THE KENTUCKY DERBY: A RIDE TO FREEDOM

THE KENTUCKY DERBY: A RIDE TO FREEDOM

  

     

Often mentioned in conversations, but rarely experienced first-hand.  The Kentucky Derby in Louisville, Kentucky is the grand place I want to spotlight in one of my May 2017 blogs.  At least once in everyone’s life, you should make the trip to the Kentucky Derby and feel the thrill of the most famous two-minutes in horse racing history. 

No other moment is more exhilarating!

For me, it began back in 2001.  I had moved to Louisville to focus on writing my novel, “One Lucky Woman.”  I knew writing a 488-page book would be grueling and time consuming.  Needing an outlet and something to look forward to, I researched the city of Louisville and recognized it was the home of the Kentucky Derby. 

As a lover of horses and an even greater lover of betting on thoroughbreds, I was excited about moving to the home of the Derby.  Before I arrived, I sent a letter of request for a ticket to the Kentucky Derby. Of course--not to my surprise--it was a sold-out event where tickets were passed down generation to generation.  Sadly, I was told the only way I would be able to get a ticket was on an annual waiting list for when current ticket holders relinquished their tickets to get upgraded seats. 

Six months, three letters, several emails and a few telephone calls later, my family and I were set to go to the Kentucky Derby!  But was I ready for the Kentucky Derby?  People had spoken about the crowds, where to park, where to eat, how to dress, etcetera…. I didn’t really know anything about this event.  I needed answers, so off I went, to the Kentucky Derby Museum!

Giddy like a school girl, I was so humbled walking into the place for it set right on the grounds of Churchill Downs.  I figured while I was there I’d take in a day of racing.  Upon leaving the Museum, I realized my trip there had been much, much more than anything I could have expected.

Did you know the first jockeys for the Kentucky Derby were African-American slaves and free men?  Did you know that by winning the Derby some jockeys who were slaves were also given the opportunity to earn their freedom?  And did you know that 13 of the 15 jockeys in the first Kentucky Derby were African-Americans?????

By spending the day reading each and every posting in the Kentucky Derby Museum, I learned an ocean full of knowledge about African-American history and American Slavery.  In particular, the winning jockey in the first Kentucky Derby was a 19-year old African-American male named Oliver Lewis.  And the first jockey to win back-to-back titles was an African-American jockey named James “Jimmy” Winkfield.  And an even deeper still, I learned that the first jockey to win three Kentucky Derby titles was an African-American man named Isaac Burns Murphy.  I was so impressed by him, I bought the branded tee shirt.    

 Oliver Lewis

                                                

The famed Kentucky Derby was about my people and no one had ever told me.  No one.

Oh yes, I was ready for the Kentucky Derby now.  I didn’t care that in 2001 very few African-Americans worked as jockeys.  And I didn’t care that very few of the African-Americans I knew had ever been to the Kentucky Derby or even cared about the event.  I guess they were just too busy putting money in the pockets of music and film stars to care about our African-American history.  I just knew that I was going, and I was going to have a ball!

         

Oh, the anticipation of it all!  What would I wear?  A large, colorful hat, no doubt.  What would I have to drink?  A shared mint julep, naturally.  And where would I take my family to eat?  At the revolving restaurant, on top of the Galt House, of course.  It was Derby day in Louisville and I was finally ready.

So…if you find yourself needing a kick-start to your normal routine, I suggest you take the first Saturday in May and go to Louisville, Kentucky.  Whether you have a ticket or not, it’s a party going on.  Find time to see the pictures of the first jockeys in the Kentucky Derby Museum.  Wear a hat, then take it off in a salute to those who won the “Ride to Freedom!”

I won a trifecta the day I went to the Derby.  The money I won, I later spent buying tickets for the 2002 Kentucky Oaks.

Betting on the Kentucky Derby events has been a treasured tradition ever since.

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  May 20, 2017,  "The Kentucky Derby: A Ride to Freedom", Volume 6, Blog 1b [vol. 6, 1a-1c].

B. SMITH: ROLE MODEL EXTRAORDINAIRE

 B. Smith: Role Model Extraordinaire

It’s 1976.  Vanessa and her classmates dance about the Fox Theater atrium with big smiles and loud cheering.  They have just graduated from high school and it feels so good!  So many possibilities and so much to accomplish.  It’s America’s bicentennial and the opportunities to change African-American history, the country’s history, is moments away. 

In New York City, a young woman with the smile of angels, is set to make fashion history.  No, I don’t mean Beverly Johnson and I don’t mean Peggy Dillard.  This young woman was from Pennsylvania and about to pose her way onto the cover of a national fashion magazine.  Her name is B. Smith and the magazine was Mademoiselle.   Few people give her the proper recognition she deserves.  She too deserves the notoriety.  For without Barbara Smith (professionally known as B. Smith), there are many firsts in the world of entrepreneurship that none of us could claim.

To know B. Smith is to go to her website and read her biography.  From her tagline that reads “What you do, do it with Style” to her 2016 book Before I Forget, written with her husband Dan Gasby, B. Smith is a female maverick who took the worlds of fashion, restaurant ownership, cooking, publishing, home décor and mass communications by storm.  No barrier was strong enough to keep her from dreaming of and achieving her goals.

Enter the world of B. Smith.

After the historic cover, B. Smith wasn’t satisfied with the fame of being a successful model.  Her sights were set on something more substantial.  It was the life of an entrepreneur that would satisfy her culinary delights.  Advancing as a celebrity chef, she was encouraged to open her first restaurant.  Over time, she spun her unique combination of African-Asian influences into three successful restaurants.  They were located in the popular areas of Theater Row in New York City, exclusive Sag Harbor, New York and the heart of America, in Washington, D.C. 

With a natural talent for talking about food, cooking food and running businesses, B. Smith expanded her empire into radio and television.  As the host of her own television and radio shows, B. Smith with Style, she spent almost a decade helping us live our lives with style, great food and beauty surroundings.  She helped us decorate our homes, cook fancy meals, learn from other cultures and even fuse cultural styles.  Having coined the style phrase, Afrasian, B. Smith set a standard for her uniqueness to become the first African-American woman to sell a home décor collection in a major national retailer. 

Even now, the B. Smith Home Collection of bedding, tabletop and bath products can be found at Bed, Bath and Beyond.  And further, her B. Smith Olive Oil is a stable at Walmart.  Now tell me, besides make-up, what super model has made her brand a true “household name?”

B. Smith.  That’s who.

Sadly though I have to report, in 2013, B. Smith was told that she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.  A couple of years ago, she and her husband had to make the heart-wrenching decision to close her restaurants to focus on her deteriorating condition.  With the release of their 2016 book, Before I Forget, which is about living with the disease, she is now an advocate for people learning about and supporting research on the disease.

In learning about her life, after reading USA Today and several other publications, that Alzheimer’s Disease is one that I really had not paid attention to in relation to my own life.  Yes, I know about diabetes, high blood pressure, stroke and heart disease in relation to the African-American community, but Alzheimer’s Disease?  I didn’t know much of anything. 

Did you know data supports the fact that 2 out of 3 patients with Alzheimer’s Disease are women?  And did you know that African-Americans are two to three times more likely to get the disease?  Are we ready for the devastating decisions our families would have to make when this disease is diagnosed?

Sure, B. Smith has a great and wonderful life history.  Yet, B. Smith was lost for over 50 hours last year struggling to recall how to get home.  This disease is no joke.  Learn from her life experiences.  First, live out your dreams.  Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.  Second, prepare for the unexpected.  Don’t be afraid to get tested, talk to people, ask for help, offer help, and definitely ask the questions you need to ask. 

How awful not to be able to remember such a dynamic life?

B. Smith is still here.  She is still my Role Model Extraordinaire.  She has shown me the path to success, dignity and strength.  Remember her motto, ”What You Do, Do It With Style” and might I add…with Humility and Grace.


*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  May 7, 2017,  "B. Smith: Role Model Extraordinaire", Volume 6, Blog 1a [vol. 6, 1a-1c].

Monte Carlo, Darling!

Monte Carlo, Darling!

You, me, Audi and Monte Carlo, Darling.

  

It was the dead of Winter in America, but for me, it was Spring Break.  I, an American professor, and my mother on vacation in Monaco to celebrate my 50^th birthday.  Oh so chic and ooh-la-la!  My dream trip during my favorite time of year.  I love Winter and I loved Monte Carlo!

Months ago, I had decided to finally see for myself what I had envisioned for decades.  I could only imagine the lives of the super-rich and the often famous and fabulous.  Full-powdered faces drenched in luxury and living the life of pampered princesses had played out in many of my fantasies. Gentlemen and ladies dressed in labels with prices starting in the thousands residing in homes, second homes and even five or six homes located all over the globe were the people I had expected to see. I had not anticipated though that several would live on yachts, docked at the Marina jutting slightly out into the Mediterranean Sea.

Did someone mention a cruise to the French Riviera?  Not now.  We’re in Monte Carlo, Darling.

Zoom-Zoom, Audi sports cars flying by.  I had no idea it was almost time for the Monaco Grand Prix race through Monte Carlo.  By extreme luck, Mom and I were booked at the Monte Carlo Bay Hotel and Resort, the home base that year for the corporate team preparing for the world-renown racing spectacular.  Aside from us, the Audi team were the main guests of this 5-star hotel overlooking the calm deep blue sea.

We felt royal and privileged. 

Our room was the size of a large midtown Manhattan studio apartment.  The hallway leading to the bedroom was as long as my budget.  We both had closets lining the hallway, double the size needed for the few garments we had packed.  I had suggested we limit our attire to the pattern of cheetah, the shade of black and the accent of turquoise jewelry.  We looked divine!  Like upper-middle class Americans with a little money to spend.  Simply divine.

Walking in and out of the various locales was indeed half the pleasure.  Well-groomed garcons, Monsieurs actually, opening doors for fortunate heiresses--and us--was a constant joy…and expectation for some.  Having no real access to a fortune, we trotted across the street to the bus stop to ride like the help to the famous Place du Casino.  It was a dose of humility in our daily excursion to rub elbows with the super-super-rich. 

Adorned in the accepted garb of working America, Mom and I wore fashionable shawls to keep us warm for our hike through the famed courtyard.  Stepping off the bus, we headed each day for lunch to our “spot,” Café De Paris.  For us, it was like having free fourth-row tickets for a sold-out opera.
Each day, once the Maitre D’ realized we would be dining at the Cafe for lunch throughout our trip, he would seat us in the banquette facing the door, about two rows inward.  This designated location within the Café was an optimum spot for viewing the barrage of hundred-thousand dollar furs strolling through the front door.  We saw rare red foxes, silver foxes, dark sables, triple-colored minks, and even bi-colored ermines with metallic leather trims.  The furs, the furs, the furs!  My eyes had never seen such a parade of furs!

Dazzling maxi-length furs and over-sized vests of gorilla or monkey hair. The fur spectacular was a show in itself. Woman nor man was without a show-piece of a fur.  Poor Vanessa and her Mother were relegated to cotton-acrylic blends of faux cheetah cloth shawls.  How gauche.  How sad.

We were in Monte Carlo and stuck out like Hippies in a Black Church.

I wanted more.  I wanted to see more.  I wanted those Sophia Webster shoes.  For just one moment more, I wanted to live out my fantasy to the fullest. 

Enter the Casino.

The Casino de Monte Carlo was exactly like in photographs.  Immediately beyond the Place du Casino courtyard and central fountain was a multitude of custom-designed and handmade Rolls Royces and Bentleys parked for all onlookers to see.  To the left and the right were high-end cars I could not identify, staged in positions as eye-candy incentives for those of us who dared to climb the regal stairs.  

Observing the rules and exchanging my meager funds, I was escorted to the area behind the red velvet stanchions.  My preferred game of chance was Roulette and I was about to play the Monk’s wheel at the famed Casino de Monte Carlo. 
It was happening.

Allowing my mother to have a seat on the dainty, gold-painted chairs, her role had been defined and accepted by Management.  She was my assistant, a purse and shawl holder.  She defined my class, so I was accepted as a Monte Carlo table player.

Taking a seat and taking it all in, I braced myself and made a first bet.  I could not believe where I was playing.  It was almost too much to comprehend.  I felt like a female Bond, a daring woman of adventure who would leave three hours later with a $300 profit.

Nice work, if you can get it.

A day later, we ventured on to the South of France.  Boarding a metro-liner riding on the edge of the Mediterranean, we, like the locales headed to other destinations situated along the yacht owners’ playground.  Passing through Beaulieu, Saint Jean Cap Ferrat, and Vieux Eze, we finally arrived in Nice.  Taking a short journey on narrow streets directed us to the pot of gold---Cannes.

It was lunchtime and the brilliant Carlton Hotel was an inviting option for dejeuner. Placing us in coveted seats facing the water, the waiter allowed us to feel what half of Hollywood elite would feel in roughly four months.  We felt important.  If only there was a motion picture deal for us to sign.

Knowing there was a pit stop to make before spending a few more hours in Cannes slot machine-filled casino, Mom and I darted in and out of tiny designer boutiques a short distance before the glamourous staircase.  It was magnificent!  The red carpeted staircase of the Cannes Film Festival.  No one would stop us from playing out our fantasy.  The sign announcing the event was already hung above the staircase so we took the opportunity to pose on the red carpet. 

Where are the paparazzi when you need them?

Back in Monaco, one night left on a trip not-to-be missed, we waltzed into the exclusive Hotel de Paris.  Boldly planted next door to the Casino de Monte Carlo, Hotel de Paris was an intimidating place to order a drink. The bartender spoke English well.  He was gentle and kind to us, unable to ignore our nervousness.  We stumbled through our orders of coffee, but he brought out a full tray of petit desserts which accompanied our two café au laits.  So chic.  So chic.  

You are in Monte Carlo, Darling.  Relax. 

Hours of packing up.  Moments of travel through airports and on airplanes.  The people of America looked different.  The black limousines and the stretched whatevers just did not have the appeal of what we had seen on a tiny municipality in the cobalt sea.  American style was now uninspired.  The bland nature of business suits on countless blank faces pulled me back into a mundane existence. 

I’m no longer in Monte Carlo.  Darling, I’m back to reality.  


*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  April 24, 2017,  "Monte Carlo, Darling!", Volume 5, Blog 1b [vol. 5, 1a-1c].

Charlie Rose: Living His Dream

Charlie Rose: Living His Dream

 

 

I woke up the year my father passed and realized that I was broke.

I wasn’t broken, just penniless and unfulfilled.  My parents had lived their dreams and ended up with something to show for it.  My brother had lived his dream and ended up with a multitude of blessings.  Vanessa had compromised her dreams and ended up with nothing, except what was in my memory bank and a storage locker that I could no longer afford. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped living my dreams and started living the dreams and chasing the goals society had placed upon me.

Life.

Sometimes, life doesn’t work out the way you imagine.  You end up 75 years old, not married and without any children.  Many people might find that type of life miserable, a failure, extremely unimaginable and disappointing, but not me.  And not Charlie Rose.

To be honest, I had no idea that Charlie Rose wasn’t married or that he had no children to inherit his incredible legacy.  It was only in researching for my tribute to him that I learned these aspects of his life.  Funny.  I thought I was the only person who wasn’t going to let the absence of typical existence hold me back from living out my dreams.

I knew Charlie Rose was on my radar for decades for some reason.  I always felt a connection to him, as well as a high-level of respect.

Having no passion for the field of medicine, Charlie Rose changed his life mid-college at Duke University.  At first, he graduated in history and then law (finishing the Juris Doctorate) then later changed to pursue business in New York, but then finally realized what his first and only wife was doing was far more interesting.  Her field of interest was broadcasting.

After working for various stations, making a name for himself along his journeyed path, Charlie Rose found himself divorced and living in Dallas, Texas.  Texas wasn’t an awkward place for him, I bet.  He was born in the South, in Henderson, North Carolina.  He was apparently comfortable enough with the Southern scene that he was given his own namesake show.    

Living out his dream in the “Big D” went on for years.  Although, New York beckoned again for the bigger opportunities being offered at NBC, PBS and CBS.  Working as a team player moving into the role of producer and executive producer, Charlie Rose at the mid-life age of basically 49, ventured back into the host chair and anchored his own namesake show, The Charlie Rose Show.

 

Over the past 26 years, since 1991, Charlie Rose has interviewed and challenged several experts and gifted people in the fields of Humor, Brain Studies, Performance, Technology and even recipients of the Nobel Laureate.  From George Carlin to Google’s CEO, Rose has prodded the minds of our most intriguing humans.  Hosting panel discussions on President Obama’s Brain Initiative to the ins and outs of the internet, Rose has made us aware of the most complex and emotional topics many are afraid to face.

 

Charlie Rose is now roughly 75 years old.  He faces each day with a sense of accomplishment.  Rarely, I’m sure is there time to feel defeated for not having children or getting married again.  For like Charlie, I too, find very little time to stop and wish I coulda, shoulda, woulda. 
 

My life, I hope, is at mid-stream now. I’m just realizing I must face the world of social media and lay claim to my space.  I, like Charlie, have already ventured deep into my first loves of fashion, entertainment, writing and teaching.  At this time in my life, I want to express my thoughts, my opinions and my views.  I want a chair at the table.  In fact, in a few months, I will launch my new YouTube Channel under the name Wroxfair 395 Communications.  And, my first video will be the premiere video of my new talk show, entitled, “At the Table with Vanessa Brantley.” 

I’m not going to wait for someone to write my obituary for the world to know my story.  I’m writing my story.  I’m documenting my life…the good, the bad, the unconventional, and the just plain me.  I’m inviting you to take the journey with me.  To ask me questions and to challenge my mind. So reread my blogs and get your questions ready.  For beginning in a few months, I’m stopping the mass market chatter and walking in the path of one of my intellectual heroes, Charlie Rose. 

Soon, I will bring you exceptional and deep monologues from the intriguing and intellectual crevices of my mind.  No more fear about what others might say about my beliefs and opinions.  No more fear about my losing my livelihood and career because I disagree with some boss or politician.  And definitely, no more fear about going broke if my house doesn’t sell.  Let them have it. 

No more stress. 

I have a life to live and oh so much more learning to do.  I want to know more, do more, meet more people and talk about my experiences to the world.  Like Charlie Rose, I’m prepared, credentialed and ready.

So, let’s talk.

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  April 6, 2017,  "Charlie Rose: Living His Dream", Volume 5, Blog 1a [vol. 5, 1a-1c].

Celebrating Women's History Month-March 2017-ANNA SUI: THE "HIPQUAKE QUEEN"

CELEBRATING WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH

(This is my last blog for Women’s History Month-March 2017)

“Anna Sui:  The HipQuake Queen"

What is Hip?  Ask Anna Sui. 

 

For 24 years, Anna Sui has been the quintessential fashion designer for folks who are young and hip who have a cutting-edge disposition on life and all things retro, especially the 1960s and 1970s.

As a second time resident of Los Angeles, in the 1990s, I learned about the funkafied stylings of fashion guru and designer, Anna Sui.  She had been to Parsons School of Design in NYC and had made a name for herself back in the 1980s.  Although, it wasn’t until the early 1990s when I paid attention to her youthquake-inspired, no century limitation of design.  Choosing to make a collection of timeless designs channeling the tastes of wealthy youth from different time periods, Los Angelans (Hollywood and music elite) were obsessed with the garments sported by half of SoHo in New York City.

Anni Sui had managed to bridge the bi-coastal gap of style between funky New York City and bad-to-the bones L.A. proper.   She had created what I call a “HipQuake.”

 

Just as in her current Fall/Winter 2016-2017 collection, she has always highlighted a colorful mix of fabrics and patterns turning each collection into a kaleidoscope spread of Hippie whimsy.  Combining androgynous styles and delicate girly clothing to form a thought-provoking line of rock and roll tour costumes, Sui has kept up the beat of the Hendrix crew long after his fascination with the play on layered vestment.

Anna Sui, in her Fall/Winter 2016-2017 collection, is digging the scene of red with orange on grape-purple paisley to black and white overtures of velvet and lace.  Cloaking boys and girls in heavy vest and monkey fur looking coats, she has doubled-down on her aesthetic this time around.  Like the weather, calling for the last hoorah of Winter, it’s your last weekend to make the Sui look, your look.  April showers might hold off a bit for one last blow of Winter’s chill.  Make haste and find comfort in a faux fur vest with floral-print stockings and matching shoes.  For Sui style is always “on fleek” and the moment is here.  Tie-up your lace-front boots one more time.  Throw a belt on your hip and make the buckle slip.  Anna Sui is what Philadelphian Vincent King calls “seasonless”. 

                       

Whether boy or girl, Anna Sui calls for Mod, child.  Calling all flower children to shout-out for peace and place a flower in your hair.  Wear your granny dress in layers from maxi to midi to mid-thigh, but don’t hold back.  Bell bottoms are in and now is the time to wear your round, colored glasses and opaque socks.  Match a pattern or not.  Sui doesn’t care.  Just be you, all layered and pattern true.

 

 

Mix your gender, your race, your hair, your style, your size.  Fluffy vests give you a figure, while Anna Sui chiffon dresses give you sway and motion.  Rock on in your orange. 

Anna Sui is and always will be that “woman.”  She is an energetic inspiration of fearless wonderment and classic designer style. 

I take my cue from Anna Sui.  Always feel free…to be thee.

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  April 2, 2017,  "Anna Sui: The HipQuake Queen"   Volume 4, Blog 1c [vol. 4, 1-1c].

Celebrating Women's History Month- "You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"

CELEBRATING WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH

(This is my second blog for Women’s History Month-March 2017)

 

“You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"

For everyone celebrating a birthday, wedding or anniversary, you hear the phrase, “Let’s go to Vegas!”  Sure, Las Vegas is the typical destination for most people who want to drink, dance and gamble all night, but very few women truly profit from the casino business.  When you think about, the standard casino-owner is male.  The Management team is dominated by men.  The Dealers are normally men.  The Valet staff, the Chefs, the Accountants, the Auditors, Vendors and Construction teams.    

Urrr…not so fast.  I bet I know of one casino-building construction company that is owned by a WOMAN!  That’s right, a woman.   

A few months ago, my mother and her sister went to Biloxi to get away.  It was cool, but I just wasn’t in the mood for the same old getaway.  While they were gone, I did some research and learned about a casino 5 hours from Atlanta, Georgia.  Waiting for the perfect weather and leisure time, I made plans to drive to Cherokee, North Carolina.  Sure, it’s a scary drive for a first timer.  Pretty flat driving until you reach the dreaded, steep mountain hills of North Carolina.

The views from high on top of those green grass, tree-covered mountain ranges is spectacular.  It’s a sight no painter can copy.

I suspect in Autumn--when the leaves are morphing from shades of gold to red to wine to brown—the view of nature transforming from hot Summer days to cool Winter nights is well worth the drive.   

Pulling into the small, remote town of Cherokee, I noticed a sign that brought pride, jealousy and curiosity to my heart all at the same time.  Pure wonderment for a moment.  It was a sign that I had seen many times…in Arizona, the state of Connecticut, Alabama, or Florida.  “Welcome to the Cherokee Indian Reservation,” it basically read.  “Welcome to the Seminole Indian Reservation or the “Mohegan Indian Reservation.”  It was a sign of ownership, of strength.

I had dreamt of this type of ownership for my own people a thousand and one times.  Imagine a sign over the combined 40 acres and mules for thousands of African-Americans in the 50 U.S. states.  For Native Americans, through a shared vision and unquestionable unity, the dream had become a reality decades ago.  Their battle had been won.  They were able to build and operate businesses on their own land.  And I had driven 5 hours, to see with my own eyes, what a Native-American, woman-owned business had built on the Cherokee Indian Reservation in North Carolina. 
 

It was a spiritual experience.  Owle Construction, LLC had built Harrah’s Cherokee Casino. 

The casino was a modern, architectural wonder built high on Cherokee land overlooking waters sacred to the Tribe.  Art and crafts from their tribal nation were displayed with inspirational stories placed under photographs of respected artisans. 

The resort was more than bells and whistles with a spa and a buffet, it was a museum, a shrine, an opportunity for employment and a tribute to Cherokee culture that highlighted authentic Cherokee Indian aesthetics and values.

Why can’t African American people do the same?

I challenge my people.  I challenge African-American women to lay ground for their daughters, to leave land and values so that one day there will be a multitude of African-American, woman-owned businesses built too on our own land. 

Our proof of possibility stands on top of Cherokee, North Carolina.  Perhaps, it’s time for you to take that drive.  And yes, Mother’s Day weekend would be a great time to visit.

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  March 25, 2017,  "You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"   Volume 4, Blog 1b [vol. 4, 1-1c].

 

 

Celebrating Women's History Month- "Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"

CELEBRATING WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH

"Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"

 

 

(This is my first blog for Women’s History Month-March 2017)

I once dreamt of being part of the fashion industry, the one described in the pages of Women’s Wear Daily, Daily News Record, and “W”.  It was the 1980s and I was a Black girl in Atlanta, Georgia.  Just the thought of speaking my dreams out loud was frown upon by the mainstream Black folks living in southwest Atlanta.  You know, they were the ones everyone yakked about on the pages of Ebony and Jet, the Blacks living in the Black Mecca that most African-Americans could only fantasize about from afar. 

Even so, strangely enough, those same Black folks were tied to hopes and dreams of one day being part of corporate and governmental America. Although, they didn’t want inclusion in all parts of corporate and governmental America, they seemed to only want to make a wave in just the accepted streams, like local Education or Fortune 500 company divisions where degrees in Business, Law, Science, Math and Engineering would land you a good job.  Few, and I mean few, even considered the notion of entrepreneurship. 

Arenas of business ownership in Medicine, Law, Retail, Cosmetology, Insurance, Financial and Business Consulting, Real Estate, Investing, Sports or Entertainment were rarely discussed as options.  So you could imagine the general community reactions when I was asked, “So what are your career goals?”

Being pretty shy about my family and background, mainly relying on my accomplishments in high school, I would give the standard answer of “I’m probably going to Howard University and majoring in Corporate Law.”  They would smile big smiles and give accepting nods of the head.  But inside, I was shaking my head and laughing at how people would beam over the thought of another robotic high school graduate off to pursue the hopes and dreams of average Black America.

Truthfully, my real response would have been, “I’m going straight to New York City to see and engross myself in the industry of conspicuous consumption—FASHION!  I want to know about the social registry and why most of my people want to emulate the appearance, adornment and lifestyle of wealthy White folks and Europeans.  I want to know how to sell designer everything to everyone.”

And, “I want to drool at the fabulous people in fabulous cars, dripping in jewels and living in luxury.  I want to know what is glamourous and glitz-filled out there in the world of wealth.  I want to live, not like Mike, but like Suzy Menkes!” 

Her name is synonymous with Fashion.  She’s been everywhere and seen everything in the fashion world.  At the age of 74, yes 74, no one in the celebrity world of sho’ biz or pretentious red carpet fashion events can rival the AUTHENTIC world of Fashionista Extraordinaire, Suzy Menkes.  After 25 years with the International Herald Tribune as the Fashion Editor, she is now the International Vogue Editor for its 19 online global fashion websites. 

She is the grand dame of all fashion review and critique.  If she likes it, we love it.  If she says it will sell, we buy it. If she sees it and thinks we need to take a second look at it, we do.  Her word is power. 

She is a plus-sized British woman with a quirky hairdo and unconventional style.  She is daring, unapologetic, aggressive, judgmental and daunting.  She cares not for bull nor applauds what’s fake.  She is highly intelligent, travelled and cultured.  She has been a mentor to many and a role model for all who stand in her shadow. 

 
To praise her is to thank God for sending her to Earth, namely for those of us, especially young girls, who knew internally that the fashion world was waiting to be explored.  Suzy showed us women how to maneuver a male-dominated field for over 50 years. 

Suzy Menkes is my Fashion icon.  A woman making history. 

I have heard her roar for decades.  So go Suzy go!  This Atlanta woman “gets you” and admires your undeniable gumption.

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  March 12, 2017,  "Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"   Volume 4, Blog 1a [vol. 4, 1-1c].