenal Woman", which I think articulates this idea I've been grappling with. Despite the setbacks predetermined for them because of their race and gender, black women are beautiful. Black women are strong, and have grit. Black women are phenomenal.

15 Inspiring Women

February has gotten me into a mood. Between finishing Amy Poehler's "Yes Please", the 100+ LGBTQ Black Women list, the #20beautifulwomen popping up on Instagram, Valentine's Day, and my self-assigned Big Sis at DoSomething.org, Keri Goff, departing from the organization, I have slipped into a mood. A reflection mood, thinking of all the women that have challenged me, advised me, encouraged and inspired me throughout my life. The ones that have watched me grow. The ones that have had fun with me, but also weren't afraid to tell me when to get it together.

I came up with a list. A HUGE list, with so many unexpected memories springing up along the way. But I know myself. I'm too impatient. There was no way I would ever finish a blog post detailing why I love each woman. And I know Millennials. No one from my intended audience would read a blog post that long. Our generation has short attention spans. I gave myself parameters and narrowed it down. They couldn't be related to me. And they had to be at least 10 years older than me and had to have nurtured my artistry, sparked my creativity, or invigorated my sense of female empowerment in some way. Even still, there are some wonderful women missing from this list (basically, I need to write a part two....)

Without further ado:

Keri Goff

How Long I've Known Her: 3 years

How I Met Her: DoSomething.org

Okay, I'm absolutely cheating because Keri is only like, two years older than me, but she co-inspired the post, so it's only fair. Kay-Z has become like my big sister. She's always there to give advice about boys, lipstick, and being a newcomer to the city. She fixes my make-up when it's smudge, let's me pester her in a total little sister way, and patiently answers all of my photoshop questions. She has such an eye for design, and even though I get so nervous to show her my stuff because she could easily laugh it off, I completely trust her because I know she will only help me get better. Keri will always have a special place in my heart. She was one of the first staff members to welcome me into Do Something. It was the third day, the office warming party was poppin, and she swept by me in a colorful maxi dress and simply blew me a kiss. It was one of the warmest welcoming gestures ever, and it made me feel like I was at home. To this day, her kisses blown my direction comfort me. I can't thank her enough, and I'm so excited to see her soar.

Quetta Carpenter

How Long I've Known Her: 3 years

How I Met Her: Acting professor/mentor/director at University of Texas

The first time I heard of Quetta was during a performance of "360 Round Dance" when a friend whispered "That's my acting professor, and she's so fucking cool." Quetta was mid-straddling a guy as a stripper. Talk of her became more and more prevalent, especially her reputation of being honest, talented, and really hard to impress. You can imagine, then, the nervousness I felt when I had to audition in front of her for a coveted Cell Block Tango monologue. Don't worry, I got through it. Afterwards, in Winship's atrium, Quetta tossed me a nod and a, “You were really funny in your audition,” and then casually continued on acknowledging the other students awaiting her attention. She was the popular girl who noticed me, and I felt so cool. We continued to exchange "hi"s when running into each other, and next thing I know, I was being cast in the play she was directing, “The Sparrow.” That production actually changed my life, and a huge part of it was because of Quetta’s vision, passion, and humor. I then went on to take her film acting class. You can imagine the nervousness I felt, again. She guided me through it, and we developed this wonderful mentorship, which has in turn, developed into a friendship. She has given me unforgettable nights of advice, laughter, secrets, and margaritas. But what I love most about Quetta, is her unapologetic authenticity. She's always herself and keeps it so real. She lives her truth boldly, and I can only hope to follow in her footsteps. 

Natasha Davison

How Long I've Known Her: 4 years

How I Met Her: Musical Theater Dance professor/mentor at University of Texas

Natasha and her Broadway Jazz dance class is the reason I stayed at UT after freshman year. I was ready to apply to UW, pack the bags, and head back to the rainy PNW. But my TTH 2-3:30 Intro to Anthropology was cancelled due to the professor's maternity leave, and so I marched over to Mark-Anthony's office to see what dance class I could take. He suggested Broadway Jazz, and I went to observe the class. I expected Natasha to be a strung out, strict ex-ballerina that somehow found her way into musical theater, but when I saw the class kick-ball-changing their way across the studio to Ke$ha, I realized I couldn't have been more wrong about Natasha. From her stories about Broadway in the 1980s to her enthusiasm for shoulder isolations, Natasha's class quickly became my favorite. She pushed me to be my absolute best, and truly believed in me as a dancer, which I hadn't experienced in a while. Her class became a safe environment for me to grow and learn and just have a really good time. After spending ~850 hours in that studio with her, she became like myAustin mom outside of the studio. She spit the truth about the life of a performer and shared the ingredients to make a bomb ass honey mustard vinaigrette. Now, I know I can call her with anything, and she'll be at the ready to listen and offer advice. 

Omi Jones

How Long I've Known Her: 5 years

How I Met Her: African American Performance professor/mentor at University of Texas

It's almost unfair that I took a class with Dr. Omi Jones my first semester of college, because she gave me such a high standard for every professor thereafter. She's brilliant. Eloquent. Articulate. Her passion for teaching commanded attention. Every word she spoke dripped with knowledge and honesty, and there was no way I was missing one. She pushed us think critically, open ourselves up to new experiences, and just be better people in general. My absolute favorite thing about Dr. Jones was how she seamlessly transition from an ordinary class into a true community that was comfortable, safe, and sacred. How she did it for all three classes I took with her still stumps me, but I'm beyond grateful. In those classes I grew as an artist, a scholar, and a person, which makes sense since Dr. Jones is an accomplished performer and academic herself. My peers and I were always eager to impress her, simply because she was so impressive herself. She accepted and respected all of her students so that we never felt embarrassed. I recall moments of her listening intently, brow furrowed, as students shared personal experiences, and providing guidance that was clearly wrapped in understanding and wisdom. In class, she was constantly radiating this maternal warmth, and on stage, her powerful energy extended through her fingertips and into the space. I miss her sincere laughter. Her difficult class-discussion questions. Her jingling bracelets. I took my first steps into African American studies, dramaturgy, and UT performance with her, and I can't express enough gratitude for her persistent and unwavering support. 

Liz Borromeo

How Long I've Known Her: 11 years

How I Met Her: Dance teacher at childhood dance studio

Meeting Liz was brief, a run-in in the lobby of the dance studio, but my first dance class with her was unforgettable. It provided a freedom and release that was non-existent in the ballet classes I had been taking. There was automatically a sense of trust when you walked into the studio. We learned. We improved. We had fun. At the beginning of my 8th grade year, Liz told me she knew I would have great year of dancing. And that was that. To have someone that was a professional in the space believe in me like that -- it was everything. And so I went to work. And she was right, it was one of the best years of dancing for me. As the years went on, there was a group of us that developed into Ewizzerbot's tribe. Monday night modern classes were my favorite part of the week, and there was such a real sense of camaraderie amongst the students, especially as we ended our cool down to Donny Hathaway's "Song For You". She introduced me to the rest of my already favorite company and ballet, Alvin Ailey's Revelations. My heart was always so full around Liz. She always gave me this knowing and reassuring look, and I knew everything would be okay. She was such a huge supporter, not just of me, but every single one of her students. She took the time to engage and interact with us, and she always had our best interests at heart. She taught me one of my favorite phrases to date, "No my first name ain't baby, it's Janet, Ms. Jackson if ya nasty!" She had an infectious laughter and positive energy around the studio. She taught me so many great dances to so many great songs that I still get up and dance to when they come on. "Falling Slowly", "Spanish Doll", "Gravity". She taught me about musicality. About using dance to express myself. How to use movement to evoke emotion. She taught me how to be an artist.

Deb Avery

How Long I've Known Her: 12 years

How I Met Her: Sunday School teacher at Vancouver Heights UMC

My affection for Deb Avery started when she handed me a cupcake during Sunday School almost 12 years ago, to the day. My mom had taken me to a new church, and it wasn't Christmas Eve, so I was a little irritated. But Deb knew the way to my heart was through my stomach, and I've loved the woman ever since. She taught me my first memorized and favorite Bible verse: "I am with you always" (Matthew 28:20). It resonated with me so much at the time that I was convinced Deb could read my mind. She just had (and still has) so much wisdom. I looked forward to Sunday School class as I got older just to listen to her thoughts and ideas. I remember one day I had had one of my first real arguments with my mom, and so had another girl in class, and Deb explained how as a mom, it's so jarring for your child, this human being that you literally created, raised, nurtured, and loved, to suddenly not understand or agree with you. And it just made sense. She was one of my biggest supporters at church. With everything. Even after I left for college, I knew she was cheering me on. She taught me that a hug can truly be healing. And that you can get a little crazy in college, because even your Sunday School teacher "spent a night praying to the porcelain goddess." (She also had to teach me that praying to the porcelain goddess meant puking in a toilet.) Most badass Sunday School teacher I've ever known!

Sue Koelhepp

How Long I've Known Her: 12 years

How I Met Her: Mentor at Vancouver Heights UMC
Sue is adept at so many subjects, which is why every time I had a new interest or hobby, I knew I could go straight to her and she would know all about it. First it was trombones. I started playing the trombone in my sixth grade band, and she had played it for a number of years. I consider biochemistry a career option during my sophomore year and that's been her job for forever. She was so invested in my growth, no matter what area. When I wanted to learn how to sing but was too scared, she pulled me over to the piano with the church pianist and made me sing. I am most grateful, however, that she taught me about tolerance, without even knowing it. How to love. How to be inclusive. After I had confirmed as a member of the church, she simply smiled and said "Welcome to the club". She was always full of inspiring words of wisdom.

Adele White 

How Long I've Known Her: 13 years

How I Met Her: Theater teacher/director at Vancouver School of Arts and Academics
If there was one word that Ms. White embodies, it is "Namaste". "I see the light in you." I met Ms. White during a summer arts camp I went to. It was there that she asked me to play a young child in "Fiddler on the Roof" at VSAA. That production taught me so much because Ms. White expected so much of us as performers. Once I arrived as a student at VSAA, I had Ms. White as my humanities teacher. She would end every single class with all of us standing at our chairs, palms pressed together, bowing towards each other, saying "Namaste". At the time, my impatient sixth-grade self was looking ahead to socializing with my friends at lunch. Looking back on it now, it was special. The most important part of the ritual was Ms. White making eye contact with each and every student. I can't quite remember if she ever verbalized this, but that moment of eye contact felt like her saying "I see you, and I acknowledge your existence," which in middle school, is crucial. She also kept it real with us. Unlike other teachers, she said she was human and would make mistakes, but she wouldn't let her pride get in the way of admitting that. She also told us when to check ourselves. I remember one time in particular, I had been at home complaining about how I wish I was in a higher level dance class, and the next day, Ms. White told our class about respecting the process of training. HOW DID SHE KNOW? And how was she so right? She is a woman full of love and spirit. She has a playful energy which makes working with her so fun. She is also the only person I actually like calling me "Fefe" (childhood nickname), because it is wrapped up in so much affection.

Shareefa Abdullah

How Long I've Known Her: 15 years

How I Met Her: Family friend/unsaid Mentor
Shareefa came into my life with a loud and unapologetic laugh. With sassiness. With confidence. She was exceptionally cool, yet accessible and understanding. She was one of my first black woman role models, and helped me celebrate black beauty. To feel good about my skin color, my hair, my being. She taught me about being brave and vivacious. She herself was incredibly bubbly and lively. I remember specifically her eyes and gestures being very animated. She awakened my sense of feminism and gender equality. We sat in a car with my mom, listening to Madonna's "What It Feels Like For A Girl." I wasn't aware of the inequities between genders in the third grade, but she had a strong attachment to the song and wanted to get my mom and my opinion. I probably didn't add anything to the conversation, but I liked listening to them discuss the topic. Shareefa was absorbed in thought, and it was the first time I saw her solemn and subdued. She also gave me career advice when I was still in elementary school, but it stuck. We were all at an art gallery (lol at fifth grade me rubbing elbows with artists?!) and I confided in her that I felt like I was interested in too many things that I wouldn't be able to pursue them all. She told me to make a chart with quadrants: 
1) one of things you're good at +  things you like 
2) one of things you're good at + things you don't like
3) one of things you're bad at +  things you like
4) one of things you're bad at + things you don't like
Then she said to focus on quadrant one, because that was the place where I could shine and also be passionate about what I was doing. I haven't talked to Shareefa in forever, but her advice and ideals come to me often.

Bev Melum

How Long I've Known Her: 16 years

How I Met Her: Dance teacher at Eleanor Roosevelt Elementary School
This woman inspired my college essay. She was my elementary school PE (and later dance) teacher and she changed everything. It was the end of my second grade year, and I was preparing to audition for the school talent show, and my mom and I were puzzled why the PE teacher would want to produce the talent show instead of the choir teacher or another arts teacher. What we learned after I did a fancy little tap number, was that she had been a professional dancer before she settled down as a teacher. WELL THEN. She gave me great feedback about working on the clarity of my taps and listening to rhythms. I was in awe of her. Her passion for dance was now very apparent. She was so loving, so caring, and so warm. During my time there, she never stopped pushing us students to do our absolute best in class, and she would always check-in with me after class to see how my outside dance classes were going. In 5th grade, she organized a dance performance for our school-wide Dr. MLK Jr. Day assembly. She sat us down and cued up a video of three men running around shirtless to a gospel/spiritual song, doing fierce leaps and turns. She introduced me to my favorite company, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and my favorite piece, Revelations. We choreographed our own interpretation of the dance, and I felt so empowered. She pulled me and my partner aside to give us tips and feedback because she knew we could go even further. I "graduated" and headed to middle school and high school, and never had a chance to meet up or see her again. I sort of strayed away from rigorously training as a dancer, and gave up my dreams of being a professional dancer. Then in October 2009, my mom called me and told me she had passed away, and I was devastated. Heartbroken. She was the first person I was really close to that had passed away. The majority of Vancouver and Portland's artistic community attended the funeral, and we all shared stories and grieved together. I was oddly comforted, just to know that everyone else loved her as much as I did, and would carry on her memory vividly. At the reception, two cherry cokes in, my best friend Aisha, my mom, and I were talking with a woman that Ms. Melum had worked with at some point. Aisha and I told her about our process of applying to college, and there was something in that moment, an overwhelming feeling that washed over me, and I can only assume it was Ms. Melum, that told me I had to pursue my dream of dancing. Why had I given up? It was something that made me so happy and I had worked so hard at. And that was it. My passion for dancing had been reignited, and it was all because of Ms. Melum and her love.

Wendi Woodburn

How Long I've Known Her: 16 years

How I Met Her: Best friend's mom, and mom's best friend
Wendi has been around since we moved to Vancouver, and she has kept me laughing and thinking since then. We share a bubbly and extroverted personality. We're always dancing in public, singing and rapping in the car, and giggling about boys, much to the eye rolls of Aisha (my best friend, her daughter), and my mom. Our mother-daughter foursome have shared so many memories, it's hard to recall them all. During my senior year of high school, I rewrote the lyrics and recorded my rendition of "Hey There Delilah" to ask my boyfriend to a school dance. It was incredibly off-key and spoken-sung for the most part. I wanted the foursome to hear it, so we all gathered in my car outside of an Applebee's where we had just eaten. Mama Fitz in the driver seat, Aisha sitting on my lap in the passenger, Wendi in the back, I crank it up, and we listen. Us three in the front share a few laughs, but we didn't hear a word from Wendi, which if you know Wendi at all, is very uncommon and quite honestly a little disturbing. We turn around and she is silently laughing so hard she is wheezing and can barely breathe. We, in turn, broke out in hysterics. Even though that song alone proved singing was not my strong point, Wendi has always supported and encouraged my dreams. When it came time to decide what I should focus on in college, she said to pursue performing because I should love what I'm doing and she didn't want me to grow old and have any regrets. It really resonated with me. She has always been a great cheerleader for me. She's the first one to share any articles I write, any dance videos I record, and blogs I post. She definitely makes me feel like I'm popular on Facebook, when I open it up to 40+ notifications and they are all from her. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and it motivates me to do more. Aside from her bubbly side, she has also made me think and reflect about what true happiness and optimism is. Most importantly, she's enlightened me about self-love and inner-peace.

Christie Nye

How Long I've Known Her: 16 years

How I Met Her: Worked with my mom at New Ventures

Christie shared an office with my mom when we first moved to the Pacific Northwest. She has always been cool, witty, and beautiful, but here's the kicker: she hasn't changed. 16 years and two kids later, she is still fly as hell. She also makes me not so scared to pass the age of 32. From where I'm sitting, it seems like the 30s and 40s are the deep, dark void where you can't have fun, be sexy, or whip out amazing comebacks because you're taking care of kids and adult things. Christie proves this wrong. She's also an incredibly selfless friend to my mom and has always believed in me. I spent a day with her floating in her pool before I headed off to college, and she told me something that has stuck with me since that day: "The first year of college is hard, for everyone. Everyone is missing home, so it's such an important time to stick together. If they act like they have it together, they're lying." She was right.

Nancye Beck

How Long I've Known Her: 20 years

How I Met Her: Worked with my mom at Sun Microsystems

Nancye gave me a taste of being a teenaged girl when I was six-years old. After hitting up "our spot" (Chevy's), we'd roll down the windows of her car and blast "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys and sing at the top of our lungs. She also indulged me in all of my dress-up and make-up tirades. We even bought bright purple lipstick once. We talked about bras. We liked the color purple and thought pansies were pretty. She tried to get me over my fear of dogs. Didn't happen, but she tried.

Wanda Brinlee

How Long I've Known Her: 23 years

How I Met Her: Another part of mom's TI squad

Wanda was a part of the infamous Texas Instruments group with my mom. She taught me "treat yo'self" before it was a Parks and Rec reference. From her energetic 50th birthday bash to my elegant 13th tea, Wanda taught me how to throw one hell of a party. I still try to mimic her hostess skills. Even when we were just lounging around at her house, she taught me how to appreciate spending time with the people you love. Her ability to enjoy life and live it to the fullest impresses me. Like when she gets a scandalous tattoo. And gushes about celeb crushes. She prepared me about middle school girl bitchery and then comforted me when I first experienced it. She was the first person to tell me about eBay. Also a shout out to both of her amazing daughters, Wendy and NeNe, who have been like two cool older sisters for as long as I can remember.

Gina de Miranda

How Long I've Known Her: 23 years

How I Met Her: Mom's best homie

Gina and my mom met way back in the 80s working at Texas Instruments together, and so Gina was present for most of my childhood, all of us moving between Texas and the West Coast. My mom and Gina were the first dynamic duo I was introduced to, and still one of my favorites. They were like Broad City but with two kids and charging the Silicon Valley battlefield of the 1990s. Their spunky independence is the foundation I grew up on. They taught me about empowering myself as a woman, and learning the difference between sexy and cheesy while looking at Victoria's Secret catalogues. Gina introduced me to so many movies that I still love. She pardoned my bad kid behavior by saying I had an evil twin named "Adriana". She taught me how to tell a good story, through the dozens of stories she and my mom told me and her son about my Barbies going adventures. She'd laugh at my jokes and applaud at my impromptu dance performances. She didn't even get mad when she awoke to her son Diego and I laying all of my plastic toy food on her as she slept off a fever in bed. After a stint on the East Coast, Gina found her way back to the West Coast, and we were able to rekindle our relationship exactly when I needed it. She guided me through the break up I never thought I'd get through. She was always ready for a phone call with the perfect advice, the perfect jokes, and the perfect dose of reality. I'm forever grateful for being able to witness her intelligence, her creativity, and her warmth. Cool girls 4ever~*